Gemma moves out three days later, to an anonymous short-let studio for corporate tenants which she can barely afford, especially after the pay-cut she's awarded herself as part of 10:30. But the flat is close enough to the office that she can walk there and back, and over the next month margins at Queen Bees slowly begin to creep up

So does Gemma's weight. Not sleeping is making her hungry for things she shouldn't be eating, like biscuits. Not even nice biscuits but plain digestives, eaten one after the other, until even on five early morning HIIT classes a week her dresses are getting too tight.

Around 3:pm she stops being able to ignore the ache in her head and shoulders.

But margins are up. And the new Sting line is coming along really well, deals are being struck right left and centre with French buyers, and with that crazy Japanese brand too, and the new warehouse in Bretigny is gradually swishing and whirring itself into a fantastically smooth operation. Best of all, Gemma still has a job helping make it all happen. It could all have been much worse.

All is well, right?

In the six weeks since Dylan left, Hari's been to visit Martin twice, and he's returned to London once. Each time they've said goodbye it's felt like Hari's smile took a little longer to grow back. Dylan himself has not travelled back. He lives in Geneva now. With Kat.

Agnes managed to get Gemma to try yoga with Adrienne, once, by arguing that it would help her sleep. It didn't. She hated every minute of it, and very long each of those minutes felt too, standing around in slightly awkward poses doing, well, nothing. She never went again, but she did enjoy going upside down with her head between two chairs. She's started doing that in her office, especially when her head hurts – and no one's looking. There's something about being upside down. Perhaps it's just that what you see of the world around you stops making sense. Perhaps it's that you stop expecting it to. You just focus on staying upright and for a precious minute or two, that is enough.

In order to accommodate this new whim Gemma has started wearing trousers to work. Trousers a full size bigger than her dresses used to be, but who cares? Margins are up too, remember, not just her dress size. As Gemma endlessly re-calculates the date at which she might be able to pay Montage back and get them out of her life, so one day at a time that date inexorably draws nearer. It's just as well, because she hasn't got much else to look forward to these days. Basically there's that, the odd Saturday night with Agnes and Ade, or babysitting Matilda for free hugs, sometimes while listening to Quentin practise on the guitar they went out to buy together, and then there's Zumba with Zoe on Wednesdays.

x

Gemma's just thanking Janice for the gluten-free roll she's about to have with her beetroot and quinoa salad, when she hears words she'd sincerely hoped never to ever hear again:

"Gemma, what a marvellous coincidence!"

Frank, what an effing cheek, she thinks as she watches him walk over. Life's far too busy to waste it pretending to sound friendly to him:

"Why, Frank, were you about to call me?"

Frank stares at her, then down at the floor, then up again. After they signed the deal with Montage he moved straight on to their next target acquisition. somewhere on the continent. She hasn't seen him since and she's missed him like the proverbial hole in the head.

"So what new business did you go and screw in, where was it, Czech Republic?" she asks.

He nods:

"Bah, we didn't have to, they rolled over, they needed us."

Gemma remembers her old headmistress and pinches her lips instead of saying anything unpleasant.

"How are you, Gemma? I hear you guys are doing well."

"Us guys? That's none of your business."

"Queen Bees literally is, part of my business. But you're right, that's not what I'm really asking about. How are you, just you?"

"That, literally, is none of your business."

"I'm sorry."

"You will never be sorry enough, Frank. Shall we leave it at that?"

Frank's big blue eyes stare at her with what one could easily mistake for candour, perhaps even regret.

"You're the one who got us in the end, Gemma. You got your warehouse for a song, and our cash to pay for it too."

"And we're boosting margins so we can pay you off sooner rather than later. I'm so sorry we didn't let you sack us as well."

"We weren't…"

"Oh please, Frank. Do you want me to show you your own emails to Geoff? I've got them right here," she says, holding her phone.

