Page 75 of Someone Like You

Have asked my parents if we can take Raff to Sweden with us. They said yes, but he’ll need to stay in a hotel. Better than nothing though, right? *shrug emoji* Should I ask him?

I replied:

Let me talk to Gina first.

She replied back with an ‘okay’ emoji, but I read between the lines (so to speak). She’s worried – about me, about Raff, about this whole thing blowing up in our faces.

And she’s gone to a lot of trouble. Her family are nice people, but inviting a last-minute guest to a Nilsen family Christmas would have been a big ask – even bigger than bringing Raff to my cousin’s wedding. Freya’s doing her best to help me out of this mess.

‘Argh, what are youdoing, Gaby?’ I ask myself. ‘Besides now talking to yourself, you dork.’

Wait, am I looking at this the wrong way?

Maybe there’s a silver lining here. With Raff out of London so soon after meeting Julia, there’s less time for their budding relationship to develop into something, right?

And by spending time together – out of work, away from Freya and CiCi and Devin – maybe Raff will seemein a new light, like I’ve recently seen him.

Maybe Raff coming to Seattle is the best thing that can happen under the circumstances.

‘Hmm, maybe…’ I mutter.

There’s only one person I can ask. Freya’s too close to it, and CiCi may suspect something’s up but she’s not the right person to discuss this with.

It’s a risk, because she won’t just tell me what I want to hear – she’ll give it to me straight – but if there’s any hope at all…

I navigate to Poppy’s contact details in my phone and hit the call button.

19

POPPY

‘Thank yousomuch for having us over,’ I say as Shaz lets us into their flat. She captures me in a hug and I whisper, ‘I need to de-Helen after that.’

She laughs, understanding immediately. Lauren welcomes us in, taking our coats and offering us a glass of wine from the open bottle on the coffee table.

‘Yes, please,’ says Tristan.

Relieved of his coat and suit jacket, he loosens his tie while I toe off my shoes and wriggle out of my pantyhose, doing my best not to show my undies – though, it is just Tris and my closest friends.

‘Make yourself at home,’ says Shaz with a laugh.

‘Sorry, don’t mind me.’ I ball up the pantyhose and shove them in my handbag.

Tristan and I have spent the afternoon at his mum’s, dressed to impress, sipping Champagne, hobnobbing with crusty old men and their pinched-face wives, and eating canapés right out of a seventies cookbook: vol-au-vents, pigs in blankets, devilled eggs, and cheese-and-gherkin skewers.

Helen may have money, but it’s old money, which may be why her party planning hasn’t evolved since before Tristan was born.

The one saving grace was that she only servesextremelyexpensive Champagne – her way of flaunting the fortune she inherited from Tristan’s late father – and it is dee-lish! I’ve arrived at Shaz and Lauren’s slightly tipsy and ravenous. There are only so many chunks of gherkin a person can eat.

I eye the generous platter of nibblies on the coffee table – olives, oozing camembert, crumbly cheddar, hummus, fancy seeded crackers, and prosciuttoandsalami – and fall in love with our friends even more.

I dash over to the platter and shove a stuffed green olive in my mouth, then get comfy on the sofa next to Tristan.

‘So, how was it?’ Lauren asks, handing us glasses of a Bordeaux-style blend from Washington.

Tris and I exchange an amused look.

‘Over,’ he answers drily, his eyebrows raised sardonically. ‘At least for another year.’

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