I watched the man in his luminous overall frantically waving and managed to raise the corners of my mouth at his furious baton waving. Nudging Anna next to me I pointed at him and she smiled and went back to her gossip magazine.

“Have you heard this about Tom Cruise? It’s crazy, look. Read this.”

Anna had a weird fascination with Mr. Cruise and his various ex-wives. I think she seriously thought at some point in her life she was destined to be one of them. I smiled and started to read the article she pointed to despite my complete lack of interest. Anything to distract me from the roar of the engines and the impending take off.

Anna had been quite simply fantastic. Last night, during intermittent sobbing and slurring of words caused by the consumption of copious amounts of sauvignon blanc, I gave Anna every last detail of the previous 24 hours. Her initial reaction was total shock and incredulity. I realized I was relieved at her response. She hadn’t known. Her reaction was my confirmation of that and I garnered some strength from the fact that not everyone in my life had betrayed me. She didn’t know about Charlie and Fran; she didn’t lie, cover anything up, or turn a blind eye. She was as stunned as I was.

After the initial shock wore off she went into survivor mode. She was fantastically patient and sympathetic, but also incredibly practical. The following morning she called my work and persuaded them to let me take a week off and did the same with her boss. She then booked us a last-minute vacation and twelve hours later we were hurtling down the runway.

In those twelve hours, Anna arranged to have movers at Charlie’s flat for when Anna and I arrived later that day, and while I locked myself in the bathroom trying to stem the flow of my tears, Anna and the movers carried me out of my old life piece by piece.

By the time Charlie was home from work, I would most certainly be at the airport, if not in the air. It was what I needed to happen. I didn’t want to—couldn’t—deal with the inevitable confrontation of him: the tears, the shouting, his excuses, the blame I would see in his eyes that I would hang onto for an indeterminable period of time. Most of all I couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing how much he had wounded me.

I just wanted to escape.

Apparently he texted me to see where I was while Anna was booking the trip. She confiscated my phone so there would be no drunk-dialing, no room for his excuses, no more pain. He assumed I’d worked through the night at work.

Panic washed through me. All those nights I assumed he was working, he was with her, in her bed. All the guilt I felt at him working so hard for our future and he was fucking around on me. Was he in love with her? Or was it just the sex? Fran was experienced, that was for sure. She was probably much more adventurous than I ever was. I tried to push images of them together out of my mind, but they kept creeping back in—Fran’s hands in Charlie’s hair, Charlie’s tongue over Fran’s neck. Christ, I needed a drink.

“Excuse me, can I get a glass of wine?” I asked the stewardess. Thankfully, Anna had managed to get seats in business class on my miles, and the crew in business were always much more accepting of women getting drunk before noon than they were at the back of the plane. Or at least they faked their acceptance better.

“Certainly madam.”

I turned to Anna. “When did I stop being ‘miss’ and become ‘madam’?”

“The day you hit 30, sweetheart,” Anna replied without missing a beat, engrossed in another magazine. She seemed to have a never-ending supply. “There’s some kind of invisible sign women start to hold the day they turn 30. It’s genetic, or a pheromone or something.”

Oh my god, I was 30 and single. I felt I’d been punched in the stomach. My life was not meant to turn out like this. I handed the magazine back to Anna and started to sob again.

“The baby, Fran’s baby. Charlie’s the father, isn’t he?” Anna and I had skirted around Fran’s pregnancy, neither of us mentioning it since I dropped the bomb of Charlie and Fran’s affair 24 hours ago. Anna finally put down her magazine and turned to me.

“Honestly? I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What about that DJ? It could be his, couldn’t it?” I was desperate to somehow make the situation less dire that it really was.

“It could be, Leah. But, realistically, the DJ may have not existed. If you think about it, Fran didn’t juggle men. She slept with lots of people, but they didn’t overlap. At least I never thought they did. I’m not sure I really know who she was or is.”

“How long do you think it has been going on? Since before the engagement, I guess,” I answered myself. “I thought she seemed a bit subdued when I told you guys, but I thought she was just disappointed that she wasn’t at the same point in her life—I suppose I was right, she wanted to be at the exact same point in her life, with the same guy ... Jesus!”

“Look, babe, I don’t think there’s any point in torturing yourself about it. Whether the baby is his or not shouldn’t matter to you anymore. They have both betrayed you, whatever the genetic code of that poor child. At least you know now and you didn’t end up marrying him and finding out later that he’d cheated with your friend—not that I would ever touch him with a bargepole, you know that.”

