Читать книгу Christmas Cracker 3-Book Collection: Three Cosy Christmas Romances - Lindsey Kelk, Alexandra Brown, Lindsey Kelk - Страница 24

^‘Why didn’t you say something?’ I’m on the bus and Dad’s on the phone. He sounds delighted. Nancy has just started on the silver surfers’ course and was messing around on her new iPad mini when she spotted a picture of me plastered across the front page of an online gossip magazine above a caption saying:

Recently heartbroken Georgie Girl, star of new reality show, Kelly Cooper Come Instore, finds love with sexy singer …

I want the ground to open up and drag me in. It’s not true – I haven’t found new love. It’s surreal having my private life dissected in the media. I’m mortified. And where did they get the picture? Dad says it’s of me standing outside Carrington’s chatting on my phone, so I can only assume I was on a tea break and that I’m being stalked by paparazzi. Oh God. And they don’t hang around, these sleb hunters – the scene with Dan Kilby was only this morning, which just goes to show how quickly they pounce. I’m not sure I can keep up with it all. Not so long ago I was ordinary Georgie Hart from Mulberry-On-Sea, looking forward to spending Christmas with my new boyfriend, and now … well, it seems I’m a reality TV star linked to one of the most famous singers in the country.

‘Dad, you know how the media make things up, embellish the facts,’ I say quietly, turning towards the window, conscious of the other passengers all whispering and nudging each other before glancing in my direction. Dad should know more than anyone what it feels like to be suddenly thrust into the limelight. From the moment he was arrested back then, the newspapers wouldn’t leave him alone. Mum used to get so upset on reading lies about him having had secret women on the side, or how he’d ‘been fiddling the books’ at the bank where he worked for years – I guess that bit is sort of true, but not the rest, I’m sure of it. Even after Dad went to prison, he still sent Mum cards saying how much he loved her. And Mum still loved him – right up to the day she died. She told me so at the end.

‘Yes, of course,’ Dad says. ‘But this is different, darling. If you’re on the telly, then you’re a celebrity, famous, and we all love celebrities. Everyone here is so chuffed. The curtain-twitchers are all saying they could tell right away, just from your movie-star hair and stylish clothes. We all knew there was something going on in town, but nobody guessed it would involve Carrington’s department store. You know, Georgie, one of the old dears even wants me to get your autograph for her niece.’

‘Oh stop it, Dad,’ I chide, and then smile at how he always refers to people his own age as ‘old’, as if he’s a mere boy.

‘Enjoy it, Georgie. A bit of the high life doesn’t come around very often,’ he replies, echoing Mrs Grace’s words. ‘And who is this “sexy singer”?’

‘Um, he’s called Dan. I’ll tell you about it later. But it was all set up for the cameras, Dad.’

‘Phew. I was worried it might be that no-good what’s-his-name, Brett. He liked singing; didn’t you meet him in one of those karaoke bars?’ Dad sighs.

‘Yes. But don’t worry, he’s definitely history.’ I pause. ‘Dad, sorry, I’ll have to call you back.’ I quickly shove the phone in my pocket as a group of teenage girls run down the bus and occupy all the seats around me.

‘Are you Georgie from Carrington’s?’ A girl with a pierced eyebrow and a red Santa hat over dodgy hair extensions asks me.

‘Why do you want to know?’ I reply cautiously, just in case she’s some kind of crazeee looper about to happy-slap me in front of her crew.

‘Don’t be anxious babe, it’s me, Madison.’ She grins as if we’re BFFs and grabs my arm, making my heart speed up. ‘Me and the girls saw you on the telly. Can Leanne take a picture of us?’

‘Err, sure … who’s Leanne?’ Madison points to a pretty girl with a seriously extreme Ronseal tan wearing a neon pink Juicy tracksuit under a faux fur gilet. She legs it down the bus clutching her smartphone and, before I can say ‘cheese’, Madison has flung her arm around my shoulders, pulled me in tight, and several pictures have been taken.

‘Thanks babe.’ Madison jumps up. ‘Nice to see you keeping it real.’ I raise one eyebrow and smile vaguely, wondering what she means.

‘The bus!’ She points a long acrylic fingernail around the top deck. ‘Thought you’d have a driver, now you’re a sleb.’

‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ I grin. Talk about surreal – a few weeks ago, celebrities were just people I read about in magazines, and now I’m one of them.

