The Divorce Club by Jayde Scott

I—" What could I tell her? That a
stranger's been sending text messages and I'm worried? She's gone
through so much already, I don't want to send her into therapy for
the rest of her life.
    "You don't even have a reason." She crosses
her arms over her chest. "You're just mean and bitter. No wonder
Dad left you."
    I'm gobsmacked. She's never said anything
like this before. Is it what she thinks? Am I mean and bitter? "I
want you to call me once you leave the shopping center and then
again when you get to Kendra's place. No going out, no boys."
    She shrugs. "Oh, shoot. Now Kendra's mum's
going to have to cancel the keg party."
    "What?" My mouth drops.
    "Kidding! Thanks, Mum. You're the best." Sam
chuckles as she kisses my cheek.
    "Have fun," I whisper, "and no parties until
you're fifty." I lean in to give her a brief hug before she heads
for the door, then stops.
    "Sorry about earlier. I didn't mean it."
    "I know." I smile even though it's the last
thing I want to do. "Thanks for the coffee. Call me."
     
    ***
     
    It takes me thirty minutes longer than
anticipated to find Jamie's place, probably because I've never been
to this posh part of the city. From a distance, the house looks
large with two stories and countless windows. A CCTV sign proclaims
24-hour surveillance. I kill the engine in front of a tall gate and
press the button on the intercom.
    "Sarah, come on in," Jamie's voice says.
    I stare at the black dot. It must be a
camera, but it's so tiny. And there I thought it might just be a
speck of dirt. The gates slide apart and I drive through, marveling
at how huge the garden seems. After years of living next to two
trees and a thirty-inch patch of grass, I feel like I'm driving
through the Canadian countryside.
    Jamie's waiting in front of the house when I
finally pull up and get out. "You've found it," he says, smiling.
He looks good in blue jeans and a shirt, his hair in disarray again
as though he couldn't be bothered to run a brush through it.
    I try to focus on his inviting smile, but my
gaze keeps locking on the imposing building behind him. It seems so
huge compared to my two-bed semidetached house that I can barely
afford. I can't be caught staring because he might think I'm easily
impressed by something as irrelevant as wealth.
    "It's beautiful here. I can't believe we're
still on London," I say before I can help myself.
    Jamie laughs. "Trust me, I was even more
surprised when my estate agent found this place."
    "Clearly, we're not sharing the same agent."
I lock the car and follow him inside into a spacious hall with bay
windows and tile flooring. In the middle, a staircase leads to the
first floor. Two abstract paintings adorn the wall. It's all so
simple and yet so stylish.
    Jamie takes my coat and hangs it up inside a
hidden wardrobe, then gives me a brief viewing of the ground floor,
including the state-of-the-art kitchen, the groomed back garden and
his office. The office alone is as large as my bedroom. I begin to
see him with different eyes, which triggers my self-consciousness.
He might not be a millionaire, but he isn't living off benefits
either. It makes me wonder what kind of woman he goes for. I
imagine Chloe to be tall like a model with blonde hair and blue
eyes, unnaturally long, shapely legs and a constant pout. And then
I notice a picture frame showing a dark-haired, petite woman
snuggled up against a younger Jamie. They're both laughing at the
camera, a glint playing in their eyes.
    "Is this Chloe?" I ask, tracing my index
finger on the silver border.
    Nodding, Jamie clears his throat and turns
over the picture.
    "She looks different from what I imagined," I
continue, unfazed by his sudden interest to move back to the living
room.
    "She was a bit of a tomboy back then," Jamie
says as though that'd explain everything. "Coffee or tea?"
    I'm not ready to drop the topic yet. "How did
you meet?"
    "We've kind of always known each other. I
think you like your coffee black."
    "Yes, black's perfect.