Читать книгу The Complete #LoveLondon Collection - Nikki Moore - Страница 10

'Oh, balls!' Frankie Taylor stared at the mirror in dismay. She touched a hand to the back of her neck, where she used to have hair, and glared at her hairdresser in their shared reflection.

'You don't like it?' Davey asked, freezing with comb and scissors in mid-air against the backdrop of the heavy chrome and red leather salon. 'You said you wanted something different, a fresh start.'

'Yes, I wanted a change, because everyone keeps on at me to move on, and a new haircut is easier than bowing to pressure and getting a boyfriend.' She yanked on the ends of her glossy black hair, which were now only a few inches from her scalp, rather than shoulder length. 'By something different, I didn't mean half-bald!' The amount of hair on the floor was truly disturbing. 'So much for treating myself to a nice post-Christmas present,’ she muttered.

'Oh, love…I really thought you wanted something radical and besides, I've always thought short hair would suit you.' Putting scissors and comb down, he gently extracted her fingers from the newly blunt-cut locks and shaped the side-fringe across her forehead. 'It shows off those gorgeous almond-shaped violet eyes to perfection. And look at those cheekbones! You look a bit like Frankie from The Saturdays.’

'So now I share my name and a haircut with her.’ She stroked her exposed neck, feeling oddly naked with nothing covering her nape or tops of her ears. 'I'm going to be freezing – it's mid-winter!' Shaking her head, she watched the strands fall back into place. 'Okay, I guess it's not that bad,' she conceded. She wouldn't look so pale with make-up on. It'd hardly been worth applying any today, given she lived three doors down from the hairdressers above a kebab shop and was off work until 5 January.

'No?' Davey heaved a relieved sigh.

'No. And you're right, it really shows off that stone I've lost since the break-up,' she said self-mockingly. 'Plus, we can hardly stick it back on, can we?' Wrinkling her nose, 'So what's the point in being upset?' She'd learnt the hard way there were some things you had to let go, some things you couldn't control.

'You said it,' he drawled, picking up the scissors again.

'Hold it! You're not taking any more off are you?'

'Just neatening up, my love,' he assured, sticking his tongue out at her. 'Relax.'

'I'll be relaxed,' she grumbled, 'if (a) you don’t scalp me (b) Dad doesn't ring every five minutes to check on me (c) my friends stop insisting it's time to find a new man and give up plastering my profile all over dating sites, and (d) when my boss stops giving me funny looks because she thinks being single is unnatural.' She paused as Davey used the hair-dryer to get rid of the stray bits of hair that inevitably got into everything, picking up the conversation once he'd switched it off. She met his amused blue eyes in the mirror, 'I've only been single for just over a year which really isn't that long, and I'm happy being selfish for now, doing what suits me, thanks very much.'

'Hmmm.' Davey whipped off the cape he'd covered her jeans and jumper with and spun her around in the chair. 'The problem with that, my lovely, is it would be really easy to stay like that for too long. Don't get used to it, or you'll never want to be with anyone ag-'

'Pfftt!' she interrupted, sitting up straight and raising an eyebrow. 'You're just saying that because you move from one relationship to another with the speed Superman flies at. Being alone isn't what you do.'

Grabbing her by a belt loop, he yanked her from the chair. 'Hey, watch it!' She giggled as he spun her around the shop. He grinned naughtily, 'I could be alone if I wanted to. I just don't want to. And if you're comparing me to HC's Superman, I'll take that compliment gladly.' He released her, arms dropping.

'Oh god,' she groaned, 'you are so obsessed with Henry Cavill!'

'Don't try and pretend you're not.'

'I- oh, okay, I won't. That black hair, those baby blue eyes,' they both let out a sigh of appreciation, ‘he's so hot it's obscene.'

'That bit on the ship in The Tudors…' Davey’s face took on a dreamy, faraway expression. 'No wonder it was difficult for you to break up with Christian. I mean, he does bear a passing resemblance to Lord HC. Hey, d'you remember that time I called in at The Superflat,' his name for the multi-million pound apartment on the Thames she and Christian had shared, 'and he was getting out of the shower? All he had on was that teeny, tiny towel-'

'Oi! Snap out of it,' she clicked her fingers in front of his glazed eyes. 'We're not going there, okay? It's over.'

'Sorry.' Grabbing her cropped, battered leather jacket from a hanger, he helped her into it. 'In all seriousness though,' he turned her to face him, looking uncharacte‌ristically solemn, 'everyone needs love. It's a fact of life. It's biology.'

'Whatever,' she shrugged, straightening the collar of his patterned shirt, 'personally I think it's just sex. That's life. That's biology. Speaking of which, where are we going out on New Year's Eve?'

'Not sure yet. There's The Crown and Roses,' he mentioned their local, and she groaned, 'or maybe something in the city. I did hear about this party-'

'Oh no, what are you going to get me into?'

'I've got to find out the details, so you'll see. Now, get lost.' Giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, he propelled her toward the door. ‘Enjoy your trip home. See you in a couple of days.’

She stopped in the doorway. 'What about the money for the haircut?'

'You want to pay me for scalping you?' he joked.

'Or making me look like a super-model?' she answered hopefully.

He pulled a face. 'You know I love you, but no. Anyway, call it a late Christmas prezzie and if anyone asks who gave you such a divine style, point them in my direction. And don't forget what I said. Everyone needs love.'

'I'll hurl them in your direction, never mind point them,' she retorted, and was rewarded with a playful smack on the bum as she skipped out the door.

The conversation with Davey was spinning through her head as Frankie walked into her pokey flat at midnight a few days later. Dumping her rucksack in the hallway, she picked up a thick pile of post which included a ridiculous amount of takeaway menus.

The train journey from Southampton to London hadn't been too bad, considering the time of year. It was the tube ride from Waterloo that'd been a royal pain in the arse. She'd left it really late to head back but had wanted to maximise her time with her dad. There wasn't enough money to make it home very often. And now he was alone, it was even more important to spend as much time with him as possible. He was the only parent she had left.

Everyone needs love. Davey's words resounded in her head.

He might be right - but there was more than romantic love in the world. Love for friends, love for family. Which reminded her; pulling her phone from her pocket, she tapped out a quick text to her dad.

Home safe, thanks for a lovely couple of days. Will come down & see you again as soon as I can. F xx

Traipsing into her lounge, she groaned. 'Oh, bloody hell!'

She'd left a window open while she'd been gone. The scent of frying food was forever escaping from a vent on front of the kebab shop below and wafting into her flat. Now the place stank of meaty kebab, raw onions, crisp jalapeno peppers and oily chips. Nice. Flinging her coat off, and chucking the post on the sofa, she slammed the window and picked up one of the numerous cans of air freshener crowding the low bookcase, spraying it so heavily around the room it sent her into a coughing fit. Crouching down, she turned on the plug-in air freshener and cast her eyes over the damp, peeling ceiling, before giving up and storming out of the lounge.

Was she ever going to climb out of this hole?

No, it was too late for that kind of thinking. She had her health, an okay job in a department store, a loving father and good friends. And right now, thank god - she rubbed her temples tiredly while stumbling into her tiny bedroom - she also had a comfortable bed, one of the few luxuries she'd budgeted for when taking up the tenancy.

Falling face down onto the duvet, she kicked off her ankle boots and let sleep claim her.

Frankie felt much chirpier the next morning. It might have had something to do with the massive lie-in until gone eleven, the bucketful of milky coffee she'd drunk and the hot water she'd managed to coax out of the decrepit boiler for a steamy shower. Or it might be that for the first time since her trip to the salon, she'd managed to tame her hair into something resembling an actual style. Alternatively it could be that she finally fit back into her black jeans, the ones she'd had before meeting Christian. Teaming them with the fashionable soft peach jumper her dad had bought her for Christmas, she felt comfy but a little glam too.

Whatever it was that explained her good mood, she felt better than she had in weeks. Not quite ready for 2015, but getting there.

Curling up on the sofa, she picked up the pile of post.

Sifting through it, she rolled her eyes. Takeaway leaflet, fast food menu, ironing services, window cleaning. Bill, bill, bill, and what a shocker, bill. Then another b- hang on. She gazed at the plain white envelope, her name written in bold script on the front, no stamp, no postmark, meaning it’d been hand-delivered.

Open on 31 December was inscribed in the top left hand corner. Not Davey’s hand-writing, or anybody else’s she knew for that matter. Weird. But it was New Year's Eve, so she ripped into the envelope, apprehension and excitement mixing in her belly.

Pulling out an A4 sheet of paper, she breathed in deeply and frowned. She recognised the smell; her favourite perfume. Anyone who knew her knew that she wasn't the pink flowers and hearts type, so plain stationery and her favourite scent was a good compromise. But was it also a little creepy? They knew where she lived, and what perfume she wore. Stalker alert?

Unfolding the note, her eyes widened. No, I'm watching you, I long to stroke your hair while you sleep stalker type of message. It looked like a rhyme, or a puzzle.

A New Year's surprise, the path to your heart,

Main Knightsbridge station, that's where you start.

Follow the clues across London, see where they lead,

this object meets the need for speed.

Look in the window, see it revolve,

the road to the next clue you will then solve.

? x

p.s. Set off at 4.00 p.m – and try not to be late!

Reading the letter a second and then a third time, she rested her head against the back of the sofa, blowing out a long breath. It was cool and scary and intriguing all at the same time. Someone had gone to quite a bit of trouble for her. She itched to know who was behind it and what the end game was. But she wasn't sure. The path to her heart? She wasn't sure she had one left after her mum, and Christian, and had told Davey only a few days ago she wasn't interested in having a boyfriend at the moment. So was there any point in doing this, this game, whatever it was? Wouldn't it be better to stick to her plans, go out partying with Davey and the rest of the gang, instead of short-changing some poor bugger by turning up and saying thanks for all the effort, but no thanks.

No, she wouldn't go. It was the best thing.

Tapping her fingers on her knees, she sat up and studied the bookcase stuffed with sci-fi books, overflowing wall shelves stacked with photography magazines, the scarred wooden coffee table positioned on a rich, multi-coloured Indian rug brought back from the post-uni travelling she was still struggling to pay off. Her eyes lingered on the wooden family of elephants lined up on the floor by the TV, walking in a row, trunks holding tails to link them together. She didn’t have much but it was hers, and she wasn’t ready to share it with anyone.

Standing up, she strode across the room and stuffed the mystery letter in between two ancient, dog-eared Isaac Asimov books she and her dad had discovered on a stall in a musty indoor market one day, when she'd been about twelve. If she pulled one of the paperbacks off the shelf and opened it the smell would take her back to her childhood; to overflowing bookcases and Sunday afternoons spent wandering around car-boot sales and markets, a cheap and cheerful way of feeding her parents' reading addiction.

Slinking back to the sofa, she threw herself down and picked up the TV remote, flicking restlessly through the channels. She'd just veg out until it was time to get ready for the New Year festivities, whatever they might be. Davey hadn't messaged yet, but he would. He always came through with a plan.

She put the remote down and checked her phone. No messages. Nothing interesting on Twitter. Not much doing on Facebook, apart from various posts about how excited people were about their New Years' Eve plans. She sighed, picking up the remote again and eventually settling on an Eastenders omnibus. By the looks of it, someone was dead. It was probably another dramatic shooting. She liked the programme, the writing could be brilliant, but she had to have the appetite for it otherwise it was a bit depressing.