I did know that. Anna had never liked Charlie. Not that she was pleased with what he had done—I believed wholeheartedly that she would never want me to feel like this—but I think she was relieved that her instincts about him had been right and she no longer had to worry about what was going to come. It was here. And she was right, there was no point in torturing myself about him and Fran and the baby. But it wasn’t that easy. It was all I could think about.

How long had it been going on?

What had I done to send him off looking for something more than me?

What was it about Fran that attracted him?

Well, I suppose the attraction bit was obvious. She was tall and thin with curly blond hair and a wide smile. I’m sure she could model if she wanted to; she was gorgeous. In comparison, my figure with hips and waist and my barely containable breasts must seem dumpy, perhaps too obvious for his taste, although I never heard him complain. He took the opportunity to trade up, simple as that.

Somehow, though, I just couldn’t see them together. Charlie was a bit of a snob, to be honest, and from what he had said about his parents thinking I was “for fun,” it ran in the family. What would they say about Fran? She was so far from the other side of the tracks she was on a different continent.

Fran’s family, which consisted of her mother and a younger brother, certainly didn’t have money or status. She had been the first in her family to go to University. Her brother had had his share of problems with drugs but was now working in a factory just outside of her hometown of Coventry; he was married with two children, in his mid-twenties.

I couldn’t imagine Charlie spending Christmases in a two-bedroom flat over a convenience store in Coventry. His idea of an idyllic Christmas was with his parents, at their country house in Scotland, spending his time huntin’, shootin’, and fishin’.

Perhaps she had changed him. Maybe it was just physical, her beauty combined with sexual prowess. Maybe it was just a fling, a final sowing of his oats before he settled down to one woman for the rest of his life.

Images from the last time Charlie and I had sex flickered through my head and I cringed. He must have been comparing us. Oh god, how horrible. She would have been so much more forthcoming than I was, more confident, more ... creative. I had thought we were finally reconnecting after a few months of me being distant and doubtful. I hadn’t realized I was being scored, and if I didn’t rate highly enough I would lose my fiancé. But the distance I created in the first place must have started it, pushed him away, forced him into Fran’s bed because he wasn’t getting the attention he needed—the attention he deserved—from me. Maybe I had done this.

Tears started to flow again and, embarrassed about feeling so sorry for myself, I pretended to sneeze, wiped them away, and waved at the stewardess for a top-up. I wanted to drift off into unconsciousness and not think about this anymore. At some point the alcohol must have its desired effect because the next thing I knew we thudded to the ground at Cancun International Airport.

“Hey, sleepyhead. I was beginning to think you were never going to wake up. You’ve been passed out like the dead. Come on, brush your hair. Try not to look like a homeless person. This is a really nice hotel we’re going to.” Anna smiled. If you didn’t know her, you could be easily offended. But I knew she was trying to cheer me up, get me to see the future and not wallow in Charlie’s betrayal.

In all the drama, I managed to push to one side my embarrassment about what happened between Daniel and me. I was so taken up in my grief over Charlie that finally descended on me like a cloud as I had relayed the situation to Anna that I managed to relegate what happened with Daniel to the separate part of my brain that stored up fuel for my neurosis for when I next needed it. There was always plenty of fuel slushing around in there and I was used to keeping a lid on it. God, I really hope we didn’t get the Palmerston job. I could never face him again.

The hotel was all Anna promised it would be. We had a beautiful two-bedroom suite with a balcony off the living area that opened out onto the beach and a hot tub. The bed was huge and canopied. Very romantic, I thought wistfully.

I quickly changed into my bikini and raced down to the pool to meet Anna. Some vitamin D would improve my mood, I was sure of it. I found Anna at the bar flirting up a storm with the very handsome, topless, barman.

“Fast work!” I teased as we headed to our loungers.

“Yes, a little work up front and hopefully our drinks will be constantly refreshed without another word all week. Besides, did you see the bod on him?”

I threw my head back and laughed. I realized it was the first time I’d laughed since I’d seen the photos. The vitamin D was working already. It was a relief to see the first evidence that I wouldn’t feel as wretched as I currently did forever.

I slept on and off again on the lounger; the sun mixed with the alcohol was like the most effective sleeping tablet ever. It seemed like days passed, but it could only have been hours. Anna was engrossed in her magazines every time I summoned the energy to turn my head in her direction, and then sleep pulled me under again.

When the sun completely disappeared from view, Anna ordered us back to shower and change for dinner. If I had my choice, I would just crawl into bed, but this was Anna’s holiday, too, and I felt I should make an effort.

When I came out of my room Anna was waiting for me. “Oh, dear God!” She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “You look like an Amish person.”