"How did you…" Frank mumbles, frowns, then smiles as he shakes his head at the floor: "But of course, I get it now. You didn't really come back to mine for the blanquette?"

Gemma shakes her head. He looks back up at her and smiles, the bastard. He smiles. How can he be smiling?

"How's your carry?" she asks, to make it stop.

"I'm not getting any. It's not clear they can do that to me, contractually, but they did."

"Well isn't that tough," Gemma smirks. One should enjoy a good, karmic smirk now and again, but she finds she can't.

"It's only money," Frank shrugs.

"Only money? Oh my God you're right, Frank, it's only money! It's only for money that you screwed us over. I hope you're proud of yourself."

"I'm not, and we didn't screw you over anyway. You didn't let us."

"You're right. I'm so lucky I got to keep my own business. I do remind myself of that daily."

Frank stares at her again, no longer smiling.

"For the record I really wish we'd had a chance, you and I."

Gemma, what do you know, laughs. A mirthless laugh is a laugh nonetheless, the first Gemma's had since Matilda randomly giggled at her while farting during one of her nappy changes over a week ago:

"I'm sorry, Frank, at what point did you think you and I could stand a chance? Before or after you started buying our warrants?"

"Before I knew who you were, obviously, I was definitely going to ask you out, but even then…"

"Seriously, Frank, I don't know how these things work out in France, but did you really think I'd ever fall into your arms after what you were planning to do to us?"

"I'd have hounded you until you did, yes."

"Frank, what kind of crazy are you?"

"Crazy in love, I think. But I can't know for sure because it's never happened to me before."

"Oh save it, Frank, please! Please do not talk of that which you do not know."

He looks hurt at first – poor lamb – but almost instantly he turns back from lamb into wolf:

"Still hung up on Dylan, are we?"

She does not dignify him with an answer.

"Jeeze, what a monumental idiot," he says.

"You'd better mean me, not him."

"Oh no, I mean him – mostly. I mean," he shakes his head with a little chortle, "that was almost too easy."

"I'm sorry, Frank, what was almost too easy?"

"Getting him off your case. I mean I was pretty sure Jane would go crackers and send him the picture, but did the arsehole not even give you a chance to explain?"

"Don't call him an arsehole! Dylan is not an arsehole. And… you did that on purpose? The photo… you weren't just trying to piss Jane off?"

Should she have known? What does it say about her that she didn't? Up until now, and even at her worst, at her most abjectly self-pitying, Gemma never suspected that Dylan receiving that picture could have been anything other than accidental. Frank loves no one but himself. He does not even pretend to love his poor long suffering single mother. He is, in hindsight, perfectly capable of such manipulation. People are pawns to him, he moves them this way and that, and right now she, in this stupid psycho game of chess of his, she is, aptly, the Queen he means to capture. Not to love, whatever he says, and certainly not to cherish, just to capture. Should she have known?

No, wait. Of course not: what kind of person even thinks of a thing like that?

"Pissing Jane off definitely was a bonus," he says, "cherry on top, getting her off my case for good. But my prime target was always Dylan. I thought it'd take a little more than that though, I mean how long had he known you?"

"Frank, I've never hated anyone as much as I hate you."

"I know, I love you too."

"I'm not being cute, OK? I don't love you, I don't love you at all. Never have, never will. If I'm having to fight any feelings right now, it's the urge to literally kill you for this. You'll never know of course, because whatever you're saying, you have no idea what real love feels like. Not the first clue. So let me explain the basics: you don't go hurting the people you love, Frank, never - not on purpose anyway. Not even if their happiness means your own, abject, total misery. Believe me, because right now that's exactly how I feel."

It's all she can do to hold back the tears, but Frank smiles on:

"I take it he's still living in blissful tax heaven with, what was her name again?"

"Frank, stop."

"Good on him, she's hot stuff. Probably a bit boring, she'll do very nicely for him. But hey, I'm still here."

"I really, really wish you weren't."

"Hmm, well sorry, I'm not that easy to get rid of."

