Michele Gorman - The Curvy Girls Club

He nodded, unaware of the role he was playing in my imagination. ‘Let’s try to make this quick. I’ve got another meeting at two.’ He rolled his eyes.

This was his way of letting me know that he might be on the board, but he wasn’t one of The Establishment. He was far too cool for that. He windsurfed, for goodness sake. Just imagine him emerging from the sea, streaming with water, sun glistening …

The vision popped as he opened his notebook to get down to work.

‘Yep, agreed,’ I said. ‘Let’s make it a quickie. I mean … well, I didn’t mean that.’ Well done, Katie. Cool as usual. I pushed a thick lock of hair out of my face, accidently sticking myself in the eye as I did so. ‘Ouch.’

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. I waved away his concern, squinting attractively. ‘So, tell me then. Have you made your vision board? Are all your darkest desires pasted on cardboard for the universe to fulfil? It only accepts paper requests you know.’

‘Every single one is documented for the Fates to act on,’ I said. ‘I even stuck the Philips Pharmacy logo on there. If I could find a photo of Jenny, I’d add it. Maybe with a lock of hair and a voodoo doll.’ Jenny’s latest objection was that we tested the products on animals. We didn’t, but once she was on a roll it was hard stopping her. ‘And I used staples on the really important ones … calorie-free cupcakes and world domination.’

‘Lofty goals. I’m glad you didn’t waste time on trivial things like cancer cures or filthy riches.’

‘Without calorie-free cupcakes, what’s the point of the rest of it?’

His throaty laugh gave me bedroom visions. ‘You always brighten my day, Katie Winterbottom. ’

That’s me, the day-brightener. If I’d had a quid for every time I’d heard that from someone I fancied, the calorie-free cupcake research fund would be nearly full. I suppose being appreciated for my conversations was all right, if he wasn’t going to love me for my body.

‘I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to make our last meeting,’ he said. ‘A good mate got us last-minute tickets to the rugby. Promise not to breathe a word of it to the higher-ups. They think my mother needed a ride to her chiropractor.’

I held up my hand in oath.

‘Your email was very thorough though. I didn’t expect graphics.’

I knew I’d gone overboard when I found myself in the office after eight p.m. trying to animate tiny pencils to march across the presentation.

‘You must let me take you out for a drink,’ he continued. ‘You’ve saved my arse once again. And I suppose you’ll have to save it today too. We need something to show the board. We can’t really monitor progress, can we? I mean without violating HR policy. The damn things are probably supposed to be confidential.’

‘I suppose I could ask everyone if they’ve done it. That’d give you something to report back on. Maybe a few people would be willing to show theirs to the board.’

‘Would you be willing to show me yours?’ he asked.

I’d show him mine right there on the conference table. ‘I, erm.’

‘That sounded rude, didn’t it?’ He smiled, not making any effort to correct it. Did he mean what he’d said?

Then he laughed a deep, rich chuckle that made my reproductive system wobble with glee.

‘Don’t you need to get to your next meeting?’

He ran his hand through his gorgeous hair, blowing out his cheeks. ‘In my next life please remind me to study architecture or film-making, not finance. Honestly, Katie, I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve this.’

‘You must have been very naughty,’ I said before I could stop myself. Oh. My. God. I sounded like a MILF from some nineties porn movie. ‘Karma, I mean. Bad karma transformed into a career in finance. You should watch yourself or you’ll come back as something even worse next time. Maybe an ambulance-chasing solicitor. Har har.’

‘My parents are both solicitors,’ he said. ‘Personal injury.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean it! I’m sure they’re very nice people and they probably didn’t do anything horrible in a previous life to deserve to be solicitors. I mean, it was just—’

‘Katie, relax, I was only joking. My parents are doctors. Shall we get on with this?’

I left the meeting in a muddle. He didn’t mention anything about the Christmas party. Still no hints that he might remember more than he was letting on. No lovely innuendos. I’d carried a torch for this man for six years, which hadn’t dimmed one iota. I must have used extra-long life batteries. It couldn’t go on like this.

Our overdrafts wouldn’t survive sixty-quid theatre tickets for very long, so our girls’ nights were interspersed with thriftier options.

‘I’ve never seen so many skinny jeans in one place,’ Jane said, shifting in her chair to tuck her legs further beneath the table in the cinema’s foyer. ‘Have we walked into a Topshop advert?’

‘They’re hipsters,’ Ellie whispered, as if observing them on safari. Maybe she was afraid they’d stampede if spooked. ‘They all dress like this in the East End. It looks good on teenagers but I could never wear jeans like that.’

‘Oh, but Ellie,’ Jane said, ‘of course you can, you’re only twenty-five! I’m the one who’s probably too old to be trendy.’

‘You make yourself sound like a granny, Jane,’ I said. ‘You’re only thirty-five. And a young-looking thirty-five at that.’

‘She’s right,’ Pixie said, smoothing her hands over her thighs. ‘I’m thirty-five and I’m wearing them. I am! You don’t have to be a size zero you know. Skinny just means they fit your body … whatever body you’ve got. I can’t stand those baggy ones they always stock in big sizes. They make me look like a postie. My calves aren’t too bad. I may as well show them off.’

She did have pretty calves, and slender ankles. She often said her parents had some spinning top mixed in with their Yorkshire heritage. I loved that she could see the good in herself, even when sometimes others didn’t.

‘I don’t know how you do it, Pixie,’ Jane said. ‘I admire you so much. I can’t even let Andy see my wobbly bits, let alone the wider world. I make him turn all the lights out when we’re in bed.’

How I wished some of Pixie’s confidence would rub off on Jane. ‘Doesn’t he get cross about that?’

She smiled. ‘If he does, he doesn’t let on. He’s too good a husband.’

Ellie was keen to find our seats, even though we’d already reserved them. I hadn’t seen her so excited since the Selfridges shoe sale last year. But then it wasn’t every day that her favourite film director offered to do a talk after his film.

There was a collective intake of breath when we saw the huge cushy green velvet armchairs. Pixie made a face. ‘They’re not big enough …’