Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Her hand takes mine, squeezing in reassurance. ‘I’ll be here. Whatever happens, I’ll be here for you.’
‘Thank you.’ I’m so grateful for her crazy arse.
‘Welcome.’ She drops my hand. ‘Besides, I’m counting on you doing the same for me.’
‘Oh? What’s happened?’
She grimaces at her glass. ‘Nothing, but you know when you get the feeling that it might?’
I almost laugh. Has she listened to a word I’ve said? ‘Um . . . yeah.’
She doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm, dipping a finger into her wine and flicking it in my face. ‘Printer-room girl’s been sniffing around.’
‘Oh . . .’ I deflate on Lucy’s behalf.
‘Dirty slapper,’ she mutters, giving her wine a filthy look before downing the rest. Glancing up at me, she catches my doubtful face before I can hide it.
‘Why is she a dirty slapper?’ I don’t need to remind Lucy the dirty slapper wasn’t in the printing room alone, but just in case she’s forgotten, my subtle question serves as a good reminder. I half-smile and fall back on the couch when Lucy looks at me, outraged.
‘I’ve been on four dates with Mark. I think I’ve earned the right to label any woman he’s slept with before me a slapper.’
‘Okay,’ I relent, grinning. ‘And how did you feel when you caught her on the prowl?’
Lucy’s hackles rise, and I know she is in trouble herself. ‘Like I wanted to hold her face on the copy machine, smash the lid down, take a copy, and then deface it with warts and a moustache.’
A sharp shot of laughter erupts, making me cough in quick succession.
‘Yes, like that.’ She drops her forehead to my shoulder. ‘I don’t do jealous. It’s an ugly quality.’
‘You do now.’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ she mumbles, sighing dramatically. ‘You staying with him tonight?’
‘At Becker’s? Yes.’
The intercom dings, and Lucy springs from my shoulder and rushes to the phone hanging by her door. ‘Mark,’ she says, throwing wide eyes across the room to me. ‘Yes, come up.’ The phone gets slammed against the wall, and her hands go straight to her blond bob. ‘Shit, how do I look? Damn, I need to shave my pits and bits.’
I laugh out loud, just as she swings the door open. Mark appears, a smile on his face, but it falls slightly when he clocks me. ‘Oh, hi.’ An awkward hand comes up in greeting. ‘Thought you were shacked up with your boss.’
My jaw goes slack, my round eyes turning to my blunt friend. Lucy’s too busy patting her hair down to notice my offended state. ‘I’m not shacked up,’ I say through gritted teeth, turning a tight smile towards Mark.
‘Of course.’ He shifts from foot to foot, twiddling with his car keys. ‘I didn’t mean to . . . I wasn’t suggesting . . .’
‘It’s fine.’ I put him out of his embarrassed misery. Besides, I kind of am shacked up. It isn’t his fault Lucy is brutally blunt.
He smiles awkwardly and finally looks at Lucy. She quickly falls into a cool, unaffected persona. ‘All right?’ she asks.
‘I’m great. Fancy a drink?’
‘Oh, I’d love to, but Eleanor and I are having a bit of a heart-to-heart.’ She looks across at me with a coy smile. ‘I can’t leave my friend right now.’
God love her. She’d stay if I really needed her to, but I don’t. ‘No, you go.’ I finish my wine and pull myself up from the couch. ‘I’ll call you in the morning.’
Her little face lights up. ‘You sure?’
‘Positive.’
Lucy immediately grabs her coat and shoves her feet into her boots, following me out into the corridor. Mark smiles a goodbye to me and starts towards the stairs, leaving Lucy and me behind. She pulls her coat on, smiling at my grinning face. ‘I’m glad we both chose London,’ she muses quietly, throwing her arms around me. ‘I know our heads are a bit fucked up right now, but I’m still glad we’re here.’
‘Me too.’ I snuggle into her, thankful for my crazy friend. I really am glad I chose London. When I pull away, I spot something poking out from under my front door. ‘I need to get a few things from my flat. Go and have fun,’ I say as I pull my keys from my bag.
‘I will. Call you tomorrow.’ She dances off, and I let myself into my flat, kneeling and collecting the card. It’s a ‘sorry we missed you’ card. ‘My phone,’ I say to myself, slipping it into my bag and making a mental note to call and rearrange delivery in the morning. Not that I now need a new phone.
Deciding to take a few more things to Becker’s, since I have no idea how long I’m staying, I pull my rucksack from under my bed and collect some clothes before heading to the bathroom to grab some other bits. I rifle through the basket under my sink to find a new blade for my razor, and as I stand, something catches my eye in the reflection of the mirror that hangs over my sink.