Confessions of a Reluctant Recessionista

I do, Ali?’
    ‘You didn’t do anything, Cassie, he’s just a shit. I know that deep down you know that.’
    ‘He’s not a shit . . . He’s just . . .’
    ‘An arsehole.’
    ‘No, no. I must have done something to drive him away. I just don’t know what. You have to tell me, Ali, what you heard. You were suspicious, weren’t you? Why? Please tell me what you know.’
    ‘Cassie, it doesn’t matter now . . .’ she started to say.
    ‘It does matter, Ali. I need to know, please just tell me.’
    She sighed. ‘All right, it was a couple of weeks ago. In the pub after work, some guys were talking about her. Tania. Apparently she has a bit of a reputation, she had to leave Allen Brothers because of an affair with her boss. Allegedly. Anyway, they were talking about her, you know the sort of thing, “I’d hit that,” all that bullshit, and someone said something about Dan, suggesting that they should ask him what she was like.’
    ‘Oh, Christ.’
    ‘Anyway, the second they noticed I was listeningthey shut up. And . . . I don’t know, I didn’t really take it seriously. I thought maybe they were talking about something that had happened before you guys got together.’ She didn’t sound very convincing. ‘I was going to ask you if everything was OK, but when I came round last week and you were talking about anniversary weekends and things, I just assumed everything must be OK.’
    ‘I thought it was,’ I said, waving at the waitress as I polished off my drink. ‘But then I’m clearly a complete idiot.’
    ‘No, Cassie, you just see the good in people. You trust people.’
    ‘Exactly. I’m an idiot.’
    I was woken by a door hitting me sharply on the top of my head. I opened my eyes to discover that I was lying on the cold blue tiles of our bathroom floor, fully clothed, my feet in the shower cubicle. A dark-haired man was standing over me, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern.
    ‘I’m so sorry. Are you all right? What are you doing down there?’ he spluttered.
    ‘Well, I was asleep,’ I said crossly, struggling to sit up. ‘Who the hell are you?’
    He offered a hand to help me up, but I waved it away.
    ‘I’m Jake,’ he said, retreating slowly as I hauled myself to my feet, glaring at him. ‘I’m a friend of Jude’s. We came back here to work on a project we’re doing together at college.’
    ‘Well, you should think about knocking before barging into my bathroom,’ I snapped at him.
    ‘The door was open,’ he pointed out.
    ‘You could knock anyway. God, what time is it? Is it early? I feel like death.’
    ‘It’s twelve thirty,’ he said. He grinned an annoying lopsided grin. ‘I have to say you don’t look that hot.’
    ‘Thank you very much,’ I snarled, barging past him and into the living room, where Jude was sitting on the sofa, a stack of papers laid out on the coffee table in front of her.
    ‘Oh hi, Cass,’ she chirped. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to. Tried to ring you last night – I ended up crashing round Amanda’s place.’ She frowned at me. ‘God, you look terrible.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘No, really, you do. I’ve got a friend round, by the way. Jake.’
    ‘We met,’ I said sourly, yanking open the fridge. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, there’s no bloody milk!’
    ‘I did buy it last time,’ Jude murmured, going back to her reading.
    ‘Good for you!’ I snapped.
    ‘Cassie!’ she said. ‘I was just pointing out   ’
    ‘Dan cheated on me!’ I yelled at her. Jude did her level best to look surprised.
    ‘Dan was cheating on me. With an American! Some old, wrinkled, thirty-five-year-old American!’
    Jake wandered back into the living room. ‘Thirty-five’s not really that old,’ he said.
    For a second I thought about throwing my empty coffee mug at him, but instead I just slammed it down on the kitchen counter.
    ‘I’m sorry about your boyfriend,’ he said. ‘That’s awful.’
    ‘Yes, well, men are awful,’ I retorted, shoving past him for the second time that morning.
    I marched back into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Catching sight of my reflection in the mirror, I did a double take. They were right, I did look hideous – washed out, blotchy and bleary-eyed, with my hair sticking up at weird angles, thanks to a night spent, literally, on the tiles. I was mortified. I can’t believe I’d let people see me like this. Oh, Christ. I got into the shower and scrubbed, trying to wash away the pain,