The Divorce Club (14 page)

"Breakfast. He's sleeping with the poor soul.
I bet she doesn't know he's still legally married," Mel mutters.
"That broad needs to open her eyes. Aren't you glad you're not that
naïve to fall for his cheap lines?"

I nudge her. "It's none of our business."

"So, Sarah, should he go for it?" Shannon
asks. "Is he ready? I'd hate this poor girl to miss out on this
wonderful opportunity. I'd jump on it in a heartbeat."

"I think you might be rusty," Lucy says. "I,
on the other hand—"

Shannon shakes her head. "You're even rustier
since you're older, but nothing a can of oil won't fix, right,
Lucy?"

Lucy leans forward, gaze blazing. "Oh, I
never pretended to be younger than I am, but unlike you, I've
learned the art of flirting. The way you're ready to toss yourself
at the next best lad's just desperate."

I groan and sink deeper into my chair as I
wait for more drama to unfold. It's all my fault for letting Jamie
join us. Why do women get out their claws every time there's a man
around?

"Whoa, ladies," Jamie says. "Let Sarah
continue with the meeting, please."

I smile even though I'm not thankful because
he started it all with his little demonstration that he's already
moved on, and now everyone wants to jump on the bandwagon. "Jamie
needs to really make sure the door's closed on Chloe before he
leaps into another relationship because it's not fair on the woman
to raise her hopes and then have them crushed."

Jamie grins at me, seemingly pleased with the
answer. The session continues without further incidents, for which
I'm most grateful. We break up to get some coffee and cake. I grab
Mel's arm in the hope to see her alone in the kitchen. She breaks
free, unfazed by my insistency.

When I return with a laden tray, I notice
Jamie staring at a car parked outside. It's just a car, I tell
myself, yet sudden uneasiness settles in the pit of my stomach.

"Who's that?" I ask.

Jamie turns to face me, his eyes settling on
the chocolate muffins. "Don't know, but it's been there for an
hour."

My heartbeat speeds up. "Really? Do you think
he's watching us?"

Jamie shrugs. "Don't know. Maybe he's just
waiting for someone."

I nod because his calm demeanor’s rubbing off
on me. "Yes, probably." It has to be true. On the other hand, if
it's my stalker, then it shows that Jamie's not guilty.

"It's just—" Jamie frowns.

"What?" I ask, breathlessly.

"It's probably a coincidence, at the
restaurant I thought someone was watching us from across the
street. It might've been the same car."

That leaves me speechless. The same car, what
are the odds?

"As I said, I'm being paranoid." He laughs
and buries his hands in his jeans pockets. "I'm not always like
this."

"It's okay, I'm
always
like this." We
both laugh and return to our seats. By the time the session's over,
the car outside's gone.

The washing machine's still on with last
month's clothes when I leave the house to get to my second
individual meeting. Under normal circumstances, I'd be more
responsible and switch it off, however if I don't wash today and
iron on Thursday I doubt I'll have enough clothes for our weekend
in France.

Shannon only lives a borough away, but
judging from the white-fenced detached houses and their small yet
immaculate gardens, I could as well be in Wales. No wonder she's
not keen on losing her visa and giving up the money she's invested
in her beautiful home. I park in the driveway next to a black SUV
and get out. She's already standing in the doorway, dressed in a
short skirt, high heels and a tight top that reveals a little too
much cleavage. I couldn't have done a better job.

"Sarah, you came." Shannon air-kisses me as
though we've been friends forever. In this instant, I feel as
though we have been, or at least partners in crime.

"Of course, I did. Why wouldn't I?"

"Come on in." I can tell she's nervous from
the way she wriggles her hands. She's stalling for time. This makes
two of us.

"Sure. We can spare a minute or two."

Shannon smiles, relieved, and leads me into a
spacious living room decorated in white and dark mahogany colors.
It's not as spectacular as Jamie's but I can tell she didn't skimp
on the interior design. "Please, take a seat. I'll be right
back."

She disappears while I peer around. A
fireplace with decorative logs covers half of the wall. Several
picture frames line the pane above it. I inch closer and hold up a
photo in which a young man has his arm draped around a younger
Shannon.

