You Can’t Fall in Love With Your Ex (Can You?) by Sophie Ranald Page A

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    “Hey,”
she said, opening it, looking like a creature from another world in her cream
leather skirt, over-the-knee boots and linen jumper. “Where have you been? I
thought you’d left the country.”
    “Home,”
I said. “Battening down the hatches with two poorly kids. It’s been grim.”
    “God,
you poor thing,” she said. “Coffee?”
    I
accepted gratefully and entered the serene haven of her immaculate house.
    “I’m
so bloody glad to have Carmen back, I can’t tell you,” Zé said, firing up the
espresso machine. “Juniper’s going through a Phase. She’s acting eight going on
sixteen, bursting into tears at the slightest thing and slamming doors and
generally being a little madam.  It makes me want to cry and slam doors right
back, but Carmen seems to be able to manage her.”
    “Do
you think she could be unhappy at school?”
    “God
knows. I’ve asked her, I’ve had a meeting with her teacher but Juniper won’t
tell me anything and apparently she’s angelic in the classroom. She’s not
naturally academic. She’s like me, I was bottom in everything at school. So
anyway, how did you enjoy Saturday night? We didn’t really have a chance to
talk about it afterwards.”
    “It
was fabulous,” I said. “Thanks so much again for the ticket. I got lost in the
forest bit, and I got taken off for a scene with Oberon.”
    “Really?
What happened?” she asked.
    I
told her about the lifting of the mask, what I could remember about the words,
and about the kisses, feeling my cheeks colouring at the memory. I didn’t tell
her that I knew who the actor was. I don’t know why – part of me was longing to
talk about Felix, but part of me wanted to keep it secret, keep my feelings
buried deep inside me where they belonged.
    “It
gets to you, doesn’t it?” Zé said. “I’ve been dreaming about it, you know, and
I never remember my dreams. I won’t tell you what happens in them though,
there’s nothing duller than hearing about other people’s dreams. Anyway, I was
going to ask you – any chance you and your husband are free on Saturday night?
If you can face my company two weeks in a row, that is.”
    “Of
course I can. Let me check with Jonathan. As far as I know we haven’t got any
plans…” I took out my phone and checked the diary. Saturday was free. I
immediately put ‘Seeing Zé, L and J’ in the space, so Jonathan would see it and
have no excuse for saying he didn’t know we had anything on, and arranging
post-golf drinks or something. “I’m sure it will be fine. I’ll just need to
sort someone to look after the children.”
    “Carmen
will do it,” Zé said. “Juniper’s at a sleepover. Bung her forty quid and she’ll
be only too happy – she’s saving up for a trip to Ibiza with her mates in the
summer, she’s desperate for extra cash.”
    “Great,
if you’re sure,” I said.
    “I’ll
check with her, but it’ll be fine,” Zé said. “I’ve asked my friend Anton, the
one who sorted out the tickets to the show, out for dinner to say thanks. He’ll
probably bring a boyfriend. And Rick will come, if he knows Jonathan’s there to
talk shop to. So there’ll be six of us. I’ll book Le Bouchon d’Or.”
    This
time, I resolved, I wasn’t going to be caught on the hop, looking mumsy and
frumpy in contrast to my new friend’s groomed glamour. I made appointments to
have my hair highlighted and my eyebrows threaded, sent the black dress I’d
worn to Jonathan’s work Christmas party to the dry cleaners and bought a chunky
black and silver necklace to wear with it.
    I
realised I’d achieved the desired effect when Jonathan did a double take at me
in my finery and said, “God, you look gorgeous, Laura. We should go out to nice
places more often, so I can show off my glamorous wife.”
    “Your
wife’s forgotten how to be glamorous,” I said gloomily. “It feels seriously
weird to be wearing something that doesn’t have egg stains on it.”
    “I
can