Freya North - Rumours

‘Try the Paul Smith,’ Juliet said, proffering it for Stella’s approval like a maître d’ presenting a Dover sole.

‘Is that because you feel sorry for me?’ Stella asked wryly, hauling herself back on form – a person who, once a good cry had been had, gathered herself together, dug deep for a smile and wore it until it worked independently.

‘Yes,’ said Juliet. ‘Of course not! Just try it on – the more it’s worn, the more the cost-per-wear goes down and the quicker I can justify the purchase.’

Stella undressed and, though she stood there in black socks and mismatched underwear, Juliet thought what a cracking figure she had. ‘Promise not to bite my head off?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Just – promise.’

‘I promise.’

‘Not to bite my head off.’

‘I promise not to bite your head off!’

‘Please let me sort out a date for you – please?’

‘When? To do what?’

‘No – a date , date.’

Stella wanted to bite Juliet’s head off but as a girl who’d never break a promise, she fell silent and just sent Juliet a black look instead.

‘Do you not feel ready, Stella – is that it?’

Stella didn’t answer, didn’t appear to have heard.

‘It’s been over three years, lovely.’

Stella shrugged. ‘I’m busy. I have Will. I’m fine. Actually, I’m just not interested.’

‘Then you ought to go to your GP and have your hormone levels assessed.’ Juliet thought that might have sounded a little sharp. ‘You’re bloody gorgeous – it’s a waste! And you’re denying yourself the chance to have someone really lovely in your life – not to fill a gap, just to enhance it.’

‘My life is good,’ Stella said and she really believed it.

‘Not all men are like Charlie,’ Juliet said quietly. ‘In fact, few of them are. You know that deep down. I know you know that.’

Stella turned for Juliet to zip up the skirt.

‘Look at your peachy bum, missus!’

Stella looked at herself in the mirror. ‘That’s the genius of Paul Smith tailoring,’ she said.

‘Rubbish!’ said Juliet. ‘It doesn’t look half as good on me, you cow.’ She held the jacket as Stella slipped it on. ‘Just look at you!’

Stella looked. And had to grin. ‘Blimey.’

‘That’s an understatement,’ Juliet said. ‘It would be nice for you to have a little fun,’ she said softly. ‘You deserve it. It’ll be good for you – for your self-esteem.’

‘You sound just like Jo – different vocabulary. She witters on about my mojo.’

‘Go, Jo.’

Stella didn’t want to be drawn. ‘I just don’t think I’m that bothered any more.’

‘If that’s the case, you’ve let bloody Charlie define the rest of your life – and yet he’s now out of your life. You’re really good in a couple, even when the other half was a prize shit. Don’t let what you went through change something that naturally suits you.’

Stella hadn’t thought about it that way. ‘But – Will,’ she explained, as if Juliet (like Jo) had missed the point. ‘It’s too complicated.’

‘No,’ said Juliet strongly. ‘That’s an excuse. It needn’t be complicated – and there’s no reason for Will to be involved. You need to have you-time , doing grown-up stuff. You need to pep up your self-confidence. You think your divorce has diminished you – but actually, it gives you your life back. You’ve probably forgotten what that’s like.’

Stella sighed. She stroked the suit as if it was living. ‘If I say yes, will you stop lecturing me?’

‘Yes,’ said Juliet.

‘But no gynaes.’

‘Roger.’

‘And no one called Roger.’

‘Noted.’

‘And no one too much older or too much younger.’

‘No grandpas, no toyboys.’

‘No facial hair.’

‘No?’

‘No!’

Juliet counted off on her fingers. ‘Mid- to late thirties. Height and weight proportionate. Clean-shaven. Anything else?’

‘No addictions,’ Stella said quietly.

Juliet took her hand and gave it a little squeeze as if to say, you needn’t even think it, let alone say it out loud.

* * *

Siobhan was late, but there again, she’d never been on time. Xander thought about it while he waited – if she’d been a girlfriend, officially, it would be a bone of contention to grind between them; but keeping it casual meant the irritation he felt came also with a sense of relief that no tiresome confrontation was necessary. He hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks, hadn’t had any contact. But she’d sent him a text which he’d received at lunch-time, alone in the office when Mrs Gregg was taking her hour. Mrs Gregg always took exactly fifty-five minutes so that she had sufficient time to sit back at her desk, pat her hair, wriggle her fingers, look around her desk and then say, ‘So!’ in a bright voice.

The text came through when Xander was thinking, not bloody tuna mayo again, and wondering whether to see what sandwiches Caffe Nero had instead.

Horny. SEx

Siobhan Elliot. Always signed herself SE, the strategically placed kiss turning the whole thing licentious.

I have a cure for that. X

It remained unclear to Siobhan whether that was X for Xander, or a kiss.

They always met at a pub in Standon that neither of them went to at any other time; they always had bar food and a glass of wine, Xander always paid. If they went back to Siobhan’s, Xander left after sex. If Siobhan came to his, she usually stayed the night but not for breakfast. Neither had met the other’s friends nor even knew much of their lives beyond their rendezvous. They’d been seeing each other a couple of times a month for the past six months and the arrangement suited them both.

Her customary lateness was premeditated as it presented her with the opportunity to sashay in, swish her way across to him, sit herself down sinuously. Everything about her was consciously feline. A performance, an act. Everything was about calculated seduction but Xander had done his sums and it all added up. He was therefore a little taken aback at a pair of cold hands covering his eyes when Siobhan came up behind him without him noticing. But there again, a gaggle of women had just come in and he hadn’t thought to look amongst them for her. He encircled her wrists and pulled her hands away from his eyes.

Only it wasn’t Siobhan.

It was Caroline.

At any other time, Xander would have been delighted to see Caroline. But not here, not tonight and not when Siobhan’s arrival was imminent.

‘Hullo, monkey,’ she said.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ said Xander.

‘Bloody charming!’ she laughed.

‘Sorry, Cazza, I meant—’

‘You can buy me a pint for that, tosser,’ and Caroline swept her patterned shawl over her shoulder, catching Xander across the cheek with the soft bobble fringing. ‘You’re lucky I don’t give you a slap. Pint, please!’ she said to the barman. ‘He’s paying.’

The landlord gave Xander an odd look as if to say, this isn’t a pick-up joint, you know. And Caroline gave Xander an odd look because she’d never seen him appear so awkward.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘Mums’ Night Out,’ Caroline said. ‘We’re bored of Dansbury pubs and your dad’s probably playing dominoes in Little Dee. Pet – are you feeling all right?’ Caroline placed the back of her hand across his brow before stroking his cheek. And that’s what Siobhan saw when she walked in. And that was the moment Caroline clocked the two glasses of wine in front of Xander. She grabbed her pint and look a long drink. ‘Bloody hell – you’re on a date!’

‘Xander?’ Siobhan was here.

Neither Siobhan nor Caroline had ever known Xander to redden nor heard him tongue-tied. Caroline thought it most amusing. Siobhan didn’t.