Straight Talking by Jane Green

This is how I knew, except I didn’t want to know, I didn’t want to believe it.
    “Darling. She’s some model who we’re thinking of doing a shoot with. She’s no one. What are you worried about?”
    “I’m worried that you’re carrying around pictures of this girl, and that you were in Café Rouge, and that it was night. I’m worried because you’ve been strange since you worked late in the office, and I want to know what’s going on.”
    “I’ve already told you. Oh Fanny, you don’t think . . .” He put his head back and laughed. The bastard actually laughed. “Oh baby, come here, you’re jealous.”
    He put his arms around me and I didn’t exactly cuddle him back, but I’ll admit I did lean into him, but just a little, OK?
    “I love it when you get jealous, it proves how much you love me. Fanny, you have nothing to worry about with that girl. Yes, she’s OK looking, but believe me, she looks a hell of a lot better on camera than in the flesh. She’s got terrible skin which she hides under a gallon of makeup.”
    I didn’t say anything. I just leaned into him a little more, waiting to hear what else he was going to say.
    “And God is she thick. She’s the thickest girl I’ve ever met. Believe me, my darling, you have nothing to worry about.”
    “So what were you doing with her in Notting Hill? And when were you there?” My voice sounded softer, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
    “We were with Nick Clark, the photographer, and the three of us had a meeting in Notting Hill. It was ages ago now, about six weeks, I’d completely forgotten about those pictures.”
    “But you were there at night. Which night?” As I said it my mind started finally clicking into gear, and I knew there was something I was missing, but I just wasn’t sure what it was. I think if I had sat down and thought for long enough that little blurry thought would have shifted into focus, but I didn’t want to do that, I wanted to ignore it. I hoped it would go away.

5
    My mobile rings just as I’m getting in the car to drive to Louise, my therapist. It’s Mel, she’s in a state.
    “I told him I’ve had enough, I can’t carry on anymore. He doesn’t want to be my boyfriend and until he does I’ve kicked him out.”
    “What did he say?” I’m cautious, because this isn’t the first time this has happened, and in the past I’ve called him every name under the sun, and within three weeks they’re back together again, as blissfully unhappy as they know how to be.
    “He didn’t say anything. There was a silence and then he said are we still going out to the theater next week, and would I make sure I picked up his jacket from the dry cleaner’s.”
    “So once again he’s trying to pretend it’s not happening?”
    “I don’t know,” she sighs, “but I’m serious this time, I’ve had enough, I don’t want him back. I’ve tried everything, I’ve tried talking but every time I ask what he has to say he won’t bother because I never listen to him anyway.”
    I snort with derision. “Mel, you listen for a goddamned living, if
you
can’t listen who the hell can?”
    “I know, I know. But he confuses me. I start off an argument being very sure of where I stand, of who’s right and who’s wrong, and then he throws these accusations at me and I don’t know anymore. Maybe he is right. Maybe if I weren’t such a nag things would be different. Maybe it’s my fault.”
    I say what I always say, and then I have to go because I spy a police car waiting to turn in to the main road and the last thing I need is a fine for using the phone while driving.
    I wasn’t going to tell you about therapy, was I, but now you’re here with me you may as well come along for the ride.
    I always hated therapy, thought it was for sad people, didn’t I? I didn’t need therapy, not me, Miss Dynamo. But then again, my childhood wasn’t exactly the happiest in the world, and whenever I’m unhappy, or depressed, or simply bored I