Ella Harper - Pieces of You.

He groaned. ‘It’s all gone a bit …’

‘Pete Tong?’ Luke appeared, putting his hands on Dan’s shoulders. Wearing navy shorts and a crumpled white shirt, he looked as though he’d recently stepped out of the shower. ‘Desperado, you are truly awful at cooking. Do you need some help, sweetie?’

‘Finally, the cavalry arrives!’ Dan clapped his hand on Luke’s back in a display of manly camaraderie.

Luke noisily kissed Dan’s cheek then did the same to Dee. ‘Look at the size of that barbecue.’ He turned back to Dan and rubbed his chin gravely. ‘You know what they say about men and their barbecues don’t you, Dee?’

Dee giggled as Dan handed Luke a beer.

‘Shut up, you arse. And don’t you dare mention my man tools.’

‘Tongs.’ Luke shook his head. ‘You are such a girl, Danny boy.’ He caught sight of me and immediately came over. ‘Hey you,’ he said in my ear. ‘Everything okay?’

I nodded. I wanted to tell him about the baby moving but now wasn’t the time. I leaned in and gave him a kiss. He hugged me, his hands on my back. There was something about the way Luke touched me that made me feel completely cherished. Or turned on. Depending on the type of touch on the given day.

‘I missed you,’ he said, pulling back to look into my eyes. ‘That’s totally naff, isn’t it? I’ve only been at work.’

‘Yes, it’s totally naff. You’re adorable though. Never stop saying stuff like that.’

I felt Dee watching us, but when I looked at her properly I wasn’t quite sure what to read from her eyes.

I pushed Luke away jokingly. ‘Go. Go and help your boyfriend.’

Luke grinned and strolled back to the barbecue. ‘Hand your tongs over, boy,’ he told Dan. He started to fork sausages on to a plate or into the bin, depending on their blackness.

The food was disappearing as fast as they were cooking it. I picked at an avocado salad and helped Frankie dissect a rather charred sausage she kept describing as ‘dirty.’ Dan was drunk and taking all the credit for the cooking. ‘Well, my sausages might have been a bit burnt, but it’s probably going to be better than Lucy’s dinner tomorrow.’

I flicked his bare thigh hard, gratified when he yelped.

‘Ouch!’

Luke handed the tongs back over. ‘For that, my friend, you are on your own. No one disses my wife’s cooking, not even me.’

‘But it’s really, really bad …’ Dan protested.

‘Enough! Bring me one of those burgers if it’s a shade lighter than noir, would you, serving wench?’ Skipping out the way of Dan’s slap, Luke put his arm around my shoulder. ‘Are you sure everything is all right? You look lovely, by the way. That purple thing is nice.’

‘Really? My stomach shows under this cardigan and my boobs look massive.’

‘Every cloud.’ Luke tightened his grip. ‘Not long now until the next scan. Counting the days.’

‘I think Dee might have guessed about the baby but I haven’t said anything.’ I gestured to my untouched glass. ‘But listen. I felt the baby move. Properly. I was panicking because of those twinges, but then it felt like something fluttering around inside me.’

‘Christ, what have we got in there if it’s got wings?’ Luke went to laugh then stopped. ‘God, that’s amazing, Luce. What did it feel like? Tell me everything. Every single thing.’

I willingly described the extraordinary sensation, several times, in minute detail. I felt so incredibly happy and, as the night drew darker and the air chillier, I gratefully wrapped my cardigan around my stomach, keeping our secret that way for as long as possible.

Laughing as Luke and Dan danced to One Direction, even though they should have known better at their age, I allowed myself to relax. I chatted to Patricia briefly – the usual chit-chat – but I was probably distracted by the baby sensations I was feeling. My arms ached – ached – at the thought of holding our baby, but this time it was a good feeling. A beautiful feeling. I could barely wait.

Nell watched Lucy peering anxiously into the oven. She had some dodgy-looking meringues in there and, apparently, they were her fourth attempt. Nell couldn’t imagine bothering to cook something twice, let alone four times. She might re-cut a pattern fifteen times until she got it right, but that was different; that was her passion. She guessed this anniversary meal must be enormously important to Lucy, especially since she detested cooking so much.

Nell glanced around the small but homely kitchen. It was immaculate, with everything in its place. With Lucy in charge, how could it be anything but? There was a huge bunch of fragrant yellow flowers on the windowsill, brightening the room. There were always flowers in the kitchen; it was Lucy’s thing – well, Luke’s thing for Lucy.

Nell watched her, wondering why she had been cold-shouldered over the past few months. They were close and had been ever since Luke introduced Lucy to the family, so it was inexplicable. Upsetting, too.

Nell rolled her shoulders. It didn’t matter. Lucy was being friendly again; they would be back on track in no time. Besides, was it only Lucy’s fault they hadn’t talked much recently? Nell had her own reasons for not challenging the distance that had developed between them.

‘They won’t cook any quicker if you stare at them, you know,’ Nell found herself saying to Lucy. ‘God, I’m turning into my mum. Stop me if I start banging on about the WI and poking my nose into everyone’s business, won’t you?’

‘Nell, I don’t think you’re in any danger of that .’

This was followed by a semi-snort and Nell wondered if she had imagined the slight edge to Lucy’s tone. Perhaps not. Her mum was horrendously nosy – they berated her for it all the time – and Nell knew that Lucy was a very private person.

Lucy straightened, her face flushed from the oven. ‘So. I’m cheating a bit with a tomato bruschetta starter and I think I can just about cook the herby lamb things. It’s just these awful, pissing meringues.’ She wiped her furrowed brow. ‘I mean, how is it possible to undercook them, overcook them and, my best one yet … turn them into shrivelled cowpats?’

‘You know this is like the blind leading the blind?’ Nell picked up the iPad Luke had left on the counter. ‘How to cook the perfect meringue,’ she began, skim-reading the page. ‘Right. Apparently, you need to use a glass bowl, you mustn’t get yolks into the whites and it’s imperative that you use cream of tartar. What the hell is cream of tartar?’

‘Buggered if I know,’ Lucy replied, looking crestfallen. ‘This was a really, really bad idea.’

Nell spotted a recipe on the internet page. ‘Why not make Eton mess instead? If you have a meringue that’s even vaguely decent, you could smash it up, smother it with cream and slap some berries on top. Luke won’t even know he’s eating a cowpat.’

‘Genius. I’m sold.’ Looking relieved, Lucy took a seat on a bar stool, her movements measured and careful, Nell noted. Why? What was that about?

Lucy pointed at the magazine Nell was thumbing through. ‘ Vogue . That’s probably a fashion student’s bible, isn’t it? Too many adverts for me, I’m afraid.’

‘I’d kill to feature in one of those adverts. My fashion line, I mean. That’s the plan … one day.’

‘The next Vivienne Westwood.’

‘Just … the new Nell Harte.’ Nell felt herself flushing. She probably sounded pretentious. ‘You know what I mean, though. I don’t want to be compared to anyone else. I just want to do my thing.’ She needn’t have worried; Lucy hadn’t noticed, seemingly preoccupied, if in a rather vague way, with a carton of coconut water.