Her gaze was drawn to the shelf where she'd hidden the letter. What was that first clue referring to? Need for speed. Road. Some sort of transport then. No. Her decision was made. She was not going on some mad scavenger hunt. Today she was relaxing, given how tired she'd felt recently and how her ribs had been aching. It would be criminal not to make the most of being one of the lucky few people in the store with the whole Christmas and New Year period off. At interview she'd asked for her pre-booked holiday to be honoured if she was offered a job. At the time of applying, the role had been a symbol of independence, perhaps even rebellion. But after the break-up it had quickly become a necessity, a way to pay the rent.

So she would definitely not think about the fact she was supposed to be in Bali right now. Must not dwell on the idea of lying on a sun-drenched beach in a designer bikini, with a warm breeze stirring the tropical palm trees and a chilled cocktail in her hand. It was fine. She didn't need any of that stuff. She could lie on the sofa in her warm flat - thanks to hitting the radiator with a spanner a few times to crank it into life – and please herself. Relax. Chill. Revive.

Perfect.

Three hours later and she was seriously bored. She'd read a photography mag, got out her favourite old-style Nikon camera and cleaned the lenses and painted her nails in seasonal gold glitter varnish. She’d also tweezed her eyebrows, sorted out her wardrobe and even resorted to scrubbing the bathroom for entertainment.

Her phone pinged and she snatched it up.

Hey love, the city party has fallen through and after a vote we're going to the C&R. See you there at 8ish, don't forget there's a tenner charge on the door. Will save you a seat if you're late!

D x

She groaned. She loved going to the local with her friends but was there practically every week, so it was hardly somewhere special to celebrate the New Year. Although she guessed beggars couldn't be choosers and all that. It wasn't like she had any better offers.

Her eyes strayed to the Isaac Asimov books, or rather, what was hidden between them. She could see what it was all about, couldn't she, and be back to the pub for eight? It was only just past four now. If she left soon she could fit it in.

She stood up. Sat down. Bit her lip. But how involved was this going to be, and who was behind it? What did they want, or expect from her? No, maybe it was better not to poke the bear.

Opening the text from Davey, she re-read it. Perhaps she should phone him, ask his advice? She knew his response would be go for it though, follow the clues. Everyone needs love.

Tapping her hands on her knees, she stared at the walls. She needed to talk to someone level-headed, sensible. Someone lovely who would advise what was best for her, not get swept away in romantic notions. She'd consider phoning Zoe, one of her best friends from uni, but Zoe was in the States at the moment so the call would cost a fortune. Besides, she was completely loved up with Greg, engaged to be married, so she was hardly going to be objective about the whole thing. She was as worried about Frankie's single status as everyone else. If she was over in the UK now, she'd be one of the let's put Frankie on every dating website going brigade. What was so wrong with being single, though? She was barely past her mid-twenties, and had loads of time to settle down if she wanted to.

The other option was Rayne, another uni friend, the third part of the triangle she and Zoe formed. Vivacious and a little rebellious, Rayne was fantastic for a night out, but Frankie hardly ever saw her nowadays. Journalism was consuming her friend at the moment; she always seemed to be chasing down a story. Personally, Frankie thought it was all about getting over her first love, Adam, but had never said that to her. Rayne could be pretty forthright, if not scary. That was definitely a conversation to be had over several bottles of wine.

So, who to call? What was that saying; the old ones are the best? Yep, that was it. She picked up her mobile, going to the favourites menu.

'Kate, it's me. Have you got a minute?' Her childhood friend might be happily in love with her long-term boyfriend, a strapping South African, but was still fab at offering clear, non-soppy advice.

'Sure, Hun,' Kate's warm tones filled her ear, and Frankie could picture her sparkling eyes, shoulder length chestnut hair and massive grin so clearly it was like they were sat next to each other. 'I've just taken the dogs for a walk,’ Kate said. ‘Hang on while I sort them out.'

Frankie waited, listening to the sounds of her friend talking soothingly to her two beloved dogs, finger clicking, doors opening and closing, footsteps padding nearer, rustling and then a sigh. 'Okay, I'm back. What's up?'

'So, I've got a bit of a dilemma.' Putting her phone on speaker, Frankie propped it on the arm of the sofa and lay back against the purple patterned cushions. She pictured Kate in her comfy lounge, blue jeans on, with wellies, anoraks, leads and dog collars filling the long hallway.

'Go on.' Kate's voice filled the room.

Frankie closed her eyes, wishing her friend was here instead of in a small leafy village just outside Milton Keynes. 'I got home from seeing dad yesterday, and-'

'He still being a bit overprotective?'

'Yep. It's driving me mad.'

'Ah, bless. Well, you can see why, Hun. I mean, after your mum, then what happened to you-'

'It's been a tough year,' Frankie cleared her throat, 'anyway, I got this letter and it's a clue, I'm supposed to go to Knightsbridge-'

'What? Who's it from? Read it to me.'

Frankie grabbed the letter and did so, adding in the bit about lack of postmark and scented paper. 'So what do you think?'

'Well, it sounds cool, but who do you think is behind it?' Kate's voice was cautious and Frankie was reminded of their teenage years in Southampton, the mornings they'd sit in the back of Kate's mum's people carrier, Kate's younger brothers chattering away while the girls talked about school and boys and Kate's mum would add in dry, no-nonsense comments. They were fond memories and sometimes Frankie missed those years, when life had been simpler, though they hadn’t known it back then. As teens, everything had felt intense and dramatic and like the world would implode if the boy they had a crush on didn’t like them back or the Topshop dress they were after wasn’t in stock, or if they got a C grade for an essay instead of an A.

‘You still there?’ Kate asked.

'Yes, sorry. I don't know who it is.' Frankie frowned, opening her eyes.

'Oh, come on! It'll be someone you know, it has to be. Delivered to your home address, your favourite perfume? And that don’t be late comment.'

'What do you mean?'

'Come on Frankie, you're late for everything. Whoever sent it knows you.' Pausing. 'D'you think the letter could be from Christian?'

Frankie's short square gold nails dug into her palms. 'Unlikely. I haven't heard from him since we broke up. Even when I went to get my stuff once I was up to it, he wasn’t around. He wasn’t interested in seeing me. I think he took me ending it with him pretty badly. So I doubt it very much. Besides, he's in Bali at the moment.'

'Oh, yes. You missed out there on the holiday in paradise. But then again, money isn’t everything.'

'Yes, that’s what I keep telling myself.' Frankie muttered, scowling at the peeling ceiling above her head.

'What’s that? Is everything okay?’

Yeah, just hunky-dory. I live in a rough part of London, have no money, a job I can barely tolerate, debts coming out of my ears, and will probably end up with severe pneumonia because of the insane damp climbing my walls. But apart from that, it’s all good.

‘Frankie?’ Kate’s voice was strained, ‘You’re worrying me.’

Self-pity is not attractive! Frankie gave herself a proverbial kick up the arse. You have your health back, your independence and the freedom to make choices. More than some people have. She made her voice breezy. ‘Ignore me, everything is fine.’

‘Okay. If you say so.’ Kate said dubiously, but let Frankie off the hook. ‘If it’s not Christian, who else could it be?’

‘I don’t know. Davey?’

‘I thought he was gay?’

'Oh, he totally is, but it could be his idea of a joke.’ She sucked in her cheeks, considering the options. ‘Or maybe a way to remind me romance isn’t dead?’

‘Sounds a bit mean to me. Or a bit extreme, sending you on what could be a wild chase across the city. Do you really think he’d do that?’

‘I- hmmm, maybe not. I don’t know. The hand-writing doesn’t look like his though.’ Her side was aching, so she repositioned the cushion behind her head and crossed her ankles, resting them on the opposite arm of the sofa.

‘Any other likely suspects?' Kate quizzed.

‘No, I-,’ she hesitated.

‘What?'

'There is a guy at work. But…no.’

‘Who? And why not?’

‘Zack. He started a few months ago. He’s a sweetheart and we get on really well. But there isn’t a spark, and I’m not sure if the letter is his style.' Shaking her head, ‘Nah, I can’t see it. We're just friends and I’ve not given him any reason to think otherwise. Besides, it’s too soon.’

‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Kate replied, carrying on quickly before Frankie could object. ‘Anyway, perhaps he'll surprise you, and spark isn’t everything. Chemistry can grow over time. There are lots of other important things-’

'I know that from experience, remember? But like I said, it’s unlikely.’

‘Well, whoever it is, what’s the risk?’ Kate asked.

‘What? The risk of following the clues?’

'Yes. Let’s think it through. I suppose it could be a stalker,’ she paused dramatically, ‘or, dun-dun-dun, a serial killer.'

Frankie thought of one of her favourite films, This Means War and the main character’s objection to internet dating, and grinned, 'Yes, I guess I could end up as some guy's skin suit.'

‘That wouldn’t be good.’

‘No, it would put a serious cramp in my style,’ she giggled, and Kate joined in.

‘Seriously though,’ Kate said softly, ‘if the clues lead you to public places, you're fine, right? If they don't, you can always just cut your losses and go home.’

‘So you think I should do this?’ Frankie sat up, grabbing the remote and switching off the TV, side fringe swinging into her eyes. She blew it away impatiently.

'I'm not saying you have to, I'm just saying why not? It’s kind of exciting.’

‘What would you do?'

'I'd do it, as long as it was safe. But you already knew I’d say that. It’s why you called me. You were torn. Part of you is really tempted. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have bothered getting in touch, you would have just binned the letter.’

'What? I didn’t-,’ Frankie blew out a breath, eyes straying back to the A4 sheet of paper lying open on the table. The bloody thing had been like a magnet since she’d first read it. 'Argh, I hate it when you’re right. Okay. What's the harm? I don’t have to commit to anything. And it’s not as if I have anything else to do for the next few hours.'

'Yay,’ Kate let out an uncharacteristic squeak, 'you're going on a romantic scavenger hunt. Amazing!'

Frankie made a dismissive sound. 'Shut up.'

Kate guffawed, 'Whatever! Listen, I’m around for the evening, call or text me after every clue. I want to know where you end up going, and who it is. Now go, you’re late.’

‘Shit.' It was gone twenty past four. 'Okay, speak later. Thank you! Love you!' Ending the call, she shoved the phone in her jeans pocket, grabbed the letter, yanked on her leather jacket and whirled out the door. She might as well get on with it. And Kate was right, she was late.

On the tube on the way to Knightsbridge, Davey’s words spun in her head. Everyone needs love. It had never been so obvious after visiting her dad. She knew he worried about her, living in London, barely any disposable income to her name with Christian out of the picture, but she was more worried about him. He'd been quiet, grey.

'Missing Mum?' she'd asked softly as they'd sat in the front room of the pebble-dash semi-detached house she'd grown up in.

'Yes. It's worse today. This time of year.’ He sighed. ‘It's a time for families.'

Putting her patterned porcelain teacup down with a clink – her dad insisted on brewing a pot of tea the old-fashioned way, just as his wife had – she crossed over to his beige velour armchair. Squeezing his shoulder, 'I know it is. But that's why I'm here.'

He put his hand over hers, his skin dry and firm, but lined. She was an only child and they'd had her in their early forties after years of trying, so he was older than most of her friends' parents.