Before I could respond she marched me back into her room, barked at me to remove my pastel linen shirt and drawstring trousers. “That shirt and trousers should never be put together and shouldn’t be worn at all unless we are sightseeing, do you understand me? She dressed me like I was three years old in a strapless maxi dress, a bold tribal style necklace and applied some tinted moisturizer, lip gloss, and mascara to my bare face.

“There. Slightly less Amish, slightly more like you.” She was right; I did feel more feminine, more attractive.

At dinner we were surrounded by a lot of couples. The pain it caused was a constant tightness across my chest and I found it difficult to look up and around and kept my head focused on the menu, my plate, my hands. Anything so I didn’t have to witness other people’s loving relationships.

“Do you think he ever took her away? Like, for a break? What about the weekend he went fishing with his brother last November? Was he with her?”

“I don’t know, Leah,” Anna said honestly and she patted my hand.

“Have you spoken to Fran? Have you had a text or email from her?”

“No, I don’t want to speak to her, I don’t want someone who would do what she’s done anywhere near me. She did text me to see what I had done at the weekend but I didn’t reply and I won’t reply.”

“Don’t feel you don’t have to speak to her on my account. We don’t know who instigated what. Maybe Charlie started this whole thing and maybe he’s not to blame so much either.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to be honest with myself, I pushed him away. I was having doubts and wasn’t making time for him so it’s not surprising he found someone else.” Tears started to pool in my eyes, threatening to make a run for it down my cheeks.

“Just stop right there. Charlie and Fran have both been completely shitty to you. I don’t care if you were having doubts or whatever. You were together six years. It’s not all going to be fair sailing. And even if he did want out, sneaking around with your close friend wasn’t the way to go about it. Fran always wants what everyone else has and even if Charlie did come on to her, she should have kneed him in the bollocks and run screaming. She was meant to be your friend.”

“I think it’s more complicated than that. Look, I was flirting with Daniel, I’ve kissed another man. That was a betrayal of Charlie.”

“Jesus, Leah, you and Daniel was or is a mild flirtation. Fran’s pregnant, and she’s a close friend. You get that, don’t you?” I didn’t respond—the wound felt fresh again. She was going to have the life I was meant to have.

“In the words of Barbara Streisand and Donna Summer, 'enough is enough.' No more tears. Not tonight, anyway.” I did manage a half-chuckle at that. “Let’s fully embrace denial this evening and then tomorrow morning between 10 and 11:30 I will allow you to wallow again, and then it’s back to that river in Egypt—Denial—for the rest of the day. We’ve got to at least fake-enjoy ourselves in this beautiful hotel with this beautiful weather. Not to mention the beautiful barman! Deal?”

“Deal.” I responded. That sounded fair.

***

The next morning, I was awake early and managed to go to yoga and then run on the treadmill in the gym. I actually could feel myself beginning to feel a bit more normal. Anna was very patient with me during my allotted wallowing time.

She didn’t know if they were in love.

She agreed that Charlie’s family would hate Fran.

She thought that Charlie would get bored with her within six months.

We decided that even if they did end up trying to have a normal relationship together they would definitely cheat on each other and maybe eventually just become swingers. Finally, we agreed that they might give each other a disease and debated for some time which particular STD that would be. I felt a lot better getting all that out. It felt like I had a least bought my ticket for the healing train and it was about to depart.

The rest of the day consisted of the complex juggling of naps, reapplication of sunscreen, discussions of who would likely be Tom Cruise’s next wife together with the stop start of the cerebral novel Anna had packed for me followed by the inevitably more lengthy study of US Weekly.

My next period of slumber brought a dream of Daniel, that beautiful scent of his, his powerful hands down my back and over my breasts, his tongue digging insistently into my mouth while he pressed himself up against me, hard as stone ... I felt myself slide back into consciousness as a cloud created a shadow over me and a shiver ran through me, my nipples beading. Even out of my dream I could almost smell that delicious masculinity that enveloped him. I needed to cool off in more ways than one – a dip in the pool seemed the obvious solution.

I opened my eyes and realized Anna wasn’t next to me. I forced myself to sit upright, to seek her out, but my view was blocked by a silhouette, which was also shielding me from the sun.

“She’s at the bar,” a familiar voice informed me. I blinked a couple of times, my eyes blurred from sleep and the bright sun, trying to make sense of the voice ... and the smell.

“Oh my god!” I jumped up from my lounger and pulled my beach towel in front of me. “Daniel, what on earth ...? Are you crazy?” I shrieked.