The bus stops and the girls leave, so I call Dad back and he tactfully chats about the weather and his neighbours, before asking if there’s anything special he can get me for Christmas. Yes, Tom! Preferably naked, lying on a sheepskin rug in that log cabin we mused about before he went weird and dumped me … Hmmm, I suggest a woolly hat and scarf gift set instead, and Dad seems happy with that.

‘So when will we see you again?’ The twitchy, uneasy feeling from that day in Nancy’s flat returns. I’m not used to Dad saying ‘we’. I feel as if I’m betraying Mum somehow. Even though she’s not here any more. ‘Nancy is going to cook her outstandingly delicious beef stew and dumplings,’ he adds. ‘So make sure you come hungry. I’m still full after last Sunday’s feast,’ he chuckles.

‘Can I let you know Dad? I haven’t got my diary to hand,’ I say, quickly rummaging in my bag to check.

‘Of course, darling. Oh hang on. Nancy’s saying something.’ There’s a muffled, scratchy pause, as if Dad has the phone pressed into his jumper. I stop rummaging. I can just about hear Nancy’s voice in the background – she’s saying something about ‘understanding’ and ‘best do it now’.

Do what now?

But before I can work it out, Dad is back on the line.

‘Just let me know when suits you, sweetheart. I know how busy you are.’

‘Dad?’ I ask, and then hesitate.

‘What is it, Georgie?’

‘Err, it’s … oh no, don’t worry, it’s nothing.’ I bite my lip.

‘OK. But you know you can talk to me. I’m always here for you.’

‘I know Dad.’ My voice softens. It’s lovely having him back in my life. ‘Well, there was something – I was just wondering if we could visit Mum’s grave some time.’

‘Of course, sweetheart. That would be wonderful. We can make a day of it. Go for lunch or a stroll along the promenade, if the weather isn’t too chilly, that is, just like we used to when you were a little girl. Do you remember? Mum used to make banana sandwiches and we’d eat them on the benches next to the pier, and drink cans of ginger beer before devouring those massive Mr Whippy ice creams with chocolate flakes on from the van. And you never see those ice-cream vans any more.’

‘Yes. I remember. Mum used to say that when the music was playing it meant the man had run out of lollies, and then spoil it all by laughing, so I always knew she was joking.’

‘But you still fell for it every time, if only for a couple of seconds,’ he says, sounding animated and light. And for some reason, tears sting in my eyes. I wonder what Mum would have thought of me being on the telly. Proud, I reckon, and it’s such a shame she’s missing out. Mum was always a little in awe of anyone out of the ordinary. It was my thirteenth birthday not long before she died, and the nurses in the hospital organised a little party; they even invited someone from the local football team to turn up and give me a teddy bear – Mum went all fan-girl. I chew the inside of my cheek as a horrible, immature thought pops into my head. I hope Dad doesn’t invite Nancy along on our day out. I quickly shove the thought away – I like Nancy and it’s nice that Dad has met her.

We say our goodbyes and the bus reaches my stop.

After closing the door to my flat, I unzip the boots (the wardrobe woman said I could keep them, which I’m thrilled about) and stow them carefully on my shoe rack. They’re beautiful, extra-soft purple suede with little tassels down the side, and most likely cost a fortune. I place the Carrington’s bag from Princess Ameerah on the hall table; inside is a divine Louis wallet in a beautiful seasonal berry colour with cream detailing. I thought I might give it to Sam as a Christmas present. I could get her initials put onto it. I’m just hanging my coat up, when my mobile rings again. This time it’s Sam.

‘Georgie! I’m sorry,’ she says, sounding worried.

‘What for?’ I ask, making my way into the kitchen. I’m starving.

‘For not saying I’d be there this morning, or warn you that Dan Kilby had been roped in. I only found out very late last night – Kelly called me herself and made me promise to keep it a secret; she wanted you to be surprised. Something about it being more authentic, you know, when they filmed your face on seeing that Dan was your surprise date.’

‘Oh don’t worry about it. It was pretty exciting and a fantastic distraction from thinking about you know who,’ I laugh.

‘And what about Mary Berry?’ Sam is practically hyperventilating, she’s that excited. ‘She’s like my idol. In fact, scrap that, I actually want to be her – she’s that amazing. Kelly arranged for her to come and film a Christmas cupcake masterclass in the café, I think they’re showing it in the next episode. She was just so lovely and shared some baking secrets with me – we even had a chuckle about the best ways to avoid the dreaded ‘soggy bottom’ when baking pastry. And there’s even talk of me being involved in a special celebrity series of the Great British Bake Off.’