Gazing up at her, he smiled sadly. 'I love you Francesca, you know that. And there is no fiercer love than a parent has for a child, that's one thing me and your mum always agreed on, as you'll find out for yourself one day. But,' he continued, shifting his attention to the photo hanging above the mantelpiece, the three of them on her graduation day, both her parents' faces glowing with pride, no clue that a few short years later one of them would be gone, 'it's not the same. When you've had someone who's been your best friend for more years than you can count, who's always made you smile and laugh, battled through awful things with you…being alone after that, without them, well, it's…' he drifted off, still staring at the photo.

'Hard? I know, I get it. I miss her too.'

'No.' He denied, switching his attention to the gold watch Anna had bought him for his fiftieth, a rare extravagance. Tracing a shaking finger across the face. 'No,’ he repeated, ‘it’s not hard. It's unbearable.'

'Dad?' Knowing her voice showed alarm, she rearranged her clinging black woollen dress and sank down to the floor. 'What do you mean? You're not going to do anything silly, are-'

Jerking his head up at the quiver in her voice, his eyes widened, face immediately clearing. ‘What? No, I'm just having a bad day, that's all. Don't worry, I'm fine. The port is just getting to me. Stupid old bugger!'

She clambered up, knowing the best way to handle him, 'Well, I agree with the old and the bugger bit, but I'm not sure if you're stupid. You're too good at all your game shows and puzzles for that.'

‘Very droll.’ He spoke to her back as she drifted around the room.

She realigned Christmas cards from neighbours and relatives, straightened the scrappy red tinsel on the tree, punched the sofa cushions until she was satisfied they looked right. Their conversation had taken a turn down an alley she didn't want to walk down. Keep moving on, that’s what she needed to do.

Yanking back the curtains, she squinted out the window. 'Neighbourhood kids behaving now? Things any better?' This area of Southampton wasn't particularly nice, but it was home. She would always have a soft spot for it, despite the rubbish tumbling along the pavements, the broken street-lights and some of the front gardens being filled with junk fit only for the tip. It had changed a lot since she was little, when she'd played games on the road with her friends and they'd felt safe staying out until after dark, even at seven or eight years old.

'Of course,' he pushed out of his chair and joined her, hand clutching the window frame. 'They're too scared of you after your last visit to try anything.'

She flushed. 'All I did was tell them to behave. And if it worked, it was worth it.'

'You turned the air blue! And your eyes flashed just like your mother’s used to. You were lucky they didn't beat you up.'

'Well they shouldn't have tried to mess with my dad. Throwing missiles at the house is totally out of order. And now I live in a rough part of Landon,' she put on a thick east end accent, 'I got street smarts.' As his face clouded over, she drew the curtains rapidly. 'Come on, get your shoes on. Pub.'

'You think you can beat your old dad at darts?' he asked with a glint in his eye.

'Nope,' she said breezily as she wandered into the hallway to pull her ankle boots on. 'I know I can beat my old dad at darts.'

After he'd locked up as they'd meandered down the street arm in arm, he’d leant in close. ‘One of them kids told me afterwards that you had respect.’

‘I’m supposed to believe they respect me?’ she made a pfftt sound. ‘And why’s that exactly?’

‘He said you can swear better than they can.’

Dropping her head back, she let out a long, low laugh. ‘Is that right?’

‘Yes.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘You look like your mum when you laugh, you know. She had a lot of love to give.’ He emphasised the last sentence.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing.’ He looked at her innocently, ‘Absolutely nothing.’

***

As Frankie jumped off the tube and climbed up the stairs of Knightsbridge station, she recalled his words. She didn’t think she had any love to give, not right now. Her mum’s premature death had seen to that.

But apprehension and excitement nonetheless sizzled inside her as she reached street level. She sucked in a breath. Maybe she was crazy. Only the next few hours would tell. Unfurling the letter, she read the clue again, picking out the important sections. Need for speed, window, see it revolve, road. A car then, in a shop. Pulling out her phone she typed car dealers and Knightsbridge into Google maps. It was probably a bit of a cheat but she was late and a girl had to use any tools at her disposal. There were a few likely candidates, but the closest was McLaren. Turning right, she set off, striding past several tall posh buildings with big metal gates.

Coming to a halt outside a narrow shop front with floor to ceiling windows, she peered in. Sure enough, there was some kind of orange two-tone supercar revolving slowly in the window, all smooth lines and curves with laser effect lights. The massive round ceiling light above it, wider than the car itself, set the paintwork off perfectly.

It fit the bill in terms of the clue, but what did she do now? Go in and ask if anyone had left anything for her? She’d feel like an idiot if they said no. Then again, she could just move swiftly on to the next dealership. There was a Ferrari place down the other end of the road.

Hovering uncertainly, trying to make her mind up, she jerked when a guy in a sharp black suit opened the glass door and appeared next to her.

‘Can I help you?’ he smiled politely. ‘We close soon, given what day it is.’

The try not to be late part of the clue flashed through her mind, as she smiled back.

There was a method to whoever’s madness this was. ‘Yes, sorry. I, that is, a friend sent me here,’ no way was she admitting she had no idea who the person was, ‘to pick something up. But I’m not sure what. I know that sounds stupid,’ she finished lamely.

‘Not at all, if you are who I think you are. Your name?’

‘Frankie Taylor. Do you need to see some ID?’

He laughed, white teeth flashing. ‘No, you’re okay. Come in.’ He pulled open the door, gesturing her ahead of him.

‘Thanks.’ She stepped into the sparkling chrome showroom, huge silver pillars supporting the low ceiling.

‘No problem at all. If you don’t mind waiting here a minute?’

‘That’s fine.’ She glanced around, noticing another car slowly turning on the spot, this one gleaming white with black accessories.

‘Why don’t you have a go while I get your package?’ he asked.

‘A go?’

Sauntering over to the orange two-tone car, he ran his fingers around the edge of the door and pressed something. The door swooped upwards, a bit like the Batmobile.

‘Wow!’ she breathed. She wasn’t really a car girl but it was gorgeously impressive.

‘Have a seat. Watch out, it’s quite low to the ground.’

‘Are- are you sure?’ She took a step towards it, eyes drawn to the button-filled grey interior.

‘Of course.’

She frowned down at her stiletto boots. ‘What if I damage it? How much is it worth?’

‘Don’t damage it,’ he said mildly, ‘be careful. It’s a 650S,’ he explained, ‘so it’s retailing for only two hundred and seventy five thousand.’

She stopped mid-climb into the low slung sports car. ‘Only?’

‘Well, there are a few other models but the most expensive, the P1, sells for over eight hundred thousand.’

‘Eight- Jeez.’ Christian had been loaded and owned a Lamborghini Huracán. It’d been worth less than two hundred thousand pounds and the value of it had made her squirm every time she’d got in it.

‘Like I said, just be careful.’ The man said, nodding, ‘I’ll only be a few minutes.’

Watching his departing back as he strode off the showroom floor, she lowered herself into the flashy car, mindful not to snag her heels on the carpet.

Resting her hands on the velvety textured steering wheel, she stared out of the low, wide windscreen unseeingly, thinking about a day trip she and Christian had gone on the previous summer.

***

He’d arranged to test drive an Alfa Romeo 8C Spider. He’d loved the look of the long nose and how close to the ground it was and wanted something for sunny weekends. On walking out of their flat wearing the required designer dress and high heels, she’d looked it over with interest.

‘What do you think?’ he’d asked, throwing his arms out, black hair gleaming in the July sunshine.

‘It’s quite pretty,’ she answered, moving around the back and taking in the high red round lights, registration plate dead centre and double exhausts on both sides below. ‘Looks a bit like a face,’ she mused.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Somehow I don’t think that was what they had in mind when they designed it,’ he said drily.

She smiled, ‘I’m just saying. So what are the double exhausts for?’

Opening the door for himself, he’d gestured for her to get in opposite. ‘Come on, let’s go. We have lunch plans.’

‘We do?’ The change of subject was so obviously a tactic to avoid answering the question. She didn’t call him on it. It wouldn’t be worth the sulky silence that would follow. Besides, she already knew Christian was more interested in how cars looked than what was under the bonnet or how they performed on the road. Maybe it was an apt reflection for his taste in women. They’d been together for three years but she sometimes wondered if he saw her, really saw her, or if he was more interested in how she looked on his arm.

‘Yes. We’re going to Tunbridge Wells.’ He grinned, blue eyes twinkling and a dimple flashing in his cheek. ‘Now come on, woman, get in. I’ll show you a good time.’ He leaned in and kissed her as she settled in the seat, stroking her face before helping her buckle up.

Her fears dissolved at the loving gesture and she shook her head. She didn’t know what was with her at the moment, doubting him, doubting their relationship. They were fine. Everything was fine.

And it was fun, leaving the city and driving down country lanes, whizzing around bends and turns with the roof down, Frankie struggling to control her long black extensions, which kept flipping up around her face.

‘Can I have a go?’ she turned to him as they stopped at a crossroads.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Why? I’m fully comped on my car, so we’re covered if something happens.’

‘No, you’re okay,’ he answered coolly, pulling away with a quiet roar.

‘But it looks like fun! I want to see what it feels like-’

‘I’ll buy you any car you want to run around in,’ he interjected, ‘but you’re not driving this.’

She laughed, ‘Don’t be silly. It’s not even yours! Come on. Pull over.’ She gave him a playful nudge with her elbow.

‘No.’

‘Come on!’ she giggled.

‘No!’ he said sharply, shooting her a dark look. ‘Leave it alone. This test drive is for me.’

‘Okay, fine.’ She edged away from him, gazing at the passing green, leafy countryside. Sometimes this unpleasant side of him came out. The new money, offered life on a plate, spoilt side. He’d grown up with rich parents who gave him everything without question.

But everyone had strengths and weaknesses, everyone had flaws. There were lots of things she loved about him. He could be fun, he made her smile, he spoiled her rotten – she didn’t want for anything. He gave her a way of life most people would kill for. She didn’t have to work, could have a dream wedding and be a stay-at-home mum when the time came, instead of having to put any children in nursery and trekking out to work all hours, the way her parents had done. They’d always struggled financially, looking worn out and overwhelmed, trying to give Frankie everything she needed. Because she’d been a much wanted baby, they’d treated like a precious gift, wanting the best for her, trying to protect her and keep her safe. She’d always pulled away from that, had been a tomboy more interested in climbing trees and riding her BMX with the boys than chattering with girls and playing with Barbie dolls. Strange that she’d ended up here with Christian, living a life that was like a Barbie and Ken set up.

She glanced over at him, studying his straight nose and tanned skin. He’d get over his sulk sooner or later, and after all, it wasn’t a big deal; there would be other cars, other opportunities. He’d always been there for her when it counted, that’s all that really mattered. Yes, everything was fine. So she squelched down the feeling of disquiet in her stomach.

***

Frankie shook her head, pulling herself from the past, running her hands along the soft steering wheel, taking in the various gadgets and gizmos on the dashboard. She smiled, the corner of her mouth crooking up on one side. This car was about as far away as you could get from the beaten up Fiat Zack had given her a lift home in a month or so before.

***

It’d been pouring with rain as she’d stopped in the front entrance of the department store, checking the Transport for London app on her iPhone for her journey home. ‘Fantastic.’ She groaned at the alert telling her there was a line closure, and looked out at the road. The pavement was glossy with rain and giant oily puddles gleamed under the streetlights.

‘What’s up?’ Zack appeared next to her, peering out into the deluge. ‘Oof, that’s heavy.’

She shivered. ‘Line closure. I’m going to have to take three different tubes to get home. And it’s already seven.’ They stayed open late on Thursday nights and she’d been down on the rota to cover Womenswear.

