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oh-so-fascinating boot. ‘Good.’ She seemed to be at a loss for words, which was out of character.
    ‘How did he seem?’ Kate wasn’t sure what she wanted to hear. She loved Charlie – still – but a wretched part of her longed for news of hollow eyes, stubble, a new
drinking habit.
    ‘He’s had his hair cut.’
    ‘No!’ It was absurd to feel so betrayed. ‘What else?’
    There was a pregnant aspect to the silence as Kate waited, one shoe on, one shoe off. Eventually Becca said, ‘He asked me to give you this.’
    Kate recognised the envelope, small and cream, as the sort that used to arrive every other day, stuffed with quirky drawings, jokes, declarations.
    ‘Take it,’ said Becca when Kate hesitated.
    Kate wanted to swear and knock all the shoes off the glass shelves but was too well brought up to do either. She turned her head and shut her eyes, blocking out the innocuous envelope.
    ‘Take it.’ Becca was soft, pleading. ‘Please.’
    Kate accepted the envelope. It was light as a feather. Whatever Charlie had to say, he’d used very few words.
    ‘You have to read it,’ urged Becca. ‘It’s better to know.’
    ‘Later.’ Kate stuffed the envelope into her bag, pushing it deep down among the strata of receipts and gum and stray lipsticks. ‘So?’ She held out her foot, made a slow
circle with her ankle. ‘Shall I buy them?’
    ‘Go home,’ said Becca, her tone heavy. ‘And read the letter.’
    Obediently, Kate put back the shoes and did as she was told. At home she circled the note, putting it off until finally it could be put off no longer. Curled on her bed like a foetus, she ripped
open the envelope. One reading and the contents were fixed on her consciousness forever.
    Kate
    This split is for the best. Not everything that looks like love is love. You’re free and so am I. I hope you’ ll be happy.
    C
    I’m dismissed
, thought Kate. Not needed. Unfit for purpose. Surplus to requirements. The note’s coldness took her off guard, as did the doorbell.
Becca!
she thought, grateful, leaping off the bed.
    She almost didn’t recognise him, partly because he was the last person she expected to see on her doorstep and partly because the expression on his face utterly altered him. Julian looked,
for once, apprehensive. ‘Am I . . .’ he said. ‘Is this OK?’
    ‘It’s, um . . .’ It was awful, but Kate’s manners overruled her distress. ‘Come in.’ Julian was so big and so male and he made her regret her bare feet and
the wrinkled grey pyjama trousers her mother despaired of.
    ‘How’s Becca?’ said Julian as Kate filled the kettle. ‘The crazy calls have stopped so I’m a bit worried about her. In case she’s, you know, done something .
. .’
    ‘Becca’s not the sort to kill herself.’
    ‘True.’ Julian in casual wear of jeans and cricket jumper was more groomed than Charlie had been for his university interview in his sole suit. The kneejerk comparison startled her:
Charlie was no longer Kate’s business.
    The kettle danced to a boil against a backdrop of reverent silence, as if the cramped kitchen was a church. She and Julian had never been alone before. Through her dazed heartbreak Kate found
herself wondering what on earth he was doing in her house.
    As if he’d heard her question, Julian said, ‘I’m not really here to talk about Becca.’ He swallowed audibly. ‘I heard. About you and Charlie.’
    Kate nodded. They were a news item.
    ‘I thought you two were for ever.’
    ‘So did I.’ Kate began to cry. ‘Sorry.’ She tore off some kitchen roll. ‘Ignore me. I’m being daft.’
    ‘No. You’re not.’ Julian made the tea, which felt vaguely embarrassing. Mum’s Pyrex mugs in his big hands. ‘Milk? Sugar?’ He was clumsy, but Kate was touched.
She found herself talking. About Charlie, about how she felt, about how just moments ago she’d come slap bang up against the brick wall of his indifference.
    ‘I’m boring you,’ she said.
    ‘You