‘Wow! As a judge?’

‘I don’t know. Or maybe a contestant – nothing has been agreed … ’

‘That’s incredible. I’m so happy for you,’ I say, knowing one of Sam’s dreams just came true. Right there.

‘Thanks, hun. Anyway, I tried calling as soon as Kelly hung up last night, there was no way I was keeping it from you.’ She pauses for breath. ‘I left a voicemail, but could tell from your face you hadn’t got it when you turned up at the café.’

‘Oh, you know what the signal is like in my flat. It’ll probably arrive next week or something,’ I say, feeling relieved. I had thought it a bit odd that Sam hadn’t said she’d be there, let alone keep Mary Berry and Dan Kilby a secret, but it’s not the end of the world. Besides, I’m hardly in a position to take offence: we usually tell each other everything, but that didn’t stop me from keeping my passionate night with Tom a secret. A sudden rush of longing engulfs me. After balancing the phone in the crook of my neck, I pull open a Terry’s chocolate orange (buy one get two free – I have fifteen) and stuff two segments into my mouth.

‘As long as you’re OK. Where did you rush off to after?’ Sam asks.

‘Oooh, hang on a sec,’ I reply, in between chewing and swallowing. ‘Sorry about that.’ I lick melted chocolate off my fingers. ‘Kelly rushed me back to the shop floor to do a couple of publicity shots behind my counter – to send out to all the magazines and newspapers. Apparently, she’s had enquiries from tabloids wanting to interview me and FHM have even asked about a bikini photoshoot.’

‘Wow, how exciting. Are you going to do it?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Why the hesitation?’

‘Everything’s changing so quickly. I’m already in some online magazine linked with Dan. What if they airbrush my clothes off and flog naked pictures of me to a dodgy men’s mag, for the curvy girls’ page,’ I sniff, letting my inner drama queen run riot with my imagination. I’ve read about stuff that happens to celebrities – leaked sex tapes, kiss-and-tell stories. Even fake pictures. And it’s not just celebrities: Kate and Will can’t even sunbathe in private!

‘I bet you’d look glorious,’ she immediately replies, not missing a beat.

‘Aw, thanks for the cheerleading, but I’d rather not appear naked in a magazine with a Carrington’s carrier bag or whatever covering my Aunty Mary.’ I shudder at the thought, and Sam giggles.

‘Totes agree,’ she says, before pausing and then adding, ‘They wouldn’t really do that, would they?’

‘No, probably not – just my feeble attempt at a joke. Besides, I definitely didn’t see a clause about getting naked in my employment contract, but hey … you never know; anything seems to go these days.’

‘Sounds to me like you might need a manager, someone to look after that side of things.’

‘Really?’

‘Absolutely. I know Kelly seems to be passing some amazing opportunities your way, but she also has her own interests to look after.’

‘I guess so, don’t suppose you managed to get a number for Claire?’ I laugh. Talk about mad – I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation with my best friend. It’s as if I’ve stepped onto a massive rollercoaster and now can’t decide if I want to ride on it or not. I love the goody bags, the freebies (shoes, clothes, makeovers, etc.), the magazine column, which I’ve written and emailed to Hannah (after sampling every single item in the goody bag, all of which were divine, the Asos stash too). But the online article that Dad saw before I had a chance to, has really unnerved me. Makes me feel vulnerable and exposed. And maybe I shouldn’t travel by bus on my own. Madison and her friends were lovely, but what if the next group of girls aren’t? Perhaps I do need someone to guide me.

‘No, I tried Dad’s old PA, but she couldn’t find any details for her. Don’t tell Eddie, though, he’ll be devastated. Why don’t you ask Kelly? I’m sure she could put you in touch with someone.’

‘Sure, maybe I will. Thanks for the advice. Anyway, how are you? How’s Nathan?’ I say, to change the subject, making a mental note to invest in a new coat with a large hood, or a snood, or, better still, a balaclava, to shield my face whenever I’m outside my flat or Carrington’s from now on. I don’t want any more random pictures of me turning up online.

‘All good here. I haven’t had the dreaded morning sickness for days now. And Nathan is such a sweetheart, you know he’s getting very good at foot massage.’