‘I’ll give you a lift.’ He offered, tossing his keys in the air and catching them easily, open face relaxed and friendly.

‘Are you sure? I thought you lived across the other side of the city.’

‘I do,’ he shrugged, ‘but you’ll get soaked on the other end, there’s no sign of it letting up. It’ll also take you ages. I’ve got no other plans tonight. Let me help.’

She glanced out at the rain again, heavier than before if possible, big fat drops striking the pavement. Switching her gaze back to him, she hesitated. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ The idea of sitting in a heated car was preferable to the idea of traipsing up and down tube station stairs and getting wet on the frigid walk home from the last stop, but she felt edgy, though unsure why. It wasn’t like she was afraid of him. Quite the opposite, he made her feel comfortable, safe.

‘Frankie,’ he shook his head gently, ‘please don’t turn into one of those girls who make easy things complicated. Let’s make this easy. Just say yes.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t want to be one of those girls,’ she flashed back lightly, ‘okay, a lift would be appreciated, thank you. Where’s the car?’ She scanned the street.

‘Ah, yes. The car. I should probably tell you she’s not much to look at. But she does do what I need her to.’

‘Is she mechanically sound?’ Frankie asked.

‘Absolutely,’ Zack said, tucking his keys in his trouser pocket and zipping up his jacket.

‘That’s good enough for me then. Where is your car?’

‘You stay here, I’ll go and get her. No point in both of us getting wet. I won’t be long.’ Without waiting for a reply he dashed off into the rain.

‘Ok-ay then.’ Frankie rolled her eyes and did her coat up as a chilly wind swept into the entranceway. ‘Brrr.’

Zack was back within minutes, pulling up as close as he could. He hadn’t been kidding about his car. From what she could make out in the winter darkness, it was a weird beige shade and one of the wings didn’t match colour with the rest of body. The aerial was bent off to one side, and there was a dent above one of the arches. But if it drove, she really didn’t care.

She expected Zack to reach across and unlock the doors so she could climb in, but he got out instead, coming round to open the door for her.

‘You’re getting wet,’ she said stupidly. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’

‘I wanted to,’ he replied, grinning, ‘And Mum drummed good manners into me.’

He looked earnest and kind of cute, his blond hair darkened in the rain. ‘Thank you then, I guess.’

‘Get in then,’ he smiled, ‘we’re both getting wet now.’

‘Sorry!’ Ducking down, she slid into the car and after checking she was settled, he slammed the door. Hard. So hard it shook the whole car.

‘Sorry about that,’ he laughed as he got in, closing his door a lot more gently. ‘That door can be a bit of a pain. I wouldn’t want it swinging open mid-journey.’ He laughed again and she knew her eyes had widened. ‘Don’t look so worried, it probably won’t.’

‘Probably?’ she squeaked.

‘Ninety per-cent.’ He see-sawed his hand, ‘Eighty minimum.’ He paused as there was a sudden gust of wind and the rain rattled on the roof. ‘Anyway, you’ll have a seatbelt on. Just in case.’

‘Ha, ha.’ She replied, knowing from the twinkle in his eye that he was joking.

‘Speaking of,’ he reached across her for the seatbelt tongue, pulling it across her body, ‘this is a bit fiddly too.’

‘Right,’ she breathed, as he did the seatbelt up. He had a dimple near his cheekbone, higher up than the norm. It was sweet. She’d never noticed it before, although they spoke every morning in the staff room before their shift. His easy, laid back manner was a pleasant start to the working day.

He sat back and stared at her. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, thanks. I’m just a bit tired.’

‘Side hurting?’ he asked sympathetically, putting the key in the ignition and turning it.

‘A bit of a niggle,’ she said, touched by the concern, ‘I was stood up a lot today.’ Most of the staff knew she’d sustained some kind of injury to her ribs the year before, and that sometimes she needed to take a break or find some painkillers. They didn’t however know the details. Zack had never pressed her for them.

‘Have you taken anything?’ Music came on, and he fiddled with some buttons, getting the heater started.

‘A couple of ibuprofen earlier,’ she answered distractedly, ‘this is Bastille.’

‘Yes.’ He nodded.

‘I didn’t know you liked them.’

‘You said they were good so I bought the album to check them out. That’s what friends do, right?’ he cranked the heater up. ‘They share their likes and dislikes, recommend stuff to each other.’ She nodded in agreement. ‘By the way,’ he continued, ‘how are you getting on with the book I leant you?’

‘It’s really great. I love it.’

‘Good. Well, let me know when you’ve finished it and I’ll recommend another.’

‘Okay, and I’ll bring some of those sci-fi books in that I was telling you about.’

‘Sounds good.’ He stared at her, hands on the steering wheel.

‘All ready to go then?’ she asked pointedly, shivering.

‘I, uh, yeah, sorry.’ Turning to face the windscreen, he shook his head, his hair brushing his jacket collar at the back.

They chattered away as he drove across town, comparing notes on favourite films and TV programmes, mock-arguing about whose line manager was going to explode soonest in the race for the best sales results, exchanging stories about their childhoods, her as an only child, him as one of four brothers.

‘Oh my god, your poor mum!’ she joked, tracing a snowflake shape into the condensation on her window that had built up from their shared breathing.

‘Nah, it could have been worse,’ Zack replied.

‘How?’ she glanced at him. ‘Five boys?’

‘No,’ he said with a completely straight face, ‘it could have been four-’

‘Girls!’ she finished off, pretending to punch his arm. ‘Oi!’

‘Come on…Are girls not higher maintenance than boys?’

‘You’re at risk of sounding like a complete sexist. Luckily for you, I know you’re joking!’

‘Yeah, I am, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong,’ he answered cheekily.

‘Boys are just as bad as girls, but in different ways.’ She sighed, pretending to be exasperated. Actually, she was having fun.

‘Boys tend to be more adventurous I guess,’ he mused. ‘So tend to get hurt more.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that. First exit off here,’ she directed as they came to a roundabout. ‘We’re only five minutes away. I mean, I was quite adventurous,’ she carried on with their conversation. ‘I went and travelled the world for a year after finishing uni.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ His face lit up. ‘So did I! Where did you go? I did Europe; France, Spain, Italy. Then some of Asia, finishing off in Australia.’

‘Me too! I mean, no, I mostly did Thailand, but spent three months in Australia, at the end. Worked my way along the Gold Coast, had casual jobs in some bars and then picked grapes in a really beautiful vineyard. God, it was so great to feel the sun on my skin. The rainforest and waterfalls were sensational too.’ She sighed longingly, ‘I could have stayed there forever.’

‘Yeah, I’m a sun worshipper too. I worked along the road from the Mount Tamborine Vineyard, at the Glow Worm Caves.’

‘That place is amazing!’ Frankie turned to face him, ‘Wow, talk about a small world; that was the vineyard I was at. We could have met! I was there in 2011, how about you?’

‘I was there in 2010. It was amazing, but a bloody expensive trip too. It was worth it, really once in a lifetime stuff, but I’m still paying it off now, four years later. Still, at least I only have a year left.’

‘Yes! Exactly! Me too. About the expensive bit I mean.’ She fell silent. She’d be repaying it for a lot longer, given when she’d been with Christian she’d barely made a dent in the debts. He’d offered to pay the loans off for her lots of times, but something in her had always balked. It’d felt too much, him paying for the fun she’d had before meeting him. Now she wished she’d taken him up on the offer.

‘I always meant to go travelling again,’ he shared, ‘maybe I’ll look into it towards the end of next year.’

‘Yes,’ she replied absently. ‘Right here, please,’ she directed him down a side road that cut through to the main high street with all its shops and bars.

‘Thanks. Everything all right? You’ve gone quiet on me.’

Even though she was staring out of the window at the soaked streets, she could feel him looking at her. She bit her lip, wondering if her life would have gone in a different direction if she had been at the vineyard a year earlier, if she’d met Zack then, had come back to the UK with a good friend, someone who had shared experiences and shared money worries. She might not have met Christian, or if she had, might have thought twice about falling into a whirlwind relationship with him. Of course, she’d fallen out of it almost as quickly, and on bad days wondered if that had been a mistake.

‘Frankie? You’re worrying me. I’m not used to you not spouting some opinion or bit of gossip at me. Is everything okay?’

‘Sorry.’ She turned and smiled at him. ‘I was just thinking. Anyway, my place is just down here on the right, just after that white van,’ she pointed out a dodgy looking vehicle with a partially concealed number plate, orange twine hanging out the slightly open back door.

‘All right,’ he pulled over, ‘here you go. I’ll walk you up.’

‘Er, no,’ she grabbed her bag from the floor, opened the door, ‘I’m only on the first floor. There’s no need.’ She jumped out. She wasn’t a snob but she was embarrassed about where she lived, the back alleyway always full of stinky, old potato peelings and her cramped, damp flat smelling of fast food. She ducked her head back into the car, quivering as chilly rain dripped down inside her collar. ‘Thanks so much, Zack, for the lift I mean. I really appreciate it. I’d invite you up but it really is getting late and I need to take a hot bath. My ribs are pretty uncomfortable.’

He relaxed back in his seat, tapped a hand idly on the steering wheel. ‘Whatever you need,’ he smiled gently. ‘As long as you’re not running away because you’re traumatised by riding in my car.’

‘Oh well, there is that as well,’ she countered, ‘but at least it was clean.’

‘I do my best,’ he said. ‘Okay, well take care and have a nice evening.’

‘Will do. See you at work tomorrow.’

‘See you in the staff room,’ he gave a friendly wave.

Slamming the door with a thud due to his earlier comments, she crossed around the back of the car, staring up at the shop sign Starr’s Kebabs. Huh, there are no stars here, she thought. Zack’s engine started behind her and she swung around to watch him pull away. As he went to drive off, a sudden thought occurred to her. She ran over to the car and knocked on the window.

Zack wound it down. ‘What’s up?’

‘Random question.’

He looked amused, ‘Fire away.’

‘If something happened and I needed to drive your car, or if I wanted to, what would you say?’

‘I can’t imagine for a minute why you’d want to drive this crap heap,’ he replied, ‘but if you needed to drive it, and were insured, it wouldn’t be a big deal. Why?’

‘Nothing. That’s what I thought. Night.’ Frankie stepped back from the car, tucking her hands in her pockets. It really was bitter tonight.

‘Right. Not sure about weird question,’ he quipped, starting to roll up his window, ‘more like weird girl! See you in the morning.’

‘See you,’ she whispered, watching his rear lights as he pulled away.

***

‘Here you go, found it! It was buried in a colleague’s in-tray in the office.’ The McLaren salesman’s voice sounded next to Frankie’s ear through the car’s open window.

She let out a little yelp, hand flying to her chest.

‘Apologies,’ he tacked on, helping her open the car door, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘No, it’s okay,’ she waited for the door to finish swooping up over her head and slid out sideways, a lot harder than it looked, as the car was so close to the ground. He offered her a helping hand and she accepted it gratefully, feeling like he was hoisting her up from a horizontal position. ‘It was my fault,’ she excused him, ‘I wasn’t paying attention.’

‘You did look quite deep in thought,’ he agreed, handing her an A4 manila envelope, which looked suspiciously bumpy.

‘Thank you,’ she ran her fingers over the envelope, wondering what was in it.

‘No problem. Sorry for the delay.’ He closed the car door smoothly and walked her over to shop front. He paused, manicured fingers wrapped around the door handle. ‘You know, he was lucky. We're not open all the time, some days we only do private appointments.’

