Page 44 of The Fall-Out

I laughed, slightly reassured. ‘I’d have married someone else and you’d be fairy godmother to my kids with him.’

‘I suppose I would. Maybe. But still, I think that we—’ A shrill trilling sound came from Rowan’s bag. ‘Sorry, Nome, I just need to… Hello, Rowan speaking. Of course. Two fifteen works great. Give me five minutes and I’ll see you there.’ Rowan tucked her phone away in her bag. ‘Shit. They’re early. I’m so sorry, babe, I’m going to have to dash. I’d have told them no but it’s a five million quid listing and it’s just not shifting and the commission…’

‘That’s okay. I get it.’

Abandoning my salad with no great regret, I hurried after Rowan to the door, fighting my way into my coat as I walked. She was already striding away, her long legs scissoring effortlessly along, but she stopped to wait for me.

‘We must do this again properly. Promise?’ She pulled me into a hug.

‘That would be great. Listen, do you mind if I text you? I really want to?—’

‘Here’s the thing, Nome,’ she said, smiling in a way that looked almost forced. ‘I’ve been wondering if we were wrong about Zara. But we’ll talk later, okay?’

EIGHTEEN

MARCH 2011

It was a perfect Saturday morning in late March, the sun shining warmly in a cloudless sky. Only the faintest breeze stirred the buds on the magnolia tree that grew outside my bedroom window. I lay on my back in bed, relishing the fact that I didn’t need to get up for several hours – and that when I did, it was to do something I’d been looking forward to.

Smiling, I reread the text that had just pinged on my phone. It was from Patch:

PATRICK HAMILTON:

Still on for this afternoon? Fancy a movie?

We were indeed still on, but it had been a close call. The previous afternoon, while I was at work, Rowan had rung me in a panic to ask whether I was free to look after Clara for her.

‘That fucker Paul’s let me down. Again,’ she said. ‘I’m booked to do the make-up for a massive wedding, which means loads of cash, which means I’ll be able to pay my rent this month. So?—’

My eyes fixed on my computer screen, not really seeing the note that had been in my calendar for a couple of weeks, but knowing that it was there. But I could cancel – of course I could.

I just didn’t want to.

‘Naomi? Are you still there?’

‘Yes, I’m here. Sorry – I think the reception cut out there for a second.’

‘You do have plans, don’t you? You’re just wondering if you can cancel them.’

Damn it, Rowan, why do you have to see straight through me every single time? ‘I’ll cancel them. It’s fine.’

‘You’re seeing Patch, aren’t you?’

Shit. Busted. But why did I feel like that when I wasn’t even doing anything wrong? I’d told my friends, on the train back from Paris, about Zara’s request. What I hadn’t told them was what I suspected Zara might be up to behind Patch’s back, and what that might mean for them as a couple.

And the few times I had met up with him – to go for coffee, grab a sandwich while he waited for his train, help him choose a birthday gift for his sister – I’d told my friends about it. Every single time. Even though there’d been nothing important to tell.

‘Yeah, we said something about meeting up. He can’t see Zara because she’s in Stockholm for work. But it’s nothing definite. I can take Clara, no problem.’

I heard Rowan take a deep breath on the other end of the line. ‘I’m going to ask Abbie. If she and Matt can help, I’ll take them up on it. If they can’t, I’ll ring you back, okay?’

‘Seriously, Ro, I’ll do it. It’s not a problem at all. It’s?—’

‘Love you, hopefully I won’t need you.’

She ended the call. I spent the rest of the afternoon jumping like I’d been poked with something sharp every time my phone rang, and felt almost shocked at my relief when, at five o’clock, the text from Rowan arrived:

ROWAN:

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