Page 68 of Stella is Starting Over

Richard picks up his fork. ‘So, just to clarify, I asked you not to see him again and you invited him to your house?’

Something sparks in my chest. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘My friend. And I was wrong to say that I would stop seeing him, that was disingenuous of me. I should have explained that he’s a good friend who’s been there for me over a really hard period of my life, and that I don’t want to cut him out.’

Richard cuts up his steak. ‘I see,’ he says.

Dinner is frosty. I try to keep a conversation going while Richard gives me one-word answers. Part of me thinks that I should tell him to grow up, that I was honest with him eventually and that I’ve apologised, and that I shouldn’t really have to apologise for spending time with a friend, even though I should have been honest about it. But what if he breaks up with me? I can’t afford to get my own room at this place, if they’ve even got one available that I could book. I could go back to London, but it’s late and I don’t know when the last train is, or how I’d get to the station. Visions of waiting at reception until a rural taxi can be summoned to take me for the 5 a.m. train fill my head.

‘Room for something sweet?’ asks the waiter, hovering by our table and apparently not picking up on the absolutely terrible vibe emanating from us. ‘Would you like to see the dessert menu?’

Richard shakes his head.

‘No, thank you,’ I add.

Richard signs the bill, which I want to pay for, given that my admission ruined the evening, but I’m not sure this is the moment to try.

We walk back to the room through the grounds. The air smells sweet and there’s dew on the grass. We get back to the room and he closes the door behind him, then he takes a deep breath.

‘I don’t want to fight,’ he says resolutely.

‘Me neither,’ I say, pleased, surprised at his change in tone.

He stretches up, like he’s trying to release the anger from his body. ‘So, we just agree, you don’t see him again, I forgive you for what you did, we move on. Okay?’

I look at the floor. ‘I don’t think that’s a compromise. That’s me doing what you tell me to do.’

He looks aghast. ‘You’re not serious?’

I mean, it’s very clear that I’m serious. ‘You should meet him,’ I venture.

‘I don’t want to meet the man who was fucking my girlfriend. What kind of a cuck do you think I am?’

‘We haven’t ever fucked!’ I shout back. ‘I’ve told you that. Multiple times.’

‘Yes, and your honesty throughout this entire saga has been faultless,’ he snaps.

‘I wouldn’t have needed to be dishonest if you’d been reasonable,’ I fire back.

‘Do you have any idea how lucky you are? To be with me?’

I recoil slightly at this. ‘You’re a great guy and you’re very generous, I know how fortunate I am—’

‘You’re damaged goods,’ he says. ‘You realise that? Most men wouldn’t be able to look past that, but I thought – you’re attractive, you’re mature, you know how to run a family – I thought you’d understand how lucky you were. I thought you of all people wouldn’t do what Sophia did.’

Sorry, damaged goods? Damaged fucking goods, what is this, the eighteenth century? Having a child doesn’t make me damaged. I go to storm out of the room but he’s between me and the door and he doesn’t move. I wait a moment, assuming he’ll give way, assuming he won’t want me to feel trapped. But he doesn’t. He stands, steadfast, in the way, not letting me past. Shit.

I retreat, realising that this might be more of an inflammatory situation than I’d previously thought. I pretend to start to cry.

‘Give me a minute,’ I say, going to the bathroom, playing for time.

Almost on autopilot, my shaking fingers reach to dial Dom. He doesn’t pick up on his usual fourth ring and I’m about to hang up when he answers.

‘Hello?’ he says, surprised to hear from me.

He starts saying something but I just spill it out, turning on the extractor fan so that Richard won’t be able to hear.

‘I just need you to tell him that there’s nothing between us and there’s no problem, and then I can get out of here and get home, okay?’

I hear the sound of a door closing on the other side. ‘Call the fucking police,’ Dom says, his voice low. ‘Stella, I’m not joking, call them.’