"I thought you might have a sweet tooth."

I jump, clutching the frame to my chest. "How
did you guess?" I put the picture back. And turn my back on it.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"Don't worry." Shannon places two cups of
café latte on a side table and comes closer. "That's my brother. I
haven't seen him since moving here."

"It must be tough leaving behind your family
to start a new life." I sit on the sofa and grab my cup, ready to
hear a long story, but Shannon's surprisingly reticent.

"It's hard starting from scratch anywhere."
She takes a sip of her coffee and watches me do the same before she
says, "Things aren't working out between Miles and me, but I don't
want to go back to the States yet. I like my life here."

I squeeze her hand. "That's why I'm here to
help you sort out your issues."

"Do you think we can do it?" Her eyes turn
shiny as though with excitement, but it might as well be fear. I
don't want to raise her hopes in case they get crushed, so I
hesitate, hoping—praying—I don't have to answer. She nods, getting
the message, and changes the subject. "You're not from London
either."

I laugh, thankful for the lighter topic. "How
could you tell?"

She shrugs. "Maybe it's the way you speak, or
the way you behave. I can't quite pinpoint it. I might be American
and not yet accustomed with the British way of life, but you strike
me as different."

"I grew up in a cottage near Brighton and
only moved to London to study psychology," I say. "After meeting
Greg, I never considered moving back because this is where he
wanted to live. Deep down I yearn for the values and simple way of
life of my childhood. It drives me crazy not to be able to give my
daughter what I once had."

"She might not like it."

That's something I never considered. For a
moment, I ponder over her words. "I guess you're right. Shopping in
a tiny mall can't beat Oxford Street." I drain my cup and eye the
untouched cake. As inviting as it looks, I don't think I could
swallow more than a bite.

"Oxford Street blew my mind. Who wouldn't
love two miles of nothing but shops? That's what I call pure
boutique heaven," Shannon says. "You're not hungry either, are
you?"

I shake my head and stand, suddenly nervous.
"Not really, but thanks so much for the coffee."

"Time to go, I guess." Shannon hesitates, the
hands jiggling returning again.

We take her car because she knows the way and
keep silent throughout the short drive to the bank. The closer we
get, the stronger the tension in the air. Eventually, we park in
front of a grey building and step out.

"It's a small branch," I say. I'm not sure I
like that.

Shannon moistens her lips as she leads me
through a narrow door into the reception area. "The offices are
situated at the back. The mortgage advisor's already expecting
us."

"I hope he's single," I whisper. "The married
ones are harder cases to crack."

The receptionist takes Shannon's name and
asks her to wait until she's called. I keep my gaze lowered to the
cheap rug as I mentally recall my plan one more time. A man in his
twenties, with slicked back blond hair and dressed in a pin-stripe
suit and silk tie approaches. His gaze travels up Shannon's long
legs before he meets her gaze, and his cheeks turn scarlet. Pulling
his big glasses as he asks us to follow him to his office, he
reminds me of Woody Allen. He probably has failed to realize yet
we're no longer in the 1970s.

What he called his office is an ugly cubicle
dominated by a huge mahogany desk and glass windows that give a
false sense of anonymity. My heart beats faster. If I'm nervous, I
don't want to know how Shannon feels since her existence depends on
our performance. I smile at her and then turn to the advisor. His
nametag reads Jake.

"You wanted an appointment to talk about your
mortgage?" Jake glances from Shannon to me as though he's talking
to neither of us specifically.

"Yes, and this is my legal advisor." Shannon
points at me and leans forward, her breasts almost spilling over
the trimming of her tight top. "She's helping me out with my
divorce."

Jake can't resist a fleeting look at her
cleavage before he starts skimming through his papers. "Will you be
selling?"

Shannon shakes her head. "No. I want to keep
the house, but I'm scared I might not be able to because I'm not a
British citizen."

"There's no law that says a foreigner can't
buy a house in the UK," I say. "However, she'll need a reference
for the Home Office since she doesn't have indefinite leave to
remain yet."

