Not His Script
Have you seen this? Margaret held up the invitation as if it might bite her. Hes sent a proper invitation. On thick card. Gold-embossed. Like its some black-tie affair, and not She trailed off, deposited the envelope between two mugs of tea, and retreated to the window like she needed a breath of real London air.
Diana regarded the envelope. Thick, cream, ornate at the edges She didnt have to open it to know what it would say: With great delight followed by the date, some countryside gastropub outside Oxford, and the names. His and hers. Oliver Jameson and Sabrina Diana honestly didnt know the surname. Hadnt wanted to know.
Open it, Margaret said, staring past condensation on the glass. Or bin it. Third options not available.
Diana picked it up. Such heavy, expensive stationery, practically weighed down by Olivers love of the finer things. He always made sure people noticed, even when posting heartbreak.
Whys he done this? she saidnot quite a question, more a pronouncement of the bleeding obvious.
Because hes a prat, Margaret replied, because that was her god-given duty as a friend.
No, Diana mused. Its about making me feel small. He wants me to see him living the good lifewith his young bride, his party, his happiness. And he wants me to turn up and watch it. If, of course, I can bear it.
Margaret turned. Shed been Dianas friend for almost twenty-five years, since the glorious haze of their twenties in a Bloomsbury publishing house, giddy with hope. Margaret always knew when to pipe up and when to let silence do the heavy lifting.
So, what are you going to do?
Diana, tracing her finger over the gold curl of the invitation, shrugged. No idea.
And that was the truth. Three months ago shed have declared, Not on your life! before descending into tears, Margaret faithfully supplying tissues and biscuits. But it had been a year and a half since Oliver, with forensic chill over breakfast, calmly between sips of coffee, announced he was leaving. Said hed met someone else. Nothing personaljust one of those things. As if announcing hed changed his mobile contract, not his life.
In that eighteen months, Diana had gone through stages with names shed only admit after three gins. Shed had the cant eat at all stage, followed by the eating everything in sight stage, and the coldly logical where did I go wrong? stage, re-framing her life in little post-it notes that never quite ordered themselves into sense. And then, she had simply stopped looking for reasons.
Then there was Colin.
Mags, Diana said. I think Im going.
Where? The wedding?
Yep.
Margaret paused a second. And who with?
Diana actually smiled. Not a broad onea hint, barelybut enough to wrinkle Margarets brow.
Thats what makes it fun, Diana replied.
Colin had appeared out of nowhere, as men seem to do when youre halfway through convincing yourself youre quite happy alone, thanks very much. Not a dating app. Not a mutual friend. No, he was just queuing with her at a solicitors in Camden, waiting to sign over her half of a shared flat Oliver had generously left her, on the not-so-secret condition she leave the cottage in the Cotswolds well alone. Diana agreed. The cottage was too full of Sunday roasts, muddy wellies, and memories she could now abandon as someone elses problem.
Thered been about six people waiting that morning. Colin sat opposite, scrolling absently on his phone, then looked up.
Have you been here long?
Just over an hour, she replied.
He grinned. That means forty minutes to go, give or take.
How dyou know?
Third time here this week. Ive got their rhythm down pat.
He looked about fifty-seven, big but not intimidating, a touch worn round the eyes in the way workers are, not loafers. Silver hair, crisp haircut, a jacket so well-cut it had to be English, but no show-off labels. The sort of man underwhelmed by showing off.
They chatted those forty minutes away, which felt delightfully odd. Diana, after Oliver, had spoken to new people as if every word might explode in her face. With Colin, she found herself justtalking.
He was, as he put it, in asset restructuringwhich, when explained, meant buying ailing businesses, whipping them into shape, and then selling or keeping them. He wasnt braggy; talked about his work the way some people mention growing tomatoes. Diana had asked if it was hard. Hed shrugged. No harder than anything you put your mind to.
What about you? he asked.
Editor. Small press. Childrens books.
Thats a good job.
How do you figure?
Because kids are honest readers. If a books rubbish, theyll let you know.
Diana had to concede the point.
They spilled out into Kentish Town. It was early October; the leaves gold, the air with that special autumn crispness that makes you want to walk for no reason. Colin suggested coffee. Dianas reflex these days was to decline, because saying yes to good things only led to tears and half-melted Ben & Jerrys. But this time she said yes.
They sat in a tiny cafe, sipped coffee, and Diana marvelled at how comfortable she felt. Not exhilarating. Not frightening. Justnice.
They met again. Then again. By December, she no longer called it a coincidence.
Margaret, ever the quietly approving Greek chorus, at one point asked, He decent?
Hes decent, Diana answered.
Thats a big deal, Margaret had nodded.
And it was. After Oliver, decent was top-shelf praise. Oliver was charming, clever, a wizard with words and grand gestures. But not normal. Normal men dont announce over breakfast, with a glib little its nothing personal, that theyre moving on. Normal men dont send opulent invitations to their ex-wives just to score a point.
Eighteen years with Oliver. Theyd never properly marriedOliver always said, Why the paperwork? Were happy as we are. Well, now she knew why he was always so keen to keep things informal.
They never had children. That was another quiet corner of her mindeven Margaret never got the details. It just never happened. Shed stopped obsessing ages ago. When Oliver left, she noticed the absence again, looming brieflyand, as before, she simply let it drift away.
Shed told Colin about Oliver, all plainly, honest and undramatic. He listened, didnt interrupt, didnt coddle. When she finished he said, Eighteen years is quite a stretch.
It is.
What dyou feel about him now?
Diana thought carefully. Not for the right answer, but the true one.
Nothing in particular. Sometimes Im baffled I missed it so long.
Missed what?
That, for him, being the centre of attention was everything. Not in work or life, justin front of people. Like a child desperate to be noticed. I thought it was something else at the time.
Colin nodded, the way men do when theyve spent a lifetime learning not to overdo it.
That, Diana thought, was what she admired most. His gift for not filling silence with nonsense.
The golden invitation lingered on Dianas table for three days. She barely glanced at it, until finally she opened it. It was exactly what shed imagined: posh typeface, perfect paper, a date six weeks out. Even the name of the venue sounded like a backdrop from a BBC countryside dreams show.
She called Colin.
Hiya.
Are you busy?
Moderately. Should I be worried?
I got invited to a wedding. My ex is getting married. I want to go. Will you come with me?
He paused.
Tell me more.
So she did: the gold, the subtext, the pointed non-generosity of it all. Colin listened.
Alright, he said. When is it?
Six weeks. Twenty-third.
Right. Count me in. Though, warning: I may have interesting news by then. Might make the eveningunusual.
What kind of news?
Too soon to say.
Diana didnt press. If Colin wasnt ready to talk, hed outlast her.
She found out two weeks later.
They were in her kitchen, Colin dishing up chicken with something healthy, as was his habitfar tastier than her own, not that shed ever admitted it. Over tea he dropped it, as matter-of-fact as reading the weather:
Remember that firm I mentioned, Granite Logistics?
Vaguely. Lorries and vans, right?
Thats the one. I finished the purchase last week.
Congratulations! Good business?
Not bad. Needs workstaffing, structure. Theyve got around 120 on the books. One of them is someone you know.
Diana set her mug down.
Who?
Oliver Jameson. Hes their commercial director. Been there three years.
The silence was immense. They could hear the single night bus trundle past.
You knew? Diana asked quietly.
Not at first. Once negotiations were underway, I checked the staff list. Name, age, background I put two and two together.
He met her gaze. Level. Steady.
So what now? she asked.
Nothing. Its my firm, my call. I keep work and life separate. But you deserve to know.
In case?
He shrugged. In case we waltz into that wedding and he clocks my face, or realises his new boss is also my new date. Just so you know the lay of the land.
Diana wandered to the window. The Thames fog blanketed the street, all orange glow and London murk.
Funny, she said. Life sometimes lines itself up perfectly, even without us doing a thing.
I know, Colin answered. Never sure if thats fortunate or not.
And now?
Up to you.
She turned.
What am I meant to do with this information?
Nothing. Genuinely. His job depends on performance, not drama. The rest is your business.
Is he any good?
From what I gather, yes. Can close deals, sweet-talk clientsthe commercial director sort. If he does his job well, thats what matters.
So youre not sacking him?
Why would I? If he performs, he stays. Thats business.
Diana nodded, as if shed just issued herself a ruling.
Right then, she said. Well simply go to the wedding.
As it should be.
They sat quietly a moment. Diana finished her now-lukewarm tea.
Were you ever married? she asked, though she knew the answer.
Ages ago. Twelve years. Amicable splitour daughter lives in Manchester, friendly with my ex. Grown-ups all round.
Grown-ups. Hard to come by.
The month before the wedding passed in unremarkable fashion. Diana edited manuscripts, debated sparkly dialogue between fictional children and their grandmas, saw Colin twice a week. Thoughts of Oliver grew less like splinters and more like dreams you only half remember. Shed lived. So had he. That was enough.
A week before the big event, Margaret called.
So. Youre really going?
I am.
With Colin?
Who else.
Margaret was tentative. You know why youre going?
I do.
And why?
Diana had rehearsed this with herself. At first, it was Im curious. Then I want closure. Then, stubbornly honest, I want him to see me. And eventually: All of the above. That was fine.
He sent that invitation for himself, not out of kindness, she told Margaret. Ignoring it would have sent a message. But I want to go. Not because I must, but because I can. Because Im alright now, and he should see that. Not for him. For me.
Margaret was silent for a moment.
Good. Just promise youll dress the part.
Margaret!
No, not the part. Dress so he knows what he lost.
Diana laugheda proper laugh, not a polite one.
Ill keep that in mind.
She agonised over the dress. Not for lack of options, but because this had to be right. In the end, she went for navy blue, classic and simple, beautiful fabric, no fuss. Did her own hair, less dye these daysthe new silver suited her. It wasnt the look of a woman clinging to youth. It was, simply, herself.
She checked the mirror an hour before they left. A fifty-three-year-old woman looked back. Not forty-five, not sixty, just precisely fifty-three. A woman who knew who she was, and didnt mind.
That, she decided, was perfect.
Colin arrived, punctual as a table of accountants. When she opened the door, he simply said, You look very good.
Not beautiful, not stunning. Just, very good. Diana liked the accuracy.
They talked little on the drive outDiana watched Decembers snowy verges giving way to twinkling fairy lights as Colin navigated, steadfastly unruffled.
Nervous? he asked.
A bit. Not painfully so.
Only natural. How long since you saw him?
Last February. At the solicitors. He brought Sabrina. She stood by the door, in a pale pink puffer jacket.
Colin nodded.
Shes gorgeousabout thirty, maybe less. Blonde, tallish. Someone you might forget, but for a moment she makes an impression.
And how did that make you feel?
Uncomfortable. Not out of jealousy, but because of the way he looked at her. Like she was proof of something. Proof mostly for himself.
Proof?
That hes still young, still has it, still living the interesting life, not stuck. I felt sorry for him, really. Thats worse than being angry.
And the pity?
Long gone.
Good.
Good, Diana agreed.
The Birchwood Lodgepicturesque, of course: timber, strings of lights, birch trees dusted with snow in the car park. She noted, grudgingly, that it was tastefully done. Maybe Sabrina had chosen it. Olivers taste had always veered between flashy and what-hed-been-told-was-classy.
Inside, aromas of pine and fresh bread danced with the clatter of forty-odd guests. Diana scanned the crowd, caught a couple of recognisable faces, noticed a few discreet glances her way.
The groom and bride hadnt emerged yet.
Diana sipped water, while Colin, supremely calm, made small talk with someone he clearly knew from somewhere in the city. Typical. Put this man in a room anywhere from Cambridge to Cardiff, and hed run into someone from the trade.
She spotted Oliver before he saw hera touch heavier, face tanned, as if hed just returned from the Algarve. He wore his best suit, gleamed in the way he always had at parties, and when he saw Diana, his jaw flickered for the briefest momentflattered hesitation, a little boggle. As if hed longed for her to turn up, but counted on her staying away.
Diana acknowledged him with a cool nod. He returned it, a bit too carefully.
Dinner was charmingly low-keyno tiaras, just polite speeches. Diana noticed Oliver glancing not at her, but at Colin, sizing him up like a football manager eyeing the oppositions midfielder. She sipped lemon squash, slightly amused.
Eventually, Oliver made his approach. Alone.
Diana, he offered, inflecting every syllable as though hed been practising. Glad you could make it.
The tonenot glad, but pride mixed with that old, Oliver-Jameson uncertainty.
Congratulations, she replied.
This is Colin, then? he nodded toward Colin, who was deep in chat elsewhere.
Indeed.
Will you introduce us?
Why?
A flash of that old smiledazzle dimmed now by habit.
Just curious. He seemsserious.
He is.
Whats he do?
He works.
Oliver paused, caught the implication, and let the subject die.
You look well, he offered, as if tossing a coin.
I know.
No apology. Just fact.
Colin rejoined them. Oliver did his best manly handshake.
Good evening. Oliver Jameson. Bit of a special day, as youll have noticed.
I am aware, Colin answered. Colin Baker. Congratulations.
Known Diana long?
About a year.
Ah. Whats your line?
I run a few companies. Last month took over Granite Logistics. Lorries, mainly.
There was a pause just long enough to notice. Three beats.
Diana watched it sink in.
Olivers smile slipped, then was tugged back into place like a mislaid cufflink.
Really? he said, voice tight.
Really.
What a coincidence.
The worlds full of them, Colin observed, with zero irony.
Oliver glanced at Diana. She returned his lookneutral, not triumphant. The look you give someone you used to know better than your own shoes, but now cant recall the fit.
Well, then, Oliver said. Pleasure.
Likewise, Colin replied.
Oliver retreated with requisite dignity, straightening his tie as he melted into the throng. He never looked back. Diana almost wanted to clap.
Colin leant toward her and whispered, Did you see that?
Clear as day, she replied.
And?
She raised her glass of squash. I felt nothing. That, I think, is the only correct response.
They lasted another hour before Diana declared she was ready to leave. She exchanged efficient farewells, let her gaze slide past Olivers again. He watched them as they headed out, but she didnt give him the satisfaction of a backward glance.
Colins car was blissfully warm. The motorway lit by sodium lamps, snow swirling beyond. They were quiet, but not uncomfortably so.
Want to know what Im thinking? Diana said, halfway back to London.
Go on.
A year and a half ago, getting this invitation would have made me feel two inches tall. That was exactly his intentionto show me hed moved on, while I was left standing still.
And now?
Now I know I wasnt standing still. I was walking in another direction. Turns out theres plenty to see that way.
Colin almost smileda tiny, sideways thing.
What will you do with this wisdom?
Just enjoy knowing it, Diana said. Thats quite enough.
The silence stretched; the citys orange lights blinked by. Diana considered her daythe manuscript due back Monday, ringing Margaret for debrief, the feeling of okay-ness settling into the season. She thought about Oliver, too, but without sting. Tomorrow, hed wake up next to Sabrina, perfectly happy or performing happiness. Sooner or later, hed Google Colin Baker, Granite Logistics London, and connect dots. Oliver couldnt stand a gap in his narrative.
Hed find everything he needed. And from then on, that was his problem.
Colin pulled into Dianas street.
Coming in? she asked.
No, Ive an early one tomorrow.
She nodded, opened the door, paused.
Col.
Yeah?
When will you tell him? About your planswho stays, who goes?
Probably in a monthafter the full review.
And whatll you decide about him?
Colin looked at her squarely.
Depends on his work. Nothing else. Promise.
Fair enough. I just had to check.
Checked?
Checked.
She stepped out onto the snowy pavement. Clean, deep, honest London snow. Up the stairs, she glanced backhe was still there, waiting till she was safely inside. Those tiny details, she realised, were what distinguished men worth keeping from those who belonged in someone elses story.
Inside, it was silent. She kicked off her shoes, stuck the kettle on, sat where the invitation had lain, now vanished, not even a tear across it, just gone. Forgotten on purpose.
When the tea brewed, she texted Margaret: Its over. All fine. Debrief tomorrow.
Margaret replied instantlythree question marks, classic Margaret.
Tomorrow, Diana texted, pocketed her phone.
She nursed the hot tea, stared at the white glow of snow outside. Thought of work, curtains that needed replacing, how soon the new year was. For the first time inactually, forevershe didnt think about Oliver at all.
He was back at the Birchwood Lodge, in some other, separate future of white dresses and family speeches. His plan. His story. Shed stopped puzzling over it long before.
She washed her mug, clicked off the kitchen light, changed for bed. The snow outside glowed on. She lay, thinking of tomorrows work, Margarets apple pie with cinnamon, Colins lorries, ordinary Thursdays. She thought: this is enough.
Three weeks later, Margaret rang on a rainy Friday at the office.
You heard? she said without introduction.
Heard what?
Oliver rang Tamarayou remember Tamara? Copywriting in the nineties, now with that ad agency.
I remember. They go way back.
He grilled her about Colin. Whats he like, how long youve known each other, all the rest.
Diana gazed out at the dreary February.
Did she tell him anything?
Just said she didnt know much. But she reckons he already knewhe was weirdly quiet, apparently.
I see, Diana said.
Doesnt that feelodd to you?
No, she said. I expected as much.
And now?
Now I go about my life.
Margaret paused on the other end. You know what I find strange? she said. That you really dont care. Ive known you twenty years. You used to feel everything so deeply. Now youre different.
Im not different, Diana replied. Ive just realised I never needed his approval. I only thought I did. Theres a difference.
Margaret took that in.
Diana, Im happy for you. Genuinely.
Thanks. Come for tea next week. Apple pie, cinnamon?
Done.
They hung up. Diana picked up her manuscript, made a note: Gran says it, straight and simple. Kids always know when youre telling the truth. Pause. Then, added: So do grown-ups.
A month on, Colin announced, over dinner, hed finished the company review.
Olivers staying, he said. Hes genuinely good at his job. Theyre hard to find.
Fine by me.
Does it bother you?
Nope. Its your business. Your call.
And if I was letting him go?
Id say fine as well. So long as its about business. I dont need you to do things for menot like that.
He studied her for a long minute, then smiled slightly.
Thats why I tell you everything.
They sat in quiet againspring on the horizon, the air somewhere between winter and green promise.
Hes asked to meet, said Colin.
Oliver?
Wants to talk future strategy. Pretty standard. Just anchoring himself.
And?
I said yes. Next week.
Diana turned it over in her mind, imagining Oliver shuffling into his boss office to stake out his territory, with her as invisible backdrop. Maybe hed feel that awkwardness shed suffered at breakfast that long-ago February. Maybe not.
Will you tell him about us?
If he asks, yes. If not, why bother?
Fair point.
She thumbed the new manuscript, lost in thought. Relationships after fifty, she reckoned, are built not on yearning or panic but the quiet decision to share space, time, days. Not fear or force of habit. Something harder to name.
She thought of that wisdom that isnt about birthdays, but about finally getting up from the bottom after truly, really touching it. Not hurrying. It had taken her a year and a half. Some need more, some less. The point is, it can be done.
She turned a page she hadnt finished.
Colin
Yes?
Do you think Oliver understands? That none of this is anyones script, just things happening, no one deliberately plotting it out?
He considered. Hes clever enough. Clever people get that.
Does it bother him?
Thats his problem, not ours.
Diana nodded, went back to her book.
You know, when he sent that invitation, I thought it was about me. Like he was saying something to me, about me. But actually, it was just him talking to himself.
Exactly, said Colin.
We always think we know people. Eighteen years, every day. Then they do something and you realise you only saw what they wanted. Maybe thats true for all of us.
It is.
Different, now.
Different, Colin agreed.
She really read now.
Spring eventually broke through; the last snow retreated to northern shadows, leaving soggy grass and sunlight poking between red double-deckers and daffodils by the river. Diana was walking through Bloomsbury one lunch, thinking of nothing in particular, when her phone buzzed with a number she didnt know.
Hello?
Diana Its Oliver.
She didnt flinch. Shed expected this, sooner or later.
Yes.
Have you got a moment?
Briefly.
I just A pause. He was groping for words, strikingly out of character. I just didnt expect youd come. Or that Well, never mind.
So why call?
A pause. How are you?
She watched a trio of young mums drift by a bakery, laughing. Daffodils everywhere.
Im alright. You?
Fine. Or, you knowfine.
Glad to hear it.
He hesitated. Did you know? About Colin. About the company.
I found out shortly before the wedding.
And you still came.
Yes.
Silence. She let it last.
That was honest, he finally said.
It was.
Well good luck, Diana.
You too.
She slipped her phone away, waited a moment, then carried on down the street. Daffodils glowed. Early, yesbut definitely spring.
She reached the office, headed for another day of manuscripts and awkward conversations about commas. Work she was lucky to have, she realised. In the end, some parts of life do, in fact, turn out right. Even if you cant see it for a while.
Her phone was quiet. Sunlight crept around corners.
Life, she thought, might not follow a script, but sometimes you end up precisely where you belong.