‘Aw, that’s lovely. Are your feet getting very swollen?’

‘Oh no, it’s way too early for all that, but he likes to feel involved. And he was thrilled to bits when the first scan appointment arrived.’

‘Oooh, how exciting – when is it?’

‘Monday … in a couple of weeks’ time. I can’t wait. It’s in the morning at the hospital and then we’re going for lunch afterwards, followed by a pay-per-view session at the private clinic. Jenny went a few days ago and said it’s fantastic. They even let her set up a Skype call from her laptop so that Tony could see the baby on the plasma screen, all the way from Helmand.’

‘Wow. It’s incredible what they can do these days,’ I say, feeling really happy for Sam, and sad for Jenny that she doesn’t have Tony here with her at such a special time.

‘And I’m sure I felt the baby moving around. Maybe I’m more pregnant than I originally thought. It said in the baby book that it’s around sixteen weeks for the first kick, if I’m lucky, but sometimes later for a first timer like me.’

‘Oh my God, that’s amazing,’ I say, thrilled for her. ‘What did it feel like?’

‘Tickly. Like popcorn popping in a microwave,’ she says, her voice sounding soft and bubbly.

‘Well, that makes sense. She is baking inside your tummy, I guess.’ We both laugh.

‘True. And I like that analogy. Aw, my little cupcake,’ Sam says, and there’s a short silence while I imagine her rubbing her stomach lovingly. ‘Going back to KCTV – you’ll never guess what Kelly also asked me last night?’ She pauses. ‘Only how I felt about being filmed in labour!’

‘Whaaaat? Nooo!’

‘Exactly. I said no way. End of. Not even discussing it – that was after I asked how she even knew I was pregnant, of course.’

‘I didn’t breathe a word, I swear,’ I quickly tell her.

‘Oh, I know hun. Kelly told me she just knew, has a knack for guessing these things, apparently. Reckons she has psychic powers inherited from her great aunt or something. More like she heard on the Carrington’s grapevine that I’d been puking in the staff loo.’

‘Well, she does seem to know everything that’s going on; it’s probably all there on those little TV monitors she loves so much.’

‘Talking of Aunty Mary’s – I’m not having mine broadcast to a film crew. Ew. Hideous. I mean, I love watching One Born Every Minute, but it doesn’t mean I want a starring role in it.’

‘They could always put one of those blurry things over your bits,’ I suggest, and we both crack up.

‘Oh stop it, or you’ll make me need the loo again. I can’t stop going at the moment,’ Sam manages in between wheezes.

‘Oh dear. Anyway, the baby isn’t even due before Kelly Cooper Come Instore ends,’ I laugh, relishing in the banter that makes me feel just like I did before everything changed, and it’s nice. Normal. There’s a lot to be said for anonymity. If I go down the FHM route, I’ll never be anonymous again.’

‘She said it could be part of her next show!’

‘The one in the hotel?’ I ask, wondering how that will work.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, I overheard Kelly talking to someone about a hotel with underground parking – presumed it was for her next show,’ I say, wondering if Eddie knows.

‘Sounds intriguing, but no, she didn’t mention any of that. And Nathan was outraged when I told him. Said Kelly is a sensationalist and will stop at nothing to garner publicity and notoriety with her reality TV shows.’

‘Well, he has got a very good point – her setting me up with Dan like that, and without any warning.’

‘Talking of which, how was it, being with him? Stir up any lustful feelings?’ Sam says, adopting a sultry voice now.

‘It was OK,’ I say evasively.

‘Bet it was better than just OK. He’s hot. And he plays guitar – that’s just sexy as … ’ she teases.

‘Weell, I’d be lying if I said my heart hadn’t skipped a bit. Just a teeny-tiny bit.’

‘I knew it!’ she screams. ‘Go on … ’

‘All right, but on one condition.’

‘OK.’

‘You understand that just because I want Tom back, doesn’t mean I’m immune to other men, does it?’

‘Of course not, you’re a typical twenty-something woman, not a nun! Stop worrying. I’m not going to think any less of you for fancying Dan, or even going on a date with him, not after Tom’s “knight in white jodhpurs” performance on the TV screen the other night.’ She huffs. ‘I’m not being funny, Georgie, but he must have known you would watch the show. To be honest, it doesn’t look very good, does it?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Good, because I’m still sure you’ll sort everything out when he comes back, but in the meantime, why shouldn’t you have a bit of fun? He obviously is.’

