The Last Letter from Your Lover

Prologue
    Later x
    Ellie Haworth spies her friends through the throng and weaves her way through the bar. She drops her bag at her feet and places her phone on the table in front of them. They are already well lubricated – it’s in the tenor of their voices, the extravagant arm movements and loud laughter, the empty bottles between them.
    ‘Late.’ Nicky holds up her watch, wagging a finger at her. ‘Don’t tell us. “I had a story I had to finish.”’
    ‘Interview with wronged MP’s wife. Sorry. It was for tomorrow’s edition,’ she says, sliding into the empty seat and pouring herself a glass from the dregs of a bottle. She pushes her phone across the table. ‘Okay. Tonight’s annoying word for discussion: “later”.’
    ‘Later?’
    ‘As a sign-off. Does that mean tomorrow or later today? Or is it just some horrible teenage affectation that actually means nothing at all?’
    Nicky peers at the glowing screen. ‘It’s “later” plus an “X”. That’s like “goodnight”. I’d say tomorrow.’
    ‘Definitely tomorrow,’ says Corinne. ‘“Later” is always tomorrow.’ She pauses. ‘Or it could even mean the day after.’
    ‘It’s very casual.’
    ‘Casual?’
    ‘As in something you might say to the postman.’
    ‘You’d send a kiss to your postman?’
    Nicky grins. ‘I might. He’s gorgeous.’
    Corinne studies the message. ‘I don’t think that’s fair. It could just mean he was in a hurry to do something else.’
    ‘Yeah. Like his wife.’
    Ellie shoots a warning look at Douglas.
    ‘What?’ he says. ‘I’m just saying, don’t you think you’re past the point where you should be deciphering text-speak?’
    Ellie gulps her wine, then leans forward over the table. ‘Okay. I need another drink if I’m about to get the lecture.’
    ‘If you’re intimate enough with someone to have sex in their office, I think you should be able to ask them to clarify when you might be meeting them for coffee.’
    ‘What does the rest of the message say? And please tell me it’s nothing about sex in his office.’
    Ellie peers at her phone, scrolling down the messages. ‘“Tricky calling from home. Dublin next week but not sure yet what plans are. Later x.”’
    ‘He’s keeping his options open,’ Douglas says.
    ‘Unless he’s . . . you know . . . not sure what his plans are.’
    ‘Then he would have said, “Will call from Dublin.” Or even “I’ll fly you out to Dublin.”’
    ‘Is he taking his wife?’
    ‘He never does. It’s a work trip.’
    ‘Perhaps he’s taking someone else,’ Douglas murmurs, into his beer.
    Nicky shakes her head meditatively. ‘God, wasn’t life easier when they had to ring you and speak to you? Then you could at least gauge rejection from the sound of their voice.’
    ‘Yes.’ Corinne snorts. ‘And you could sit at home by the phone for hours waiting for them to call.’
    ‘Oh, the nights I spent –’
    ‘– Checking the dial tone was working –’
    ‘– and then slamming down the phone just in case that had been the exact minute they rang.’
    Ellie hears them laugh, acknowledging the truth in their humour, some small part of her still waiting to see the little screen illuminate suddenly with a call. A call that, given the hour and that things are ‘tricky at home’, isn’t going to happen.
    Douglas walks her home. He is the only one of the four of them living with a partner, but Lena, his girlfriend, is big in technology PR and often at her office until ten or eleven at night. Lena doesn’t mind him coming out with his old friends – she has accompanied him a few times but it’s hard for her to penetrate the wall of old jokes and knowing references that come with a decade and a half of friendship; most of the time she lets him come alone.
    ‘So, what’s going on with you, big boy?’ Ellie nudges him as they skirt a shopping trolley that someone has left on the pavement. ‘You didn’t say anything about yourself back there. Unless I missed it all.’
    ‘Not much,’ he says, and hesitates. He shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘Actually, that’s not quite true. Um . . . Lena wants to have a baby.’
    Ellie looks up at him. ‘Wow.’
    ‘And I do too,’ he adds hastily. ‘We’ve been talking about it for ages, but we’ve decided now that there’s never going to be a right time so we might as well get on with it.’
    ‘You old romantic.’
    ‘I’m . . . I dunno . . . quite happy about