How can he still be smiling? How can he still think that she'd feel anything but disgust towards him? And more to the point: how is she going to get rid of the psycho?

"I'm going to try my hardest to get rid of you, Frank. I'm sure Jane will lend a hand if I ask her nicely again."

He frowns.

"And Janice," she says, waving at her across the salad bar. Janice waves back and smiles. "Remember Janice?" Gemma says, "We had fun working together last time… Or did you not realise it was Jane Fairfax you bumped into that day, with all the contracts?"

It takes a few seconds, but then Frank's face is a picture. It really is:

"Jane did it for a song too, for a pair of shoes to be precise. Gosh, we had fun that day."

Frank is speechless - at last.

"Frank, I want to be completely clear about something. As shareholders Montage have one seat on Queen Bees' board. Vikas occupies that seat, so we put up with him, and he actually comes up with the odd good idea. You, on the other hand, have brought nothing good to my life, ever. I can't think of a single good reason I should ever want to see you again, so I don't intend to. If I have to take out a court order against you I will, or we could do this the civilised way, which shall it be?"

"Gemma?"

"I've done it before," she lies, "And there'd plenty of witnesses to your behaviour at Agnes and Ade's party. So just leave me alone Frank, OK? And perhaps think of changing salad bars as well, because I'm really not sure you should trust Janice with what goes into yours. Goodbye, Frank."

x

A few hours later Gemma's still not entirely sure how relieved she should allow herself to feel, and whether Frank's going to stay away for good, when Hari walks into her office. Martin was here three days ago and Hari's yet to grow back into her full smile. She's carrying her laptop, open.

"You OK, Hari?"

"Aha, boss. So… well, don't worry or anything, but, I've got Dylan here for you on Zoom."

"Why?"

"I've got Dylan here, on Zoom."

"OK, sorry, but why? What are you zooming with?"

"Zoom. It's an app, kind of like WhatsApp video call, but more secure and you can have lots more people on it all at the same time. We use it with Martin all the time."

"Aha, good."

"So… Dylan wants to talk to you on it. Are… are you OK, boss?"

Well, of course she isn't. Does Hari think she looks OK? Does anyone, these days? Gemma feels at the new squishiness on her stomach, draws herself up and tries to stop her stupid brain from fizzing away and exploding with excitement.

"Sure, I'm OK," she lies.

"You're OK to take his call? He asked me to check."

"Sure," Gemma says.

If looks could teleport laptops, Hari's would have landed on Gemma's desk a long time ago. As it is Hari gingerly walks over and sets it in front of her boss, and Dylan's face and shoulders appear.

Such a beautiful head, such gorgeous shoulders! It's been so, so long, longer than she can ever remember not seeing him. His hair has grown, as has his beard, and he looks … distant. Not as angry as when he ghosted her, not as coldly dismissive as he did at Agnes and Ade's party, just… far away.

Well, he is far away. And on her desk all at the same time.

Hari has made an uncommonly discreet exit.

"Hi, Dylan, how are you?"

"I'm OK, you?"

She nods:

"You look well," she says.

He nods. She can see herself in a little window right of his head. She does not think that she looks well, and he does not say that she does. She gabbles on:

"So this is neat, this Zoom thing. Remember back at the bank, when we used to have to book ages in advance for those awful video conference calls with New York?"

Dylan nods and smiles, and Gemma all but chokes on her own heart.

"Someday no one will travel anymore," Dylan says flatly, "we'll all just meet on this."

That's just tech-nerd hyperbolae, clearly no one will ever do such a thing. Who, for instance, would chose to speak to Dylan over Zoom, rather than be with him, next to him, in the same room.

"How's Quentin?" Dylan asks. Not what she expected.

"He's great. He plays the guitar now. Pretty well too."

"Wow."

"And he's already grown taller than me, not that that's very hard."

Dylan smiles again, and she wants to kiss the screen.

