Page 64 of Something Borrowed

I climbinto the taxi and settle back on the seat with a sigh of relief. “I love London cabs.”

“I’ll buy you one,” Richard says. His posh voice has an undercurrent of amusement, as always. “Say the word, and we’ll drive away into the sunset together.”

I smile. “I don’t wish to incur Leo's wrath; he might do something to my hair.”

“Would he fish out the partridge, the pear tree, and the five gold rings? You could carry our honeymoon luggage in that mess of curls.”

“Don’t be rude,” I say comfortably. I’ve loved Richard since the day Leo brought him to meet me. He’s a good man, but I’d like him anyway because of how Leo’s voice changes whenever he talks to him. My previously prickly friend softens whenever he’s around Richard. “Having a sugar daddy buy me a taxi would probably be a waste anyway. I’d just use the bus.”

“I cannot understand your and Rafferty’s obsession with taking buses everywhere. It takes ages to get where you’re going and at certain times of the day, they smell like week-old fish.”

“They’re quick and cheap.”

“Like Rafferty,” he says. I snort, and after giving me a nudge, he asks, “Why do you love taxis?”

“They have a yellow line inside their doors that’s usually bright enough for me to see. And so they’re easy to get in and out of. I’ve fallen into more Ubers than Rafferty has into strange men’s beds. Plus, taxis have very light interiors because they have glass roofs, and they’re big enough for Hump to sit comfortably.”

“Where is he?”

I palm my stick. “At home. It’s going to be busy tonight. He’ll just get trodden on.”

“He’s coming to the wedding, though, because Leo’s bought him his own corsage.”

I smile. “Of course.”

“Good, because he’s much better behaved than Raff. If Hump could only organise weddings, we could dispense with the strawberry-blond fool altogether.” His voice is full of affection.

“Is he at the party already?”

Raff had dashed out of the flat this evening in a fearful rush, pausing just long enough to say that Richard had called to say he’d pick me up on his way to the party.

“Yes. He wanted to check over the details. He’s with Leo.” The taxi slows to a stop, and Richard says, “We’re here.”

I turn in his direction. “Ready for your party? This is the last step before marriage.”

“Stan, I think I was a goner when I cut up his credit cards, and he looked at me with those bright grey eyes of his and said, ‘I like a man who knows how to use his tools’.”

I snort, and we exit the taxi. I extend my stick and walk steadily next to Richard. He’s very good to walk with, as he makes no attempt to grab my arm and steer me like about fifty per cent of people I meet. Instead, he keeps up a low-paced helpful commentary of “doorway to the left, three steps upwards, don’t walk into that plant pot,” and so on.

The room where they’re holding the party is warm and smells of the heady perfume of flowers. Flamingods “Dirty Money” is playing, so I know Raff is somewhere around because they’re his latest obsession. “Are there double doors to the right?” I ask Richard. “It’s very light over there.”

“Yes, they’re bi-folding doors which will be open. There’s decking, tables, and chairs if you need some fresh air.”

Footsteps sound, and a shadow moves across the light. “It’s Leo. You’ve been ages. I thought you might have run off together,” Leo says, his voice full of laughter.

“Well, he did offer to buy me my own taxi.” I grin, accepting his hug. It’s tight and warm and very familiar. I’ve known Leo since school, when we were seated next to each other in cookery class, and he blew up our oven. “It was likePretty Woman.”

“Bloody awful film, but while I remember Richard Gere being particularly creepy, I don’t recall any mention of taxis.”

“Raff loves the film. He has to watch it every time it’s on.”

“If Richard Gere had met Rafferty instead of Julia Roberts, he’d have used that Lotus to run him over.”

Rafferty’s voice comes from behind me. “Did I hear someone taking my name in vain?”

“When don’t you?” Leo says wryly.

I smile involuntarily at the sound of Raff’s voice. Someone squeezes my arm, and when I smell his cologne, I know it’s Raff. I pat his hand, glad he sounds so normal. It’s been a bit weird since our episode in my childhood bedroom. A bit too formaland stilted. He sounds much easier now, probably because he’s in his element.

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