Intrigue fizzled in her belly, ‘He? What did he look like?'

The man smiled politely, 'I don’t think that's for me to say, but to be honest I don't think the young man who delivered the envelope is necessarily the one who arranged whatever this is, for you.’

‘Why do you say that?'

‘Well, by my estimation he looked about twelve.’

‘Oh.' Now she was really confused. Christian didn’t have any relatives or know anyone that age and neither did anyone else she knew. Was this all a part of some elaborate schoolboy prank then? Was she going to come out looking like a prize idiot? But what schoolboys wrote poems / clues like that? There was only one way to find out.

‘Do you mind if I open this in here?’ she asked the salesman, ‘I probably need to go on somewhere else after this and it’s quite dark outside, even with the street lights.’ She checked out the window. It also looked freezing cold out there from the way people were rushing past, huddled in their coats and scarves, heads bowed against the wind.

‘I can give you five minutes while I start locking up.’

‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully, ripping into the envelope as he walked away.

The bumps she’d felt turned out to be a handful of mini Bounty bars, her favourite chocolates. Smiling, she unwrapped one and stuck it in her mouth, savouring the rich milk chocolate alongside the crisp nuttiness of the coconut centre. She doubted anyone would go to all this trouble to poison her, and there were no signs of any serial killers so far.

This note was similar to the first.

You’ve found the next clue, you know what to do,

You don’t have to go far, you won’t need a car.

Footsteps only to this destination,

Opposite main Knightsbridge station.

Their range is extensive, but very expensive.

A flagship store; beauty, designer and more.

? x

P.s Hope the chocolates makes you smile.

P.p.s. Ask for Millie on the second floor.

Frankie hit the redial button on her phone, peering out along the road as the double tone rang in her ear. The clue was vague in one way - everything around here was pretty expensive, she was in Knightsbridge for heaven’s sake - but she was pretty sure from the reference to flagship store where she was going next. One side of her tingled with anticipation at the thought. It was where she’d used to shop all the time, when she was with Christian. But, oh god, the other side of her thought, did that mean it was definitely him?

‘Hi, it’s me.’ She said as Kate finally answered the phone.

‘Hi, Hun.’ Her friend sounded breathless. ‘Sorry, I was out back with the dogs. How’s it going?’

‘Good, I think. I made it to the first place, a McLaren dealership and they had an envelope for me. Apparently it was delivered by some twelve year old kid, which is a bit strange.’

‘That is odd. So what was in the envelope?’

‘Another clue, and some mini Bounty bars.’

‘Ooh. Nice.’

‘Christian knows my favourite chocolates,’ Frankie said flatly.

‘Yes, but anyone who works with you knows that too. I bet you still eat them all the time. It’s like your thing. It’s a wonder you’re not three foot wide.’

‘Thanks. Helpful.’

‘So, do you think it is Christian?’

‘I thought it was unlikely but I am starting to wonder. I think I’m off to Harvey Nichols now, which is totally his style. And I can’t imagine Davey or Zack being able to afford anything in there, so by a process of elimination…I don’t know how I feel about it if it’s him. We split up for a reason.’

‘If it is him, he’s gone to a lot of trouble to see you and you’re there, so you might as well see it through. And it might not be him. Go to Harvey Nicks and give me a call when you’re done there.’

‘Okay, but for the record, I’m not sure about this.’

‘Noted,’ Kate laughed, ‘now stop being such a big baby and get going. It sounds great to me; I’d loved to be treated to something expensive.’

‘Noted in return,’ she said drily, ‘catch you later.’ Ending the call, Frankie threw another thank you over her shoulder as she left the McLaren dealership, hoping she wasn’t going to regret this.

‘I’m supposed to ask for Millie?’ Frankie spoke to the top of the girl’s downturned head, hoping she was in the right place.

‘That’s me,’ the girl said coolly, looking up. ‘You must be Miss Taylor.’

‘I am.’

‘Welcome. I’ll be your Personal Shopper today.’ She smiled, green eyes steady, brown hair tucked neatly back into a low ponytail. ‘I'm here to help you get ready. You are cutting it a little fine though Madam, we shut at six ‘o’ clock today.’

‘Sorry. I’m always late. And Frankie’s fine. Madam is far too formal.’ She raised her eyebrows hopefully, ‘I don’t suppose you know what I’m getting ready for?'

The girl smiled politely, as if she handled questions like this every day. 'Your date. The Daniel Hersheshon Salon on the floor below us are going to do your hair and make- up, very quickly, and then I’ll sort you out an outfit. Have you ever been to the salon before? Do you know it?

'Yes.’ In another lifetime she’d spent a lot of time there, having manicures, pedicures and regular blow dries. As much as it was nice to be treated, she wasn’t sure how she felt about being that person again.

‘Do you know who the date is with?' Frankie blurted. This was looking more and more like it had Christian stamped all over it. But he should be halfway across the world, and why make contact after all this time, and in this way?

The girl gave her a strange look at that one. 'You don't?'

'Erm, no,' she stumbled, 'I’m kind of on this scavenger hunt thing where I have to follow the clues and-

'Oh, that’s so romantic!’ Millie clasped her hands together, eyes sparkling, 'Like in a film. I am so jealous. You lucky thing!’ She seemed to have completely forgotten herself and the composed professional she’d first presented as, but Frankie much preferred this version. ‘Oh, wait until you see the dress, I can’t wait to see your face. Come on, we need to hurry.’ Gesturing her over to the lift, Millie beckoned Frankie to follow her.

‘I don’t suppose the name Christian means anything to you,’ Frankie asked as they stepped in together and the lift descended soundlessly.

‘No. It was a woman who made the appointment.’

‘A woman?’ Frankie frowned.

‘Yes.’

This day just got stranger and stranger.

Half an hour later Frankie stepped back into the warm-toned, beige and brown Personal Shopping suite with Millie, stiletto heels of her ankle boots clicking on the marble floor.

‘You look fantastic, Frankie,’ Millie said, leading her into a separate dressing area.

‘Thanks,’ Frankie stopped and looked in a mirror as she entered the room.

The senior stylist in the salon had done something incredible with a hair dryer and texturising spray, creating a sexy, messed up look that said just got out of bed after an orgasmic all-nighter. The make-up technician had done her proud too and Frankie could hardly believe how flawless her skin was, how sculpted her cheekbones, her violet eyes defined and feline-like, a bit like Gemma Arterton in a magazine advert she’d recently seen.

‘Do you like it?’ Millie came up behind her.

‘Yes.’ Frankie breathed. The girl staring back was definitely her, but better. She might even venture, striking. She’d forgotten just how flattering luxury make-up was, in comparison to the stuff she’d been buying from the supermarket for the last year. She knew it was shallow, but she had missed this. Missed looking stylish and polished. Missed the superior products and designer names.

‘It’s a pity they didn’t have time to do your nails,’ Millie said, backing away and walking into an adjoining room, voice carrying through to Frankie, ‘but what you have on will still work.’ She came back in with a garment over her arm. ‘Time for the dress.’ Millie's eyes were shining and Frankie felt an instant of friendship with the personal shopper, like they were in this together.

‘What are you so excited about?’ Frankie asked. ‘Oh.' The dress was gold, knee-length and strapless, with sequins and beading around the plunging sweetheart neckline. 'Wow.'

'Yes.' Millie giggled at her expression. ‘I think I probably wore the same expression the first time I saw it. Difference is, you get to wear it. You are so lucky.’ A tannoy announcement sounded above their head. ‘Quick,’ Millie urged, ‘the store closes in ten minutes.’

‘Oh, I’ll be quick!’ Frankie whipped her jumper over her head, stopping when she realised the kind of bra she had on wouldn’t do.

‘Sorry, I forgot.’ Millie rushed back out and returned to fling a strapless bra and invisible underwear at Frankie. ‘Hurry! Call me when you need zipping up, I’ll be out there tidying,’ she gestured to the reception area.

‘Thank you.’

Five minutes later Frankie gazed at the mirror in awe, her expression twinned with Millie’s, who’d come in to secure the zip, hooks and eyes running up the back of the dress.

'He got the fit exactly right.’ The personal shopper said. ‘He must know you really well.’

‘Hmm,’ Frankie made an indistinct sound. It was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen and she felt like a princess, but the accurate sizing was more puzzling than ever. She’d lost a lot of weight since the break-up. Between the hospital stay, when she’d barely eaten through grieving for her mum and pain had driven away the need for food, and the change in lifestyle of having to budget constantly to afford to eat, she’d dropped at least two dress sizes. So how would Christian know what would fit her now?

Zack was the most likely candidate; they’d been messing around with a tape measure in one of the stock cupboards only the week before. But how on earth could he afford something like this, on his wages as a Merchandiser? And how would she feel if it was him, when they were only friends?

***

‘Hey, weird girl!’ Zack appeared next to Frankie in the open door. ‘What’s up?

‘Shit!’ She dropped the box she was holding with a clatter and the hangers spilled out onto the floor. ‘Zack, you scared me.’ Crouching down, she started picking them up, shoving them away.

‘Sorry, I thought you heard me coming.’ Stooping next to her, he took the hangers back out of the box and lined them up neatly before putting them back in. ‘I was whistling.’ He added, eyes twinkling.

She stood up and went over to one of the cupboards to find some skew tags, seeing as he had the hanger situation under control. ‘Sorry,’ she replied in a mock sniffy tone, ‘I was too busy humming to hear you whistling.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Lady Frankie, is humming now a superior art form to whistling? Who do we send the memo to?’ he teased.

‘Human Resources, who else? Maybe it qualifies as part of a staff well-being initiative.’

‘Well-being? Ha, ha. Where do you work?’ Zack straightened, inserting the box back into its space on the shelf. ‘Because it’s definitely not here! Isn’t it odd,’ he mused, ‘how pristine the shop floor is, how polished and neat the shopping areas, and then how tatty the back of house areas are? If only the customers got the behind the scenes experience.’

Frankie stopped in her tracks, having had the same thought a hundred times before, every time she’d stepped off the shop floor and into the staff room or one of the store cupboards. ‘Yes,’ she said softly, ‘it is odd.’ She smiled, ’Imagine if one day we didn’t close a door properly and a customer saw the fourth floor corridor with all the mannequins and boxes of crap along it; a complete fire hazard. There’d be mayhem!’ she joked.

He laughed, ‘You are strange, weird girl.’

‘Stop calling me that,’ she exclaimed, setting the skew tags aside, and bending over to root through one of the cupboards. The flexible measuring tape in Womenswear was forever going missing and the sales manager had asked Frankie to search some spares out.

‘Why?’

‘Argh. What a mess!’ Her hands tangled in the assortment of stuff shoved in the box by colleagues, measuring tapes and thick white parcel string and paperclips and tags. ‘Because I’m not weird.’ She spun around, hands extended to him. She pulled a pitiful face, ‘Help me, please.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Zack came over to her and started unpicking string from around her thumb and forefinger. ‘I mean, who else could imprison their hands just by going through a box?’

She stuck her tongue out at him in answer.

‘And who else has got freaky alien eyes?’ he quipped, grinning to take the sting out of any insult.

‘Oi! What do you mean alien eyes?’ she growled, pretending to glower at him.

‘They’re a really unusual colour,’ he said, head bent over her hands as he tried to unwrap the requested measuring tape from around her wrist, and separate it from the string.