‘Well, there was a moment.’

‘Oooh, what kind of moment?’

‘The kind where, after the photos were done, Dan was waiting for me and asked if I fancied getting together some time; that he’d heard about me breaking up with Tom, from Kelly I reckon … ’

‘See, she really does know everything,’ Sam sniffs.

‘True. And I know she’s a bit bonkers, but I can’t help liking her. She has a serious side, too, and seems to want the best for me.’

‘Good. So tell me more about Dan.’

‘Well, we chatted a bit and he seems like a really nice guy. Not flashy or full of himself, given how famous he is. He was really down-to-earth.

‘Aw, that’s nice. When are you going out with him then?’

‘Steady on, I still want Tom. And if I’m honest, seeing him with Valentina just made me want him even more. I was a stubborn idiot that day in his office, and I think he was too.’

‘Fair enough. For what it’s worth, I think you have a point, but you don’t want to miss out on a date with Dan Kilby. Tom will keep, especially if you two are meant to be together. Remember that old adage … if you love someone, let them go, they’ll come back, and all that. Plus, it will do him good to have a bit of competition.’

‘Maybe. Anyway, I told Dan I’d think about it.’

‘Whaat?’ Sam is outraged. ‘Georgie, please tell me you’re joking and that you didn’t really tell Dan Kilby – the man of many girls’ dreams, that you would think about going on a date with him.’

‘Well, I didn’t want too look keen. Besides, I’m in demand now … didn’t you know?’ I laugh.

‘True, but just don’t think for too long. There’s the wrap party, remember, and a trillion women that wouldn’t mind going with Dan on their arm. Have you seen the number of “Likes” on his Facebook fan page?’

‘We’ll see,’ I say, wondering if I am actually ready to go on a proper date with another man. I’m not sure. I just hate the way things were left with Tom. If only I could talk to him for a few minutes to find out if it really is over – I need closure, if nothing else.

‘OK. Hun, I’m going to have to love you and leave you as Nathan’s just walked in.’

‘OK, chat tomorrow. Oh, really quickly, before you go. Did you know Melissa was back working at Carrington’s?’ Sam always hears what’s going on, from the café.

‘Yes, apparently she didn’t like it at the prison – too many psychopaths for her liking, said she found it very hard not to want to fight them. You know how she’s into all that ninja warrior stuff … ’ We both laugh. Typical Mel.

We end the call and I make my way into the bathroom, smiling to myself at Sam’s comments. She’s such a queen of hearts, always trying to pair me up, ever the romantic. I turn on the bath taps and plop in my favourite vanilla-scented Lush bath bomb and take off my clothes, carefully hanging the dress and jacket on the back of the door, which I’ve left ajar, so the steam doesn’t ruin them.

I’ve submerged my body into the blissfully warm water and relaxed for a few minutes, when my mobile vibrates across the vanity unit next to the bath. After drying a hand on a towel, I reach for the phone and turn it over to see the screen.

And I don’t believe it.

It’s a text message.

From Tom! Just like that.

Seems Sam was right – let him go and he’ll come back …

I hurl myself up into a sitting position. Water splashes everywhere. My heart soars as I press to see the message. At last! Maybe he has been missing me. Maybe Eddie was right and KCTV engineered the horse-riding scene. Tom isn’t interested in Valentina at all. It was just for show. Of course it was. And he’s not interested in Zara, why would he be when he has me? I’ve been an absolute fool. Maybe he genuinely thought I’d love doing the show, a nice surprise, and to be honest … I’m not exactly hating it. I should never have doubted him. Or what we have together. He just needed a bit of time to get his head straight and now he wants to sort things out. All that rubbish about calling it a day – it was said in the heat of the argument, nothing more.

I’m so excited. Everything’s going to be wonderful after all. We’ll spend Christmas together and it’s going to be amazing. It will be all of the gorgeous romantic things we talked about. Hot chocolate. Tartan rugs by the fire. Bing singing in the background. There’s still time to find a log cabin. I could get on Lastminute.com. I can not wait. I read the message.

Yes I have moved on! I’m with somebody else now so stop stalking me, or you’ll lose your job too.