Then she remembers that if Dylan wanted her to kiss a screen then he'd just Whatsapp her on her own phone, like they used to. Whatever this is, it's not a reconciliation.

So what is it?

"How's it going with the French?" he asks, without meanness. Like he's actually curious. But also not like Dylan used to speak to her.

"Oh, cutting costs, boosting margins, you'd be proud of them," she says.

"Good, I'm glad that's going well."

She thinks about it and Dylan's actually being kind, but just not… not like he used to be with her. More like he used to be with Quentin.

"It's not going well at all, Dylan. We hate them, they hate us, thankfully everyone's being British about it rather than French, but I can't wait to be rid of them."

He could say: I told you so, but instead he goes with:

"Sure. How long is that going to take you?"

"Four years, three and a bit if we do really well in France."

"That's OK."

"Not really. I just really wish I'd never met any of them."

Dylan nods.

"But Agnes and Hari's new bee venom line is amazing," Gemma says, attempting to sound like she's coping.

"Hari brought us some of the eye thingy when she came. Kat and Martin both liked it."

"Oh good," she lies, and tries to keep a straight face as the punch lands.

Kat.

"New necklace?" Dylan asks, and she drops her golden bee.

"Quentin made it for me."

"Kid's a genius," Dylan says, zooming in with his face, and then pulling back again.

"I know, he's so talented."

"What happened to the old one?"

"The old what? Oh, you mean necklace," she says, letting the golden bee drop free again, "It's in a box on the dressing table at my Dad's."

"Aha," he says, nodding with a gravity the subject does not warrant.

"I moved out," she explains.

"You moved out?"

"Aha, that's why I have to call it my Dad's now. Not home."

"Aha."

"I still struggle with that, to be honest. And with cooking. Anyway, what about you? You found somewhere nice to live? With Kat," she makes herself add, though she all but chokes on the words.

He nods.

"You both like it there? Does she like her new job?"

"She does, thanks."

Gemma nods, and swallows hard, and gabbles on again:

"Can you go skiing still? Or is it too late in the year?"

"The glacier in Verbier's open all year, but we haven't been."

They've not been because they've been too busy… It doesn't bear thinking what they've been too busy doing.

"Well, I'm glad it's going well for you."

It's true. She's not lying to Dylan and she wasn't lying to Frank about him earlier either. She does loves Dylan too much to wish him to be unhappy. It's just that it also breaks her heart that it's Kat that gets to make him happy.

"Gemma?"

It's the first time he's said her name, and it does things to her stomach no amount of Digestive biscuits ever can.

"Yes?"

"Look, I'm really sorry. I don't want you to think that this is any kind of… revenge, or point scoring, or anything like that. That's not what it is, and I wanted you to know that, even if it's probably going to feel that way anyway. That's why I had to call. Couldn't let Agnes or Hari tell you."

"Tell me what?" Gemma asks, skipping several heartbeats.

There's an awkward silence, during which Dylan too, come to think of it, seems to be experiencing breathing or swallowing difficulties. Then again, it might just be a video glitch.

"We've offered Hari a job looking after our settlements here," he says in the end. "And she's accepted. I'm really sorry to be doing this to you, Gemma. I am, and she feels terrible about leaving you, especially right now in the middle of this big margin boosting programme you've got going. Look, you were right, she's a bright woman in her own crazy way, and we'll be really lucky to have her. But let's be honest I'm not doing this for the fund, though we do need someone to work settlements. I'm doing it for Martin. Well, and for her, obviously. They've been spending half their time on Zoom and the other half miserable,"

"I noticed," Gemma nods sadly.

"It's going to suck for you and I'm sorry, but it's the obvious solution. We really do need someone to work our settlements. And she and Martin can..."

…have all the things that you and I will never have together, Gemma finishes in her head.

"Yes, sure, that makes sense," she says out loud, "Or I suppose we could have tried to poach Martin, but I don't think our margins would let us at the moment."