Frankie didn’t answer, distracted by the space between his hair and collar, noticing a row of freckles along the back of his neck. It was hardly surprising how fair he was, but it was funny the things you saw when you stopped to look at people. She wondered if he had freckles in other places too. The thought shocked her into talking. ‘They’re a kind of deep violet,’ she agreed. ‘It is quite rare. Comes from my Mum’s side of the family.’ She stiffened.

‘Yeah,’ he lifted his head to gaze up at her, but didn’t give any indication he’d picked up on her tension, ‘for weeks after I started I thought you were wearing some of those fake party contact lenses you get. I even asked George,’ one of their colleagues from Menswear, ‘and he laughed at me. But the shape of your eyes is sort of different too, sort of cat-like.’

‘You’ve been spending far too much time thinking about this,’ she sniggered, pulling her hands away as he unravelled the last of the mess. ‘Cheers.’ She took a measuring tape off him and started wrapping it up and he took the other. ‘Next you’ll be telling me you’ve been trying to calculate my dress size too.’

‘Which is?’ he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, holding the tape out to her and trying to wrap it around her waist.

'Get lost!’ she squirmed away. ‘A lady never shares that information.’

‘Fair enough,’ he smiled, ‘not that it really matters.’

'God, you’re not going to go all Bridget Jones on me, are you?'

'What, and tell you that I like you,’ he batted his eyelashes and she realised just how long they were, ‘just as you are? Nah, I'm hardly Colin Firth.'

She smirked, ‘But you do watch rom coms.’

He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Occasionally, but I’m man enough to take it. But we’re just friends right?’ he waited for her to nod, and dropped the rolled up measuring tape in her palm. ‘And besides, I'm not really into any of that soppy stuff. I’d rather just tell a girl I like her and ask her out.’

‘Okay. You don’t have to act like I’ve accused you of being a mass murderer.’

He swiped a pair of scissors off the side, a fake manic gleam in his eyes as he advanced towards her. 'How do you know I’m not?’

‘Eek! Please, don’t hurt me,’ she threw her arms up in front of her as she edged toward the door, ‘please spare me. I’ll do whatever you want. I’m too young to die!’

‘Oh, all right then.’ He threw the scissors aside. ‘It’s coffee time anyway. Do you want one?’

She giggled, dropping her arms, ‘You’d make a crap serial killer, so easily distracted by caffeine. And, yes please.’ He’d taken to making them fresh coffee in a cafetiere every morning and afternoon, a new brand with hints of vanilla. She loved it, and appreciated the effort. One of the girls from the Dior counter had grumbled the other day that he didn’t make coffee for them.

‘A sensible serial killer,’ he argued, checking his watch, ‘I think a caffeine hit would be pretty important. Get the blood pumping and the adrenalin spiking for all the running around I’d have to do, stalking big-breasted blondes down impossibly long corridors with thousands of doors.’

She laughed as they closed the cupboard behind them. ‘Again, you’ve spent too much time thinking about this. I’m concerned that you haven’t got any meaningful hobbies. Anyway, I’m just going to take these down to Womenswear,’ she held up the tapes, ‘so I’ll meet you up there.’

‘No problem, see you in the staff room in a minute.’

Frankie turned away, humming under her breath.

‘Oh, Frankie?’

‘Yes?’ she spun around.

‘The reason it wouldn’t matter what your dress size is, is because it’s about shape and proportions, not size. But given part of my job involves dressing dummies and working with clothes, I reckon you’re probably,’ he reeled off a set of figures that made her eyes widen because of their accuracy. ‘I’m guessing from your face I’m close, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, or else all the girls will want the same service.’ He ducked and guffawed as a tape measure went sailing over his head.

She was smiling as she turned away, and still was a few minutes later.

***

‘I said, here are the shoes that go with it,’ Millie extended a pair of black stilettos to Frankie, and she got the sense it wasn’t the first time the personal shopper had tried to hand them to her. ‘We’re going to get locked in, and you’re going to be late.’

‘Th-thanks.’ Frankie shook her head, ‘Sorry.’ Slipping them on, she checked her reflection. ‘Okay, good to go.’ She hesitated, ‘Do you know where I’m going next?’

‘No,’ Millie placed a black wrap around Frankie’s shoulders and handed her a matching handbag. ‘All I know is there’s a car waiting at the front entrance to take you to the next stop. Now, don’t worry about your jacket and clothes, a courier will run them home to you tomorrow. I put your phone, money, keys and other things in the bag. Let’s move.’

‘Thank you. I feel like a celebrity with her own entourage,’ Frankie admitted as they rode the lift down to the ground floor.

‘Let’s hope you’re going somewhere fitting then,’ Millie replied, leading her out to the entrance on Knightsbridge, signalling to a driver standing next to a silver limo. ‘Just promise me you won’t act like a diva.’

‘I won’t,’ Frankie grinned as they both stared at the luxury car. ‘Although it might be hard. Thank you for all your help,’ she said, sashaying over to the car door the driver was holding open, and sliding in carefully in the tight dress.

‘Just doing my job.’ Millie stooped to peer in at her, shaking her head in disbelief at the ready poured glass of champagne Frankie was already holding in her hand. ‘If you think it’s appropriate, I’d love to know how you got on.’

Frankie took a sip of fizz, sneezing as the bubbles went up her nose, ‘Of course I’ll let you know,’ she replied.

‘Great. And if you could arrange for the limo to circle back and drop me home, even better,’ Millie quipped.

Frankie nodded and winked, ‘I’ll do my best.’

As the car drew away from the kerb and the waving personal shopper, Frankie leaned forward to speak to the driver, ‘Do you know where we’re going?’

‘Not far, Madam,’ he replied, ‘not far at all.’

A minute later they were pulling in beside Hyde Park Corner, Frankie having only drunk half of the glass of delicious champagne. ‘We’ve only come about half a mile.’ She peered out at the grey statues, arches and columns.

‘Just under,’ the driver said, eyes meeting hers in the mirror, ‘but you wouldn’t want to walk it in those shoes, would you?’

‘I guess not,’ she said wryly, looking down at the pin-sharp heels. ‘So what now?’

He gestured her forward and she shuffled toward him. ‘For you.’ Handing her an envelope. ‘I’ll wait while you read it. You have to tell me where we’re going.’

‘Right.’ She took another sip of champagne and set the flute aside. ‘Here goes then.’ The envelope was smaller than the others but with a bulkier object in one corner, so she opened it with care, unfurling the scented paper.

A world class hotel, with old world glamour,

A slice of pink heaven, refined not with clamour,

Louis sixteenth design, art easy on the eye,

Best dining rooms in Europe, that’s FYI.

Bronze gilt and sumptuous chandeliers,

join me for dinner, it won’t end in tears.

? x

P.s. wear these.

She tapped the envelope against her palm and a square jewellery box fell out. She flipped back the lid, holding her breath. A pair of twinkling diamond earrings nestled on the velvet pillow. This was too much. Getting her iPhone out, she did a google search and then texted Kate.

Hey, hope you’re having a good NYE so far. Decked out in designer togs, with hair & make-up done. Heels, bag, expensive jewellery – the lot. Looks like it’s Christian and I’m going to a famous hotel. Will catch up with you later, F xx

Frankie tucked her phone away, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I know where we’re going,’ she announced to the driver.

‘Where shall I take you Madam?’ he raised an eyebrow.

‘The Ritz, please. But can you circle the block a few times? I need a couple of minutes.’

‘Of course,’ he replied automatically.

‘Thank you.’ She said softly, sinking back against the seat, gazing out at Hyde Park Corner, where she and Zack had gone for a walk on their lunch break only a few weeks before.

***

Zack was leaning up against the inside of the impressive Wellington Arch, traffic streaming past them, roaring and beeping. His breath was puffing out in front of him in clouds. It was the coldest day so far, and personally Frankie would much rather be in the staff room warmly wrapped up, but Zack had convinced her to jump on a bus and get some fresh air. Well, as fresh as you could get in the middle of London.

‘It’s the anniversary, or close to it, isn’t it?’ he asked her, tucking his hands in his jacket pockets. ‘You look sad today.’

Frankie nodded, wrapping her purple scarf tighter around her face. ‘Mum died a year ago today,’ she gulped. She’d told him about her mum’s premature heart attack over lunch one day, when he’d picked up a health magazine and made a comment about an article in it. They’d had a debate over what caused heart attacks and how devastating the unexpected ones were for families and friends. A swift departure for people who were supposed to be around for a long time yet. ‘I suppose I should be over it a bit more by now.’ She sniffed, hunching her shoulders, hoping he wouldn’t hug her. If he was sympathetic, she might cry. And she wasn’t the crying sort.

‘Rubbish,’ he said bluntly, ‘a year isn’t that long, and everyone is different. People react differently,’ thankfully he seemed to pick up on her body language, staying where he was against the arch, ‘some people need routine, or a longer time to assimilate. Some need to take a break from work; others need the normality of getting up every day, having a purpose.’ He gazed at her. ‘Unfortunately death is something that everyone has to deal with at some point or another. No one is exempt.’

‘It’s part of life,’ she mumbled, recalling the words Christian had thrown at her during their last argument.

‘Yes. But it’s a horrible, shitty part of life,’ Zack expanded, ‘probably one of the shittiest parts. You have to give yourself time, until one day it doesn’t hurt so badly.’

‘I guess. It’s just that it was so sudden, so quick. One day she was there at the end of a phone, and we were planning a visit, and then…she was gone. I hadn’t seen her in months.’

‘Don’t feel guilty,’ he looked at her, dark blue eyes intense, ‘I can see that’s what you’re doing. But she would have known you loved her. You were her daughter. You’re still her daughter. You’re here, and you remember her. That’s what matters.’

‘And my dad,’ she agreed fiercely, ‘Dad still loves her. He remembers her.’

‘And loads of other people too, I can almost bet on it.’

‘Yes.’ Frankie nodded, gulping again, tears filling her eyes. She blinked. ‘Do you mind if we change the subject?’

‘Sure,’ Zack nodded. ‘But am I allowed to ask if you got hurt before or after she died?’

‘It was a few weeks after,’ she said, ‘I was in an accident. I’d rather not talk about that either though. It happened, I got better, now I’m largely fine, apart from the odd bad day when I ache. I don’t like thinking about it.’

‘I understand,’ Zack pushed away from the wall, ‘Brr, that was freezing!’ He offered her his arm, ‘Take a five minute spin on this,’ he said, ‘and then we’ll head back to work.’

She looped her arm through his companionably, ‘Sounds like a plan. Thank you for listening to me, and not pushing.’

‘Happy to, and it’s not an issue. Just one thing though Frankie.’

She ground to a halt, knowing he was serious from his use of her first name. She’d almost started answering to weird girl recently. ‘What’s that?’

‘Sometimes to go forward, you have to look back.’

***

Zack’s words rang in her head as she walked up the stairs of The Ritz and through the gold revolving door, having received welcoming nods from the staff dressed in smart, gold buttoned uniforms and top hats. Was this going to be her chance to confront her past? Or was it going to be an opportunity to move forward? Who was waiting for her at dinner?

She bit her lip to hold back a gasp as she entered the reception area, thinking of the clue. It really was a slice of pink heaven, and she could totally understand why the interior architecture was so praised, with high vaulted ceilings and impressive bronze detailing and fine art hanging from or painted into every available space, glittering chandeliers and large vases of deep blood-red roses. It screamed refinement and luxury and old money. She’d never been here with Christian; he’d always preferred the more modern establishments. No matter what happened, she couldn’t regret coming on this scavenger hunt. The destination was beautiful and definitely worth the journey.

