Page 4 of Love in Tune

Nell shook her head and uncrossed her fingers.

‘I can’