Dylan smiles.

"I'm sorry, Gemma. I'm sorry to do this to you…"

"It's OK, Dylan. I understand."

"I didn't think Hari should be the one to tell you."

"You're right. I understand. Thanks for telling me. Month's notice OK with you, with her?"

"Sure."

Silence.

"She's going to be very happy over there with you."

He nods. Silence again.

"So, well…"

"Goodbye, Gemma,"

They hang up, but his image stays suspended on Hari's screen for a second. Just long enough for Gemma to run her hand over his face before the screen goes black then vanishes. She closes the laptop and draws herself up before bringing it back to Hari.

"Congratulations, Hari. I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks, boss."

"Go be the Queen of Swiss Settlements but remember: if you ever change your mind, you'll always have a job here, OK?"

Hari jumps off her seat and gives Gemma a teary and surprisingly powerful hug.

"I'm going to miss you so much, boss. To think that without you I'd never have met Martin!"

Gemma takes a deep breath and attempts to put some kind of smile on her face before she leaves Hari.

x

Agnes calls her as she's walking back past her office.

"Gem?"

"Hey."

"So, Dylan told you?"

Gemma nods.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm very happy for them."

"For whom?"

"For Hari and Martin. Even for Dylan and Kat. He seemed… well never mind. I'm very happy for them."

"And…?"

"And?"

"And?..."

"…and I'm miserable, and fat, and I want to cry?"

"That's more like it," Agnes says, rising from her seat to give her a hug, "Except you're not fat, you're just not skinny anymore. And don't cry, because you don't like it, remember?"

Agnes releases her, and hands her a tissue.

"Thanks, partner."

"Did I mention Hansi's been talking about coming over again next weekend?"

"No, why?"

"Because I can't help but think he's more interested in coming to smell your hair, than in seeing Ade and I."

"Lord knows why," Gemma says, wiping at the corner of her eye.

"Because he likes you?"

"My point exactly. All I did last time he was here was moan about Montage and Dylan."

"That's not true. We played cards, and foosball, and you two went on about interest rates. Why wouldn't he like you?"

"It's too soon, Agnes. He seems like a lovely man, but right now I feel like damaged goods."

"I guess he's like his sister then, likes fixing damaged goods."

Agnes is right, Hans is a very nice man, and perhaps he did try and smell her hair that weekend, when they were sitting together on Agnes and Ade's sofa after dinner. But to sit on that sofa next to him instead of next to Dylan as she's done countless times, is a bit like showing up for Zumba with Zoe to find a cover teacher's offering an hour's Pilates instead. You know it'd be good for you and you should stay, but it just doesn't seem like much fun.

"I'd rather put myself back together first, then we'll see."

"OK."

"I wish I knew how to, though."

"What?"

"Put myself back together. I don't know how to even start. All I know is I don't think it involves Hans."

"OK, that's cool…" Agnes says with one of her easy shrugs.

"I wish I could…"

"What?"

I wish, Gemma thinks under Agnes's patient eyes, I wish I could do something even more scary than thinking about Montage, or about Dylan skiing away with his lovely Kat, or about Hari leaving us to be with them in jolly old tax-free Switzerland. I wish I could go back, not to your sofa with Hans, Agnes, but to the pool shed with Isa, and do something so truly scary, that I would forget about everything else. Catch spiders bare handed in the dark, bungee jump from the top of St Paul's Cathedral, or...

"Agnes, could you take me to see our bees up on the roof?"

"What?"

"The beehive you keep on the roof, can you take me to see it? Actually go inside and see the bees? Is it warm enough to?"

"Gemma?"

She nods.

"Gemma, you OK?"

"Please, Agnes! No of course I'm not OK! So please take me to see your bees!"

Agnes stares at her, and in a moment the anxious look on her face is swept over and replaced by her Buddha-like, bee-supergirl smile:

"OK, girlfriend. Welcome to the cult: suit up and let's go."