She walked along the red and white patterned carpet. It was busy, lots of people milling around and seated in a lounge area with a piano, with guests walking along to the ornate dining room. Chatter filled the air, but it was still muted somehow, like everyone was too polite to speak or laugh too loudly.

‘Miss Taylor?’ A man in a tux appeared next to her.

She nodded, and he slipped the wrap from her shoulders. ‘You’re to come through to the Rivoli Bar please, while your table is prepared.’

She followed him as he lead her into an art deco ante-room equipped with a bar, all dark wooden wall panels inlaid with gold details, gold raised ceilings from which chandeliers hung, white and gold curtains gathered in at the centre with what looked like large gold coins with tassels hanging from them, black and white animal print chairs, smooth round yellow tables with glass candle holders, parquet floors with tasteful but modern block multi-coloured blue, gold, red and white rugs laid down on it.

‘Here you are, Madam.’ The waiter gestured to a table, his body blocking Frankie’s view of the guest sat at it. For a moment, before he moved, she had an instant, crazy, confusing hope it might be Zack sat there.

‘Oh. Hi.’ She was disappointed to see Christian’s dark-haired sex godlikeness lounging in the chair, looking as cool and collected as ever. He always looked good, super slick and super cool. Tonight he was wearing a white, open necked shirt under a suit jacket. But slick and cool wasn’t always the preferable option. She was starting to realise she might like warm and quirky and nice instead.

‘Don’t look so pleased to see me.’ Christian stood up and came round the table, kissing her on the cheek.

She edged away slightly as his aftershave hit her, the same one he’d worn when they were together. It brought back memories of frustration and sadness, feeling low and uncontrollably angry. And then, bitterly disappointed. ‘Sorry, I’m just surprised, that’s all. I wasn’t sure it was you.’

He pulled her chair out for her and she sank into it with a murmured thanks. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ he asked, sitting down across from her. ‘And who else would be doing all this for you? Have you got a boyfriend or admirer I should know about?’

Surprise number two, he hadn’t pulled a chair out for her in a long time. It was like he’d started forgetting his manners the last year or so they’d been together. But maybe that was as much her fault as his. She should have called him on it.

The waiter appeared next to them, handing them white and gold embossed cocktail menus. Frankie took hers with a smile, noticing that Christian uncharacte‌ristically did the same. ‘No admirer or boyfriend,’ she smiled coolly, ‘but I was told a young boy delivered the envelope to the dealership, and a woman booked the personal shopper at Harvey Nicks. The sizing of the dress was spot on too.’

‘I called in a few favours,’ he lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug, running a finger down the menu. ‘Let’s get a drink before we talk more.’

She bit her lip in annoyance but another minute of suspense wouldn’t kill her. ‘So,’ she leaned forward once they’d ordered their cocktails, a Red Fruits Manhattan for her and a New York Sour for him, ‘why am I here?’

‘You look stunning,’ he grabbed her hand, stroking her wrist, and she quivered. ‘Absolutely gorgeous.’

‘Thank you, the dress is beautiful, the shoes too.’ She didn’t want to seem ungrateful. She extracted her hand subtly.

‘But you’re not wearing the earrings.’ He frowned.

‘I didn’t know what all this was, who they were from. They’re too expensive, I felt uncomfortable. Now stop avoiding the question Christian, why am I here? And why aren’t you in Bali?’

‘I’ve missed you. I didn’t want to go without you.’

‘And you’ve waited an entire year to tell me that? Even though you wouldn’t talk to me when I came to get my stuff? You couldn’t have got in touch before? You had to wait and do all this?’

‘I was hurt and shocked when you ended it. Flabbergasted, actually. But I’m telling you the truth, I have missed you.’ His clear blue eyes shone with sincerity.

‘That would probably be romantic,’ Frankie said drily. ‘If I didn’t think, sorry, know, that you’ve probably had a series of women parade through the apartment since I left. Don’t forget I knew all about your playboy reputation when we got together the first time,’ she reminded him.

He looked at her, opened his mouth then closed it. She stared back steadily ‘Come on, don’t try and pretend you’ve been pining away without me, living a celibate lifestyle.’

He flushed, cheekbones going dark red, ‘So I’ve dated. There have been other women-’

‘A few I’m guessing.’

‘But none like you,’ he insisted.

‘Oh, really?’ She sat back in her chair as the waiter brought green olives, nuts and mini crackers to the table in a silver and white snack holder, swiftly followed by their cocktails. She took a sip of the tangy, crisp Manhattan and set it back down. ‘How’s that then?’ she prompted him.

He put his cocktail down with a slight clink against the table. ‘They were all kind of…plastic. Not real, like you. You’ve got opinions and values and a good sense of humour.’

‘You found my opinions and values annoying when we were together. Sometimes you said I had too many.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry. I was wrong,’ he reached for her hand, and she let him hold it while he apologised. ‘They agree with everything I say, everything I want. I thought it would be what I wanted, but it’s boring.’

‘You always picked women who were into vanity and society, until me,’ she pointed out, ‘if you’ve reverted to type, what else do you expect? To be honest I’m not sure I understand how we were together for three years. We’re so different.’ She lowered her voice, aware that a touristy-looking couple at the next table were trying to listen in. ‘It doesn’t make sense, and now that we’ve been apart-’

‘You’re wrong,’ he said anxiously, clasping her hand tighter, ‘And I’ve changed.’

‘Have you? Even so, you weren’t there for me when-’

‘We were good together.’ He whispered, ‘I treated you like a princess. I was there for three years. I messed up once-’

‘You bought me a lot.’ She conceded, seeing real pain reflected in his eyes. ‘You kept me safe and gave me a life of luxury. But I was a princess locked in a tower. I never saw my friends, barely went home to see my parents,’ she closed her eyes briefly, ‘something I’ve regretted ever since. It had all become about you, the dinners and parties. That was okay for a while. At the beginning it was fun, living that kind of life, but ultimately…even without what happened, I was starting to feel trapped. That’s why I went and got the job. You didn’t listen to me, barely engaged in conversation, talked about your day but never asked about mine.’

He lifted his hand from hers, ‘Most men are like that,’ he excused, ‘and maybe that was because all you really did was shop and lunch. How much was there to ask you about?’

‘You wanted it that way!’ she said furiously, forgetting where they were, throwing the rest of her cocktail back and then choking with the sting of alcohol. She cleared her throat. ‘You wanted me to be available and on call all the time, wanted me to look good and dress right. That’s why you didn’t like me getting a job.’ She took a calming breath, ‘Yes, you bought me things but you were never thoughtful,’ her mind settled on Zack driving her across town, and making her fresh coffee every day, and something in her stomach hitched, ‘you never made me a fresh coffee, or cooked for me.’

‘I didn’t need to. I have people to do that.’ He’d had specialist coffee delivered every morning by a high end catering company.

‘Yes, but you could have done it anyway, to show you cared.’

‘I do care,’ he insisted, ‘and I have changed. You can do whatever makes you happy.’

And perhaps he had changed. After all, the old Christian never would have organised a romantic scavenger hunt, never would have made the effort to put something so elaborate together, just for her.

‘Come back,’ he moved his chair closer, rested his arm against hers, stroking her cheekbone. Her pulse quickened. Oh, he was good. Sex had never been an issue, they’d always been compatible, she’d always found him attractive. He was a good looking guy.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, shifting away.

‘Come home, back to the flat. Quit that horrible retail job with the long hours and live with me. You can get another job that you like, or I can set you up in business. I can scale back my hours, we can do more together. Let me pay your debts off this time, so it’s not hanging over you, and we can make a fresh start.’

The thought was incredible appealing.

No more money worries, no more damp flat. Someone who would look after her, who would offer her security, someone she knew, who she could fall back into a routine with.

It sounded like bliss, and she knew it would be crazy to consider turning him down.

But… But still, for all of that, she couldn’t make her mouth form the words to accept it.

‘What do I have to do to convince you?’ he urged.

‘I don’t know,’ she said slowly, honestly. ’I just can’t see how I can move back in, how we can just pick it up as if nothing has happened. After a year, you just ride up on your white horse and solve everything?’

He let out a growl of frustration and signalled the tuxedoed barman for another cocktail.

She knew she complained about her job, but didn’t everyone? And she wasn’t that miserable. The thought of jacking it in was appealing though. She pressed her fingers down on the table, knowing Christian was waiting for an answer. If she quit her job, she would lose her independence again, and wouldn’t see Zack, wouldn’t get to have morning coffee or lunch with him or whinge when a nightmare customer made her want to bang her head against the wall and offer surrender.

She would miss that, she really would.

She would miss him.

Damn it.

‘I know I wasn’t that supportive when your mum died.’ Christian muttered. ‘And I am sorry about that.’

‘Not lost her? You can actually say died now?’ she demanded, alluding to their argument, the one right before the accident.

He at least had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I made some mistakes.’

‘You gave me three days and then bought me a four thousand pound handbag to ‘cheer me up’ before telling me to pull myself together.’

She could still hear the echo of their conversation now, over a year down the line.

***

‘You’ve lost your Mum,’ Christian said, slinging his briefcase on the white sofa, ‘I do understand that, and I know it’s hard. But I really think that putting on something nice and wearing some make-up,’ he gestured to her bare face and swollen red-rimmed eyes, ‘will make you feel better. Besides, I’ve got that dinner tonight and need you with me. It’ll be expected. In a few days’ time I’ll be losing you for a week to go and help your dad make the necessary arrangements. Come on,’ he said, ignoring her gobsmacked silence, ‘people lose other people all the time. It’s part of life. It happens.’

She gaped, mouth open, unable to articulate any words.

‘Well?’

‘I didn’t lose her Christian. We haven’t gone shopping and got momentarily separated. She’s dead. I will never see her again.’ She spoke through clenched teeth, sobs rising up in her throat. ‘Do you understand that? And yes, people die, but she wasn’t supposed to go for years. When your parents get old you know you’re going to have to deal with at some point but not when they’re in their mid-sixties, and die of a massive, sudden heart attack.’

The argument had gone on for half an hour after that, until, exhausted and wracked with grief, she’d run out of their flat with no shoes or coat on, no handbag or belongings. Christian had pursued her, calling her name, but she’d been in such a state she’d sprinted across the road and into the path of a car. She remembered the impact, the feeling of pressure, the sound of crunching glass, the poor driver’s alarmed face, but she didn’t really remember any pain. That came later, when she woke up in hospital to be told her leg was broken and she’d fractured three ribs on one side. Ribs that, as it turned out, never healed entirely right.

The recovery period in hospital gave her time apart from Christian. Hours of staring at light green walls, or gazing at mindless TV, reassessing her life. She hadn’t meant to run out in front of the car, it hadn’t been some death wish to join her mum, she’d just been careless and driven by loss. But the accident did give her space and distance. Enough of a breather that when Christian came to pick her up, she told him she wasn’t going home with him, would never go home with him again. He’d let her down too badly and the last few weeks had changed her too much. She wasn’t happy with him, with their life together.

***

‘I am sorry,’ he repeated, lifting his second cocktail and gesturing for her to do the same, ‘really. Give me another chance. What do you say?’