Stunned! I sit motionless in the water staring at the screen. Saliva drains from my mouth. Silent tears trickle down my cheeks. Is that what he thinks of me? A stalker! Oh God. How hideous. I feel like utter rubbish – humiliated too. Nauseous even. I’ve never been called a stalker before. And I’ve never seen this side of him. It’s horrible. I don’t believe it. And I don’t know what to do. And he has somebody else. A sob catches in my throat. Who is she? Valentina or Zara? And how can he be so callous? He knows how much my job at Carrington’s means to me. I stare again at the message. I type out a reply. I delete it. I type another reply. I delete it. And I type another. I delete it too. A hideous cold trickle of realisation seeps through me. This is it! Over. Really over. So he meant it after all. I can’t contact him again. Not now. Not ever. Because if I do, then his words will be true – a stalker! A bunny boiler. Whatever spin you want to put on it. And nobody wants to be likened to a looper who shoves a rabbit in a saucepan and freaks everyone out.

After what feels like an eternity, I place the phone back on the vanity unit and pull my knees up under my chin, wrapping my arms around my legs, I hug them into me. I’m shaking all over. I guess I really did get him completely wrong. I feel like such a fool. And then it occurs to me – this is like Brett all over again. I‘ve been dumped for another woman. For all I know, Tom could have already had his sights on Valentina – he did say he had a Skype meeting with a foreign supplier the morning after our hat trick; maybe it was with her. My mind races, mentally scouring our time together, searching for clues of his infidelity. Cold, miserable tears trickle down my face, slowly at first, but fast now, and they won’t stop. My chest heaves, in and out, until I’m sobbing uncontrollably.

Eventually, I manage to calm down. The water is cold, I feel trembly and weak with emotional exhaustion – euphoric elation, quickly followed by crashing devastation, does that, I guess. I manage to haul myself out of the bath and scrub myself dry before pulling on my oldest pair of Disney-themed fleecy pyjamas. They’re practically threadbare, with a hole at the knee and a button missing – but what does it matter, it’s not like I have an actual boyfriend to impress any more … just a fake date, and a list of Facebook strangers who are probably only interested because I’m on the telly.

Feeling numb now, and very sorry for myself, I grab my phone and quickly delete Tom’s message. I can’t bear to read it ever again. Then I delete every single one of his other messages – even the ones from the start, where we joked together, where he flirted, where he asked if I fancied having lunch with him, where he thanked me for a lovely evening, right through to his actual numbers – home and mobile. Until it’s as if he never existed in my phone, or my life at all. And then the penny drops – no wonder he wanted me to have Mr Cheeks, he bloody knew he was going away, he must have been talking and planning with KCTV for months. Well, I get the message, Tom! I hear you. Loud and clear.

I head into my bedroom and slump down on the bed, wondering what to do next. I try to think straight. The shock is subsiding into anger now. If I look at this rationally, then I haven’t done anything wrong, not really. All I did was ask him why he didn’t tell me about the filming. And he can’t blame me for retaliating when he said he wanted to call it a day. OK, I’ve tried to contact him a few times since, and yes, I did send a drunken text – well, seven times, to be precise! But then who hasn’t done that when they’ve had a few too many buck’s fizzes while trying to heal a broken heart? It’s not a crime. It’s not illegal. Because if it was, then the prisons would all be high-rise tower blocks, or makeshift cells would have to be set up all over the place, in sports halls, aircraft hangers and suchlike. They’d have to utilise those empty retail units down in the pedestrianised part of town, stack bunk beds in and install communal showers. And that would be totally ridiculous.

I turn my phone over and over in my hands, until I come to the realisation that I’m stronger now than I was after the split with Brett. I’m not going to sit around moping and worrying about what might have been with Tom. And I’m sure as hell not going to the wrap party on my own like some saddo, not while Tom’s there whooping it up with his new ‘somebody’. Eddie was right, I need to dive straight back into the dating pool. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

I take a deep breath before letting out a big long puff, and scroll through my contacts list until I find the number. It rings twice before he answers.

‘Georgie. Hi, how are you?’

‘Not bad thanks. How are you?’ I say, doing my best to sound assured and breezy, even though I still feel wobbly inside.

‘Good, much better for hearing from you.’

I brush away the last of the tears and swallow hard, remembering Sam’s words from our conversation earlier, which seems like an eternity ago now.

‘I was wondering about us getting together. And if the offer still stands, then I’d love to, Dan.’