"You're still a homemaker?" Jake frowns and
looks up at her. "How will you repay the mortgage?"

"I'm only unemployed because I'm still
waiting for my work permit," Shannon says. "After I get it, I'll
find a job."

"Maybe you should stay married until you get
the work permit," Jake says.

Shannon snorts. "You mean, stay with the
cheating jerk? I can't work it out with a lying sociopath who comes
home at all hours of the night smelling of cheap perfume. Do you
want to hear all the ugly details?"

I nudge her. "He doesn't have all day."

Jake's eyes widen. "He cheats on you? The guy
must be blind."

"All men cheat. It's biological," Shannon
says. "Men are born to spread the seed. It's programmed in their
DNA."

Jake shakes his head. "No, not all men."

"Let me tell you, they're all morons,"
Shannon continues. "Not you, of course, but—"

Shannon's digging herself a deep hole. I need
to intervene, so I lean forward until Jake peels his gaze off
Shannon and say, "I sense you're a man of integrity. You'd never
cheat."

"My mum would flipping kill me if I brought
home a different girl every month, and then who'd drive me to work?
I hate the British public transport."

Oh, goodness. He still lives with Mummy and
doesn't own a car. Cut the cord, boy. Leave the nest. Spread your
wings and fly. I wonder if I'd give this same advice to Sam if she
lived with me at twenty-two.

"Listen, Shannon, I'd advice staying with the
jerk, just until the papers go through. Sleep in different
bedrooms," Jake says.

He's a clever guy, I can tell. But he's also
weak in that he has the bank's benefits at heart. I sigh and start
drumming my fingers on the table. "Jake." He pries his gaze from
Shannon cleavage and faces me again as I continue, "I'm an
immigration attorney with a City firm. It's my job to finalize her
divorce just as much as it's my job to get her a work permit. I've
never failed. In fact, I can't fail because I love my six-figure
salary too much."

He grimaces, probably wondering where I'm
heading with my rant. Shannon shoots me an encouraging look, so I
take a deep breath and go on. "You're a good employee, eager to
move up the career ladder. The thing is, you won't because we're
talking about a huge mortgage here. A mortgage that Shannon's nasty
husband Miles will take to the competition."

"He's never liked this bank. Always said it
isn't posh enough and his friends at the golf club are laughing at
him." Shannon shuffles in her seat and moistens her lips, the pink
tip of her tongue leaving a moist trail. Jake leans back, pink
spots spread across his cheeks.

"How fast can you provide a reference?" I
ask. "It doesn't have to be as long as a novel; just a few lines
that you're willing to
consider
letting her keep the house
in spite of being unemployed because she's such a valuable asset to
the United Kingdom, that she's made the mortgage repayments on time
and so forth. You know the drills."

"Shannon's definitely an asset to our
country." Jake seems less sure of himself; the lines on his
forehead turn into visible furrows. "I'll have to talk to my
supervisor first."

"You don't have time, Jake." I shake my head.
"We need this reference letter by tomorrow which is why I've taken
the liberty to type it up for you. All you need to do is get out
the stamp and sign the line. We're doing your career a favor here,
and you know it. Do you have any idea how much money you're losing
the bank if you let a half-million mortgage go? You'll end up
either in the cashier's office or at Jobseeker's."

"That'd be a shame because I always thought
you did a great job," Shannon says. "Unfortunately, my husband
never agreed."

"Please don't tell anyone I did this." Jake
starts reading the sheet of paper I pushed toward him and gets out
the bank's stamp. I hold my breath as he puts his signature on the
last page, then pushes it back toward me. "The husband will still
have to sign the house over to you."

"He will." Either that or he'll have to fork
out Shannon's money. The way he spends most of what he earns on
partying and women, I don't see him being able to afford a
settlement any time soon. I stand and wait for Shannon to do the
same. "You've been a darling, Jake. Thank you for your time."

"If you need anything, here's my number."
Jake scribbles on the back of his business card. "You can call me
any time."

Smiling, Shannon drops the card inside her
bag and we walk out slowly, my heart beating faster than before. I
don't know why, but for some reason I feel as though I've just
robbed the bank.