‘I’m sorry too. I know the way I broke up with you, how sudden it was, must have been hard. And what you’ve done today, the letters and hunt, are incredibly romantic. If you have genuinely changed, maybe-’

The sound of Christian’s ring tone interrupted her answer, and several nearby customers gave him and Frankie dirty looks.

He glanced at the screen. ‘I need to get this. Apologies, I’ll be back in thirty seconds.’

She gaped after his departing back. Or he hadn’t changed at all. Taking a sip of her cocktail she rooted around in her bag, finding a brief Ok, Good Luck x text from Kate. She selected another unopened message.

Hey, weird girl! Just to say Happy New Year, whatever you’re doing tonight. See you in 2015! Z x

No matter what, Zack always made her smile. Could she say the same about Christian? But did she want, or need, either of them in her life? And if she did, in what role?

She drained her cocktail, feeling light-headed and a bit drunk, on top of the champagne in the limo earlier. Christian had been gone a lot longer than thirty seconds. What on earth was he doing? Signalling to the waiter to keep their table, she wandered out into the main lounge area, creeping up behind Christian as he sat in a winged chair, in animated conversation on the phone.

‘Yes, it worked, she loved it, said it was really romantic. Yes, I’ll send the bank transfer later tonight. I’ll be recommending the service to my friends. Thank you.’

‘You didn’t organise this yourself?’ Frankie’s outraged voice made Christian jump and he fumbled his phone, dropping it on the floor.

Scrambling to pick it up, he turned around. ‘Frankie, what are you doing out here?’

‘Finding out that you haven’t changed at all apparently,’ she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Same old Christian, throwing his money around. Whoever that was, they wrote all the clues, right? Picked everything out?’

‘It’s the thought that counts.’

‘When you put the effort in yourself, not when you pay someone else to do it for you!’ She could see from the look on his face that he just didn’t get it. And she didn’t think he ever would. ‘Tell me what really happened. Why aren’t you in Bali? It’s not like you to give up a trip like that.’ She stepped right into his space, eyeballing him. ‘You may as well be honest. You’ve blown this anyway.’

‘But what about the dress and the earrings? What about dinner? I’ve booked a table.’

‘That’s your problem, not mine.’ A tingling feeling ran over her shoulders, like a weight she hadn’t known she’d been bearing had lifted away. ‘I felt bad about ending things the way I did,’ she shared, ‘and I’m sorry if I hurt you and this is some odd the one that got away thing you’re doing, but I’ve changed. And I don’t think you’re ever going to.’

Christian’s face tightened. ‘You didn’t hurt me that badly, don’t worry. My girlfriend and I broke up last week and I didn’t care to go alone, that’s all.’

‘So you had a gap to fill?’

‘No! I’m not that bad,’ he softened, ‘I- I got this wrong. I’m sorry.’

‘All right then, take care.’ Nodding, she spun on her heel.

‘Frankie, wait, where are you going?’

She looked over her shoulder, ‘I’m going to get the wrap and find somewhere I can get some air. Alone,’ she emphasised. ‘Then I’m going to spend the rest of New Year with my friends.’ Smiling at the thought, ‘I’ll get the rest of the things returned to Harvey Nicks as soon as I can. Take care Christian, and good bye.’

‘Stay,’ he exclaimed, talking to her back. ‘Have dinner, relax. It’s on me.’

‘No, thanks.’

He sighed heavily, ‘You won’t owe me anything, it’s an apology. I miscalculated. I’m leaving, don’t worry.’

She hesitated. Was she really going to turn dinner at The Ritz down out of principle?

‘Please.’ He walked past her, ‘I’ll let the waiter or someone know. Stay. Call a friend to join you. Try and have a happy new year, if I haven’t ruined it for you.’

Softening - he wasn’t all bad - she laid a hand on his arm. ‘Fine, I’ll stay. Thank you.’

Nodding briskly, he tucked his phone in his pocket and strode away. He didn’t look back.

She decided to dine alone at a leisurely pace. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, especially now Christian was gone for good. She also needed time to think things through without distraction, or conversation. No advice from Kate, or Davey – she texted him to say she’d join them later - no instinctive reaction about her single status. She ate a sumptuous three course meal that she was convinced ruined her taste buds for all other food, and reflected on the last year, and everything today had shown her.

Sometimes to go forward, you have to look back, Zack had said.

By the time she finished eating, the restaurant was nearly deserted. She went back into the Rivoli Bar and pulled out her phone.

I need to see you. Can you come & find me? F xx

She attached her location to the message using Googlemaps and sat down to wait.

Two hours later, she stood shivering on the roof terrace of The Ritz, overlooking Green Park and Westminster. Four large copper lion statues guarded the corners of the roof, and the London Eye was lit up with the night’s festivities. Barges and boats floated on the Thames and music sounded on the air. She couldn’t see the crowds of people down by the river, but she knew they were there.

‘You look extraordinary Frankie.’

‘Zack!’ she swung around to look at him. ‘You made it. Thanks for coming. And thank you for the compliment. But was there a but in there?’

‘Yes. You look extraordinary, but not like you. I kind of prefer the tight jeans and off the shoulder tops with your stiletto boots. Like that time at the pub for Fiona’s leaving do. It was sexy.’

‘Really?’ Hope flared, making her nerves jangle.

‘Yes.’ He made his way over to her.

‘Do you think I’m sexy?’ she demanded, stumbling closer to him.

‘Are you drunk?’

‘Nooo,’ she may have ruined it by her eyes crossing at that precise moment, ‘all right,’ she held a thumb and finger up and squeezed them together, ‘maybe a little bit.’

‘Weird girl,’ he sighed, ‘what have you been doing to yourself? And why are you here?’

‘So, I’m here because my ex set up this scavenger hunt thing where I had to follow these clues, and I got my hair and make-up up done at Harvey Nicks and they put this dress on me and then there was a limo ride here.’ She blurted in a rush, and then took a breath. ‘But I did not put on the earrings,’ she said sternly. ‘I had champagne, and cocktails, then a gorgeous red wine over dinner. I think there may have been cocktails after that,’ she shrugged, ‘I can’t quite remember.’

‘Sounds romantic, although I’m not quite sure I follow about the earrings. So where is he?’

‘It would have been romantic, but he paid someone else to do it all.’

‘Ah. Not so romantic after all.’ He drifted nearer, rubbing her arms to keep her warm. ‘So, what happened?’

‘We talked, he told me he’d changed, wanted me to go back and live with him. He’s stinking rich.’

‘Which would have solved some of your problems,’ he concluded, looking concerned.

‘My financial ones, yes. But it wouldn’t have solved the issue of being lonely. You ever been in a relationship where you feel completely alone?’ she spoke carefully, trying hard not to slur her words.

‘No. Sounds sad.’

‘It is. It was.’ She nodded solemnly, then nodded again to underline the point. Followed by a scowl, ‘But he hasn’t changed really and I was the back-up plan. I deserve better than that.’

‘You do.’

‘He can offer me the financial security my parents couldn’t when I was growing up,’ she’d figured that one out over dinner, ‘but when Mum died, he couldn’t deal with it.’

He glanced over her shoulder at Big Ben, wrapping his arms around her to keep her warm. ‘You’re freezing. It’s coming up to midnight.’ As if his words were magic, the clock tower’s bells started tolling. ‘You said no to him.’ Dong.

Pulling back, rocking on her heels, she looked at him, puzzled. ‘How do you know that?’

Dong. He shook his head, mumbling something under his breath. ‘Because weird girl, you’re here and he’s not, and you texted me.’

‘Oh, that makes sense.’ Dong. ’Now I’m only lonely sometimes, because I’m busy and I have friends and family that make me feel loved. One of those friends is you.’ Dong. ‘You get me,’ she hiccupped, ‘I think.’

‘I’d like to think so,’ he said softly, taking his coat off and wrapping it around her shoulders, producing an umbrella from somewhere to shield her from the soft patter of rain that had just started. Dong. ‘And I would also like to think,’ his open, honest face had never looked so appealing, white teeth flashing as he grinned, ‘that one day, when you’re ready, we could be more than friends.’

Big Ben was still ringing out the countdown to midnight in the background but she blocked it out now. ‘You like me like that?’

‘I just drove across London on New Year’s Eve, abandoning my friends and family to see you, and pulled up outside The Ritz in a beaten up Fiat. You should have seen the way the doormen looked at me. So what do you think? Yes, I like you. Have done since day one, when Simon introduced us.’

She shook her head, ‘I don’t even remember that meeting.’

‘I know. You didn’t see me. But maybe you will, one day.’

‘And if that happened, what would I need to do, to show you I was ready?’ she breathed.

‘I don’t know,’ he shivered, ‘kiss me?’

‘Right,’ she answered thoughtfully, as Big Ben finally struck twelve and hundreds, if not thousands, of people lining the Thames yelled out Happy New Year and started singing Auld Lang Syne. Above her head, Zack looked out across the rooftops at the London Eye as enormous white sparkles started rotating on it. ‘Zack?’ she stared up at him.

‘Yes?’ he switched his attention back to her.

Rising up on tiptoes she threw her arms around his neck, plastering her body along his, breasts pushed against his chest. ‘Happy New Year,’ she whispered.

As the sound of fireworks filled the air with whizzes and bangs and fizzes, she kissed him, mouth hot against his, eyes closed. After a brief hesitation he kissed her back, one arm tightening around her, the other still holding the umbrella. And it was amazing. And she saw. There was chemistry there, there was heat. Sometimes it took time to grow. She saw him, in the way she knew he saw her.

She saw how thoughtful and respectful and lovely he was to her, and how important that was. Much more important than whether he could put her up in a luxury pad by the Thames and shower her with gifts or not.

‘Woah!’ he pulled back, eyes slightly glazed, hair damp from the drizzle that had crept under the umbrella. ‘What was that?’ He seemed oblivious to the sparkling multi- coloured fireworks filling the London skyline, a dazzling array of greens and purples and oranges lighting up the darkness.

‘A New Year kiss.’ She said impatiently, rolling her eyes. She thought it was her who was tipsy, not him.

‘What did it mean though?’ He looked hopeful and scared at the same time. Some of his question was obscured by the deafening pops of fireworks but she understood him anyway.

‘It means I’m ready,’ she said, ‘not ready for anything heavy, or quick. But ready to try.’

He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, ‘Are you sure? There’s no rush.’

She stared up into his face, studied his freckles, the way his blond hair curled slightly on his collar, the face that got more attractive every time she looked at it. ‘I am sure,’ she nodded.

It might be the cocktails talking or it might be the closure with Christian, so she could stop wondering if she’d done the right thing. It might even be what was in the air with the dawning of 2015, a hint of promise, a dash of new beginnings, a pinch of hope.

Or it could just be that of all the people she’d had in her life over the last few months, he made her laugh the most. And that’s what made her certain she was making the right decision.

‘Come on,’ she wriggled around so she could snuggle into his side, ‘let’s watch the fireworks. It would be a shame to waste them. The colour-bursts are stunning.’

‘You’re stunning,’ he whispered in her ear.

She shivered, but not from the cold, slid him a sideways look and smiled slowly. ‘Do you know what Zack?’

‘What?’ He hugged her closer, his body heat transferring to her.

‘I know it might sound weird, seeing as I kind of came here on a date with my ex, but I’m really glad that I celebrated New Year and the start of 2015 at The Ritz.’

They both ahhhed as a starburst of white showered down towards them, illuminating their grinning faces.

‘So am I, weird girl,’ he agreed, squeezing her tight, ‘so am I.’