I saw this coming. Ha.

OK, that’s not quite true. I didn’t predict exactly this happening. But I do have a contingency plan. And it looks like I’m going to have to put it into action right now.

Trying to look unobtrusive, I start to sidle toward the far partition wall in Jerry’s. Because we have a third room booked. (I’ve nicknamed it Häagen-Dazs.) And we have an eleventh member of the team. And she’s waiting patiently in Häagen-Dazs, on standby, just in case she should be needed.

Slowly, almost silently, I push the doors aside and beckon to her.

It took a whole evening of talking to persuade Rebecca to take part in this. She’s no big fan of Brent—she doesn’t care if he starves. And she’s no big fan of Dad either. (My theory is, he broke her heart back in the day. Although I am never ever sharing this thought with either of my parents.) But she’s even less of a fan of Corey—and that’s what tipped the balance. Sometimes you really need to appeal to people’s worst instincts. Which is a bit depressing, but there you go.

As Rebecca approaches the double doors that lead from Häagen-Dazs into Jerry’s, I can sense the team behind me swinging into action. Everyone knows about the contingency plan. We’ve practiced it. We’ve choreographed it. I glance round briefly to see Suze moving into place, while Ulla and Danny stand by her side, looking alert. They all know their briefs. In fact, there is only one brief, for everybody: Don’t let Cyndi turn round. Don’t let her see Rebecca.

“So, Cyndi!” Suze exclaims in animation. “How many children did you say you have?”

“You should choose some drawings to take home,” adds Ulla, holding up her sketchpad. “Have a look.”

“Oh, yes!” encourages Danny. “See this one of you in my jacket? Divine!”

“Goodness!” says Cyndi in delight. “May I really? Oh, I look so elegant….I only have one child,” she continues to Suze. “My one precious gift. And you? You have kids?”

Rebecca is standing in the far doorway now. Not moving, not waving, not speaking. Just standing, waiting to be noticed.

My eyes are fixed on Corey. He’s listening to Tarquin…he’s gazing absently up at the ceiling…he’s frowning with slight impatience….And then, as his gaze drifts past Tarkie, past Cyndi, his whole face jerks with horror.

OK. He’s seen her.

If I was hoping for a reaction, I’m not disappointed. His eyes have gone all starey. The color has drained from his cheeks. He looks like he’s in a nightmare. In fact, he looks so ill, I almost feel sorry for him, loathsome as he is. This man has tried so hard to airbrush out his past. He’s had a facelift. He’s lied about his age. He’s denied his friends. He doesn’t want the past to exist. But here it is, standing in front of him in a floaty purple dress and kohled eyes.

For a moment Rebecca just surveys him, with that witchy, catlike gaze she has. And then, silently, she prepares to hold up the signs. We made them together, with cardboard and a Sharpie, and checked that they would be legible.

(I didn’t get this bit from Ocean’s Eleven. It’s from Love Actually. Suze said, “Why don’t we rechristen it Becky Actually for the occasion,” but that makes no sense. Anyway. Not the point right now.)

The first sign just says:

Hi, Corey.

She holds it in place for a few seconds—then replaces it with her second sign:

Long time.

And somehow the contemptuous way she’s looking at Corey gives those two words real bite. Her eyes are fixed on him as she produces the next sign:

I’d love to meet your wife.

Her eyes flick to Cyndi, and Corey’s eyes follow, and I can see the fury pulsing in his face. Only he doesn’t dare make a sound, in case Cyndi notices. He’s trapped. Again.

Chat with her about old times.

Or maybe that’s not such a good idea?

Corey’s face is rigid. He looks like he’s undergoing torture. Well, in a way, he is. And Rebecca’s loving it.

“And what about nurseries, or do you call them preschools here?” I can hear Suze asking Cyndi brightly. “Because it’s so hard to find places in the UK.”

“Tell me about it!” exclaims Cyndi, completely oblivious to the drama going on around her. “And you know, Peyton is super-talented, so…”

What about Brent’s settlement, Corey?

Rebecca practically brandishes the sign at him, then substitutes the next one.

You owe him.

YOU OWE HIM, COREY.

And now she’s writing an extra sign we didn’t agree on. She holds it up and her eyes glitter wickedly.

I could make your life a misery.

I would LOVE to make your life a misery.

Crikey. Well, that’s honest. I glance at Corey, and the veins are standing out on his forehead. His fists are clenched. He looks like he wants to attack her.

Just sign it and I’ll be out of your life.

Rebecca gives him a long, challenging gaze. Then she starts holding the signs up more and more quickly, almost as if she’s dealing cards.

Just sign it.

Just sign the settlement, Corey.

Do it.

Corey is breathing harder and harder. He looks like a man about to explode.

Just fucking DO IT.

DO IT, Corey.

DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT!

“OK!” Corey suddenly erupts like a bull snorting. “OK! Let’s get this goddamn settlement done. Give me a pen. Let’s get it done.”

Oh my God. Did he just say—

I meet Rebecca’s eyes for a breathless moment. Have we done it? Have we won?

I think we’ve won.

Slowly, silently, Rebecca closes the double doors…and it’s as if she was never there.

“Marvelous!” says Luke smoothly. “Very kind of you, Corey. Shall we sort that out straightaway?”

“You OK, babe?” says Cyndi, looking away in surprise from Suze, Danny, and Ulla and surveying Corey. “Sweetheart, is something wrong? You look like you’re burning up!”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Corey gives her a fixed smile. “Just want to get this all wrapped up.”

“Good man,” says Dad, in cheerful tones. “Let’s go and find my legal colleagues.”

Without further delay, Dad ushers Corey toward the door. I catch his eye as he walks past and feel a weird bubble rising up inside me. But I’m not sure…Is it a bubble of relief? Hysteria? Disbelief?

As Cyndi babbles on about Peyton’s amazing ballet potential, I meet Suze’s eyes…then Mum’s…all round the room. Tarquin’s…Danny’s…Ulla’s…Elinor’s…and, last of all, Luke’s. He gives me a little grin and lifts his coffee cup to me as though in a toast. And I can’t stop a smile spreading across my face. After all that. We’ve done it.

We’ve actually done it.


NINETEEN

The Bellagio fountains are magical. And, OK, I know they’re touristy and I know they’re a cliché and I know there’s a load of other sightseers crowding around. But right now I feel as if they’re gushing up, over and over, just for us. For us ten. They’re our reward.