He just looked at me but didn’t say anything. I wrapped the towel around myself and grabbed a t-shirt from my beach bag. I couldn’t understand what he was doing here, but he looked so great in a crumpled white linen shirt and khaki cargo shorts, and his aviator sunglasses pushed back into his inky black hair. I’d never seen him in casual clothes, I realized. He looked younger. He looked wonderful. His muscular frame was much more pronounced without the structure of a suit. I pulled myself out of my perusal of his body and brought my eyes to his. He was just looking at me, patiently, and I looked away and blushed, embarrassed at the memory of his rejection of my advances.

Very calmly, he simply said, “Do you want to have this conversation here in front of your fellow guests or shall we go somewhere more private?”

“What conversation? Why do we need to have a conversation?”

“Come on, Leah, not here.” And he took my elbow and guided us toward our suite. I shrugged him off, unable to bear the scorching heat I felt when his hand touched me.

Apparently he knew which room we were staying in as we arrived back at the suite without having exchanged a single word. Once inside I pushed open the balcony doors and stood against the balustrade facing the sea.

“I was worried. I didn’t know where you were, and I needed to see for myself that you were OK,” he said simply.

“So you flew to Mexico?”

“Leah, I told you I have to have you safe. I have to have you happy.”

“So you flew to Mexico?” I repeated.

“You ran off when I last saw you and then wouldn’t answer your phone or emails, and you weren’t at work.”

“So you flew to Mexico? Don’t you think that’s a slight overreaction?”

“Well, given your reaction to my being here, I understand that you think it might be an overreaction. But come on, give me a break. I don’t know how to deal with this. I’m doing my best.”

“What? What are you dealing with?”

“These feelings that I have. The fact that your happiness and safety seem to have become my priority over anything else in my life.”

I tried to process what he was saying. Were his feelings romantic? Well, no clearly not after his clear rejection of me in his office. I suppose we had a history of sorts and so he felt protective of me.

“Oh.”

“So, you’re alive, which I’m relieved about. How are you feeling? Are you having a good time?”

“Erm, I am actually. And I’m healing. I just need some time to pass and I will be OK.” I actually meant was I was saying. I was actually much more OK than I expected.

“I’m so sorry that I had to tell you ...”

“Don’t be. It’s better that I found out when I did.”

“Why did you run off, out of my office, if you’re not angry with me for showing you those photos?”

Oh god, I inwardly groaned at being brought back to that humiliating scene. Was he really going to make me relive it?

“I’m sorry. I get it. I really do,” I mumbled. “Why would you want me? I was just feeling emotional. I’m sorry.”

“You think I don’t want you? You think I stopped things escalating between us because I didn’t want you?” He laughed and flung his hands into his hair. “It took every ounce of self-control I had not to rip your underwear off you and fuck you into next year. I’ve told you this. I get hard whenever you look at me.”

I couldn’t resist: I lifted my eyes to look at him. He grabbed my hand and pushed it over his thickening erection. There was no mistake over what I was feeling. I felt wanton, standing there with my hand on him. He removed his hand from over mine but I stayed where he left me, looking directly at him. He groaned, stepped away, and turned his head out toward the sea. He hadn’t rejected me in his office; he had wanted me. But he had pulled away, just like now. But why? He answered my question before I asked it.

“I feel so raw around you, Leah, like you could rip my heart out without really trying. I was trying to protect myself and you. I can’t have you want me because you want to get revenge on Charlie, or because you want to drown out your pain. And I couldn’t bear to think I was taking advantage of you at such a vulnerable time. But make no mistake: There is no minute of my day that I don’t want you.”

Daniel was leaning on the balustrade, looking out to sea. I brought my hand to his back and smoothed his crumpled linen shirt.

“Thank you.” It was all I could think to say. I was thankful that he had stopped things in his office. I would have hated myself if I had ended up having sex with him after just finding out about Charlie. He was right, I would have been partly—mostly—using him. I was thankful that he was so open, so vulnerable with me. No man had ever talked about his feelings for me like Daniel did.

I was thankful that he cared so much he had flown to freaking Mexico to make sure I was OK.

I was thankful he was in my life.

Daniel stood up and pulled me into his chest. I snaked my arms around his waist, and we stayed there for what seemed like hours, both looking out to the sea. Eventually, he sighed and kissed me on top of my head. I looked up at him and smiled.

“I need to go. My flight leaves soon.”

“You’re going back? You’re not staying?”

“No, I have to get back. You need this time; you need to heal. I can be patient, for a short while at least,” he said with a grin. Hand in hand, we made our way to the reception area and were told that his car was waiting. He kissed me on the forehead and then slid into the car.

Just before the car sped away, he brought down the window and looked at me. “When you get back, be ready, Leah, because I’m coming for you.”