The Ex Next Door


 The Ex Next Door
 
 
 Cover
 
 
 Title Page
 
 
 Dedication
 
 
 Prologue
 
 
 Chapter 1
 
 
 Chapter 2
 
 
 Chapter 3
 
 
 Chapter 4
 
 
 Chapter 5
 
 
 Chapter 6
 
 
 Chapter 7
 
 
 Chapter 8
 
 
 Chapter 9
 
 
 Chapter 10
 
 
 Chapter 11
 
 
 Chapter 12
 
 
 Chapter 13
 
 
 Chapter 14
 
 
 Chapter 15
 
 
 Chapter 16
 
 
 Chapter 17
 
 
 Chapter 18
 
 
 Chapter 19
 
 
 Chapter 20
 
 
 Chapter 21
 
 
 Chapter 22
 
 
 Chapter 23
 
 
 Chapter 24
 
 
 Chapter 25
 
 
 Chapter 26
 
 
 Chapter 27
 
 
 Chapter 28
 
 
 Chapter 29
 
 
 Chapter 30
 
 
 Chapter 31
 
 
 Chapter 32
 
 
 Chapter 33
 
 
 Chapter 34
 
 
 Chapter 35
 
 
 Chapter 36
 
 
 Chapter 37
 
 
 Chapter 38
 
 
 Chapter 39
 
 
 Acknowledgements
 
 
 About the Author
 
 
 Also by Jo Platt
 
 
 Copyright
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Cover
 
 
 Table of Contents
 
 
 Start of Content
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Dedication
 For Gerry and Tony, with love.
 
 
 Prologue
 From the moment we met, Elliot and I had a shared sense that we were meant to be. A chance encounter at a London art exhibition left us mutually smitten and, swept along by an intensity of feeling, we had moved in together within weeks. In the months that followed, every major step forward occurred without debate or dissent and, for over two years, I felt only deep affection and a certainty that we would be together for the rest of our lives.
 Looking back, it was hard to pinpoint exactly when things started to change, largely because the deterioration in our relationship – or at least in my experience of it – had occurred so gradually. But what I did know was that the decline had gone hand in hand with a growing anxiety on my part about the fact that I was not the only woman in Elliot’s life who found him attractive.
 Not that women finding him attractive was anything new. It was just that it hadn’t bothered me before, because it hadn’t felt like it had anything to do with us as a couple. But for whatever reason and, as I said, at a point that I have never since been able to determine, I began to feel insecure about it, and also increasingly inadequate when, for example, he mentioned certain female work colleagues.
 I would occasionally, casually mention my insecurities to him, but he would always just laugh them off, in an incredulous and dismissive kind of way, which was actually quite reassuring – but only temporarily. Over time, my anxieties slowly built, eventually becoming tinged with suspicion.
 It was a suspicion which peaked three Fridays before Christmas – the night of Elliot’s office party, when he texted me at around midnight to say that he was going to the home of his colleague, James, for drinks and that rather than disturb me in the early hours, he was going to stay over. I could hear female voices in the background as he made the call and I told him not to worry about disturbing me, I would rather that he came home. He had laughed at that, told me I was sweet and that he’d see me in the morning.
 By the time he turned up the next day at around lunchtime, I was distraught with wholly unsubstantiated concern as to what he might have got up to. Nevertheless, I resolved to play it cool, feigning an interest in the trivial details of his evening, but all the while keeping an ear out for any mention of another woman.
 ‘Was the restaurant good?’ I asked.
 ‘It was OK,’ he replied, from his stretched-out position on the sofa. ‘But not great.’
 ‘And how was James? Did his wife mind you crashing back there? How many of you went?’
 ‘Only four.’
 ‘And she was OK with that? Haven’t they got a toddler?’
 ‘They were asleep and we kept a lid on it.’
 ‘Did Andrew make it, or did he bail?’
 ‘He bailed. As usual.’ He yawned and stretched lazily.
 ‘How about Harvey?’
 ‘He was there for a bit.’
 ‘And Rachel? She’s usually up for a late night.’
 ‘Yes.’ He extended a hand towards the coffee table and picked up a magazine.
 I controlled my breathing, my stress levels rising further with the confirmation that he had spent post-party time with Rachel Letts, a woman who, in my opinion, was amongst his most ardent admirers, seeking him out at every work event to which I’d tagged along.
 His phone buzzed and, as he removed it from his pocket, I craned my neck in an attempt to see the screen from my position in the armchair beside him. I glimpsed a capital ‘R’ and a lower case ‘h’ in the sender’s name.
 ‘Anything important?’
 ‘No.’ He yawned for a second time.
 ‘Who was it?’
 I was aware of a snap to my tone and there followed a pause, during which Elliot hauled himself into a sitting position and turned towards me.
 ‘Are you OK, Esme?’
 I blinked, as if confused. ‘Yes. Why?’
 ‘Because you seem tense.’
 ‘Because I asked who texted you?’
 He frowned and then held the phone out towards me. ‘Richard.’
 I stared at the name, clearly visible at the top of the screen, and nodded dumbly as Elliot returned the phone to his pocket.
 ‘And you’re positive everything is OK?’ he asked gently.
 I forced a smile. ‘Positive,’ I said, moving from my chair to the sofa and kissing his cheek, frustrated with myself over an irrational and constantly resurfacing jealousy that I just