Katy Carter Wants a Hero by Ruth Saberton Page B

manager. Although Mads has never said much, I get the feeling that the Reverend Richard Lomax doesn’t approve of me, so if I turn up with my umpteen plastic bin bags, pet lobster and tales of dinner-party woe, I strongly suspect his sympathy will be with James. Maddy, bless her, hasn’t changed at all (apart from the bonking of random men, I hope!) and is still lovely, fun and totally scatty. Maybe Richard has taken that exhausting manic edge off her and perhaps she’s loosened him up a bit? It seems to work for them anyway.
    So their rectory in Lewisham is my last resort. Not only is it so brimming with visiting troubled souls that it makes the M25 look a peaceful option, but I don’t really want to discuss my failings in front of Richard. He already thinks I don’t tell the truth to James. ‘You’re not big on honesty in relationships, are you, Katy?’ he once commented when I was frantically trying to get James’s Audi fixed so that he had no idea I’d a) borrowed it and b) pranged it, and raised a cool eyebrow when I pointed out that I wasn’t lying, just not telling James the
whole
truth.
    Hmm. Something tells me that if I step over the threshold of the rectory today I’m in serious danger of spontaneously combusting.
    I’ll just give James one more try. He can’t seriously want to throw away all those years just because of one rubbish dinner party. I know he loves me really. Why else would he have stayed with me so long?
    Going forward more boldly than Captain Kirk, I make my way towards the front door and press the buzzer hard.
    ‘What?’ snaps James from three storeys above.
    ‘Let me in,’ I plead. ‘I’m really sorry. Let me explain.’
    ‘There’s nothing to explain,’ James replies in a tone so icy that my lips are all but frozen to the speakerphone. ‘Julius Millward made it perfectly clear. It’s you or my position at the bank.’
    What?
    WHAT?
    I can hardly believe my ears. ‘You’ve chosen that lechy old bastard over the woman you love?’
    ‘Sorry, Chubs,’ shrugs my (ex)-fiancé. ‘But I didn’t really have much choice, did I? I can’t afford to lose my job.’
    ‘But you can afford to lose me?’
    The following silence speaks volumes and my eyes fill with tears. He’s made his choice then.
    ‘Fine,’ I say, my throat tight with tears. ‘I understand.’ But I don’t. How could he switch from loving me to throwing me out? Even the wind changes less rapidly than that. Jake would
never
abandon Millandra so carelessly. He’d tell Julius to shove his job up his backside or challenge him to a duel.
    ‘By the way,’ adds James, ‘could you post the ring through the door? Since you’ve screwed up my promotion, I’ll have to settle some of our bills another way.’
    I glance down at my engagement finger. Sure enough there is my whopper of a ring, a mass of glittery diamonds that all but screams ‘Mug me!’ when I stroll along Ealing Broadway. I can’t say that I ever really liked it, but James insisted that we went to Asprey’s and he loved the ring, so to tell him that I really wanted the little emerald one I’d seen in the antique shop seemed a bit ungrateful. And he loved showing it off and boasting that he’d spent more than two months’ salary on it, so at least he was happy. To be honest, I’ve just lived in terror of losing the bloody thing.
    I pull it off and weigh it in the palm of my hand. Then a thought occurs.
    ‘Where’s my notebook?’ I ask.
    James snorts. ‘You mean your great novel with all your choice comments about my mother?’
    Note to self: never, ever write when pissed.
    ‘Er, yeah,’ I say. ‘Sorry about that.’
    There’s a sound of rummaging from within. ‘Ring first,’ demands James.
    It’s a bit insulting that he thinks I’m going to run away with it. For a minute I consider flogging the damn thing and vanishing off to Greece for half-term, but then I think about my novel. OK, so at the moment it’s only a few scribblings in