Page 43 of The Fall-Out

At first, she didn’t notice me. I hesitated outside the door, waiting to catch her eye, then pushed it open and stepped inside, the warmth of the interior welcome after the gusty cold of the street. Hearing the door – or feeling the chilly blast of air I brought with me – she glanced up, her expression changing immediately from polite enquiry to surprise and then something like bewilderment.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said into the phone. ‘I’ll relay that to the vendor this afternoon. I agree it’s a bold offer, but they’re keen for a quick sale and you’re in a good position to proceed, so I think we can be optimistic. Leave it with me. Okay. You too. Bye now.’

Then she replaced the handset on its cradle with a clatter and said, ‘Naomi! Hi!’

Her tone was bright and welcoming – almost too bright and welcoming. Her face didn’t look particularly welcoming at all.

‘Hey,’ I said, leaning in for a hug, but it proved impossible thanks to the desk between us, and I almost knocked over her computer screen. ‘I came to see if you fancied lunch.’

‘Lunch?’ She sounded like I’d suggested we spend the hour between one and two climbing Ben Nevis. ‘Why?’

‘Because…’ All at once, the impetus that had brought me here – Rowan’s my best friend. She’ll tell me what’s going on – had deserted me. ‘It’s lunchtime. I thought you might be hungry, after last night.’

Normally after a night out, we’d spend the morning eagerly discussing the bacon sandwiches and filthy Maccy D’s we couldn’t wait to eat. There hadn’t been any of that chat on the WhatsApp today, I realised.

‘Hungry? Sure. I mean, I guess I am. I’m just a bit snowed under. I was going to grab a sandwich and eat here – I’ve got a viewing in forty-five minutes.’

‘Oh.’ I stepped back, feeling a bit like I might be about to cry. ‘I’m sorry, Ro. I ought to have checked. It’s just, I thought?—’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She stood up, pushing back her hair and reaching for her coat. ‘Of course we can have lunch. It’ll have to be quick, that’s all. There’s a Pret just round the corner.’

Not quite what I had in mind, I thought. I’d imagined us going somewhere quiet, where I could treat Rowan to a pizza or maybe even Welsh rarebit, which she adored, and a pudding afterwards, and find out properly what was going on. But I had to work with what was on offer.

So, five minutes later, I found myself perched on a high stool at a counter, picking at a cold, rather damp salad while Rowan spooned up chicken and mushroom soup next to me.

‘So how are the twins?’ she asked. ‘Over their bug?’

‘Yeah, they’re all good. How’s Clara?’ I was itching to get past the formalities, but if she was standing on ceremony, I’d have to do the same.

‘She’s all good too. Looks like her and Jonny are an item again. To be honest I think I’d be more upset than she would if they broke up.’

‘I can imagine.’ Then I leaned closer to her and asked, ‘How did last night go, anyway?’

‘Ah, it was lovely to catch up. You know, it always is. I was home by eleven, though – I think we’re all getting old.’

‘No strawberry mojitos, then?’ I felt as if the time we had together in this narrow window in Rowan’s day was slipping away, and wanted to bring the conversation round to Zara – but, at the same time, I didn’t.

‘No strawberry mojitos.’ Rowan’s smile was wary. ‘So you know Zara joined us.’

At least she wasn’t trying to deny it, or hide it from me. Although even if she was telling me the truth, it wouldn’t necessarily be the whole truth.

‘Did she say…’ I began, then changed tack. ‘How is she?’

Rowan shrugged. ‘You know. She’s Zara.’

I tried to laugh, but it came out all shaky.

Rowan went on, ‘I think she regrets what happened. She didn’t say so, of course. But I got that sense. Because, Nome, you know…’

‘What?’

Rowan looked down, twisting her paper napkin. ‘I regret it. At least, I regret how it all turned out.’

What did she mean? Did she mean that if things had been different, Zara would still be part of the group – or that I wouldn’t?

‘Do you mean if she and Patch—’ I began.

‘No!’ Rowan dug the wooden spoon into her cup, fishing out a final bit of mushroom, then looking at it and putting it back again. ‘Don’t be mad. If you and Patch weren’t together, what would have happened about my godchildren?’

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