11 The Teashop on the Corner by Milly Johnson

with her, jump; but Nicole was totally composed as she sat at her dressing table
straightening her new hair. She didn’t turn around, merely looked at Will in the mirror and carried on smoothing some Russian girls’ glued-in locks with her gold GHDs.
    ‘I thought you might turn up,’ she said.
    ‘You thought right then,’ he replied.
    ‘Mum, leave us for a few minutes, would you?’ asked Nicole.
    ‘I’m not leaving you with this maniac,’ snorted Penelope.
    ‘Maniac?’ Will’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I can assure you that I’ll leave very quietly when I get what I came for, and I
will
get what I came for.’
    ‘Which is?’ asked Nicole, unplugging the straighteners and setting them down on the dressing table top.
    ‘My family’s jewellery, which you took from the safe. You can have the sofa, the bed, all the bleeding silver forks, the watch you bought me, but you’re not having
that.’
    ‘I don’t know where I’ve put it,’ shrugged Nicole, at last turning around to him. ‘I’ll send it on . . .’
    ‘No,’ said Will adamantly, crossing his arms. ‘I’m not leaving without it.’
    As he stared at his soon-to-be-ex wife, he was almost fascinated to find that she looked like a stranger to him. He hadn’t noticed before the small lines at the corners of her mouth,
indicating that the natural set of her lips was a scowling downturn; or the fact that there was no light in her eyes; they were dull like a snake’s. And had they always been so small?
Temporarily devoid of her false eyelashes and smudged shadow, her irises were mean little circles of black. He wasn’t feeling any love, any attraction, not even a ghost of it for this woman
who had only ended their marriage a few days ago. All he felt was anger at her self-serving greed, and yet he wasn’t surprised by it. It was as if he had always known that the glue of their
marriage was money rather than love.
    ‘Nicole, are you all right?’ asked Barnaby breathlessly from the doorway. Clearly the effort of clambering up the stairs instead of using his lift had totally knackered him.
    ‘Come on, be on your way. Shoo,’ said Penelope, talking to Will as if he were one of the dogs.
    Nicole just scowled. She wasn’t in control here and that was making her cross.
    The air which hung between Will and Nicole was so icy he could have raised his fist and smashed it.
    ‘Okay, I’ll give you a choice,’ said Will, enjoying the chaos he was causing, enjoying the feeling of having some power again. ‘I’ll go without the jewellery, but
I’ll make sure that when we divorce, I will chase you for alimony; and I will get it, because here you are living in a mansion and I’ve got sod all. And I’ll also make a claim on
your pension so we will be tied together forever. And I’ll request half the furniture back – so please don’t sell it. I’ll be taking photographs on my way out. If you do
sell it, then I’ll take the monetary value, because I’ve still got the receipts for it in my files. And I’ll send the creditors your way. I think they’ll be very interested
in your private stashes of off-shore money that you didn’t think I knew about. The banks aren’t stupid, Nicole. They see it all the time, couples pretending to split up so one of them
can hide a load of money. I’ll confess to them that was our master plan. Say goodbye to your assets, Nicole.’
    Will turned to go and started to walk out slowly, because he knew he would be called back any moment. Three beats and Nicole yelled, ‘Wait.’
    She tore open the drawer of her dressing table, lifted out the shell box and thrust it in Will’s direction.
    He took it from her hand, opened it and checked everything was there – it was. He overrode his polite reflex to say thank you. He had nothing to thank Nicole for. His entire marriage
flashed before his eyes as she pouted at him with her hard Restylane-filled mouth, oozing indignation at not having her own way for once. She had