I had no hangover to rely on the next morning. It was just me and Lucy’s obnoxiously smiley face. I understood why I had done it, I was desperate to create some kind of rift between Claire and me. I knew myself well enough to realise that only recklessness would get me there. But why, of all the women in London, had I picked Lucy? The answer was as clear as it was simple, because she was there, she was always bloody there, lurking around for a chance at something. The sun drenched my room in a yellow glow. We hadn’t even bothered to close the curtains.
“Morning,” I said. Lucy’s love-sick eyes beamed back at me and for the first time in long months I wanted to be single. Jennifer, Lucy, Claire and Lucy again. All this overlap, this endless line of women with whom I traded different parts of me. Claire had my heart, that was clear, she didn’t have my trust, nor my respect, but she sure had my heart. Jennifer had my self-respect. But really, Jennifer was long-forgotten. And Lucy, she had me by the balls. “I don’t suppose there’s any way we can keep this from your aunt?” Half of Lucy’s clothes, as hard evidence, were still strewn over the sitting room. But I suspected that Eleanor, unlike myself, might be suffering from a hangover.
“It’s nine-thirty, she may still be asleep. I’ll go look.” Lucy pulled a robe from a hanger at the door and tip-toed down the stairs. I fell back into the pillows, the stale smell of sex all around me. Then my phone rang. Claire. I declined the call but she instantly called back.
“Hey, baby. I’m at the door downstairs. I brought you breakfast. I didn’t want to wake the house.”
“W-what? You’re here?”
“Yes. I missed you this morning−”
“OK. Hold on, I’ll come down.” For the love of God, Claire was not someone who served you breakfast in bed on a Sunday morning. I slipped into last night’s shirt and hurried down the stairs. Lucy was quietly making her way back up.
“The coast is clear,” she said. “Auntie Eleanor is still in bed.”
“Lucy, I need you to listen and do me a really big favour.” She would probably fling herself in front of a bus for me right now. “Claire is at the door. I need to let her in. Can you please wait upstairs. I’ll try to get rid of her.”
“Wh−“
“We don’t have time to discuss it, please, Lucy.” I would have begged her on my knees if I had to. I had wished for something to happen but this kind of confrontation, this sick collision of my boss, my home and my girlfriend was a tad too much for an ordinary Sunday morning. “Did you get all your clothes?”
“Yes. I’ll be in your room.” At least it wiped that smug smile off her face.

I took a deep breath and swung the front door open. Claire stood there, all Claire-like in her leather boots and jacket, her mahogany hair darting up and down in the wind, her eyes liquid and sexy, her smile defiant − ready for a fight.
“What is it with you and walking out in the middle of the night? Is that a new habit of yours?” She kissed me full on the lips. I hadn’t had time to wash, Lucy’s smell must have still clung to me. She didn’t seem to notice. “I have croissants and pains-au-chocolat, just like the old days.” My brain frantically searched for a next move. I had to either get her out of the house quickly, or own up.
“Thanks. Why don’t I put on some more clothes and we eat those in the park? It’s a gorgeous morning, don’t you think?”
“I brought pastries for your landlady as well. I came on a bit strong yesterday with the whole moving in thing. I figured you’d be living here for a while and I’d make an effort to get to know your housemates.” She flashed her most cocky smile. “What do you think, baby? Sunday brunch with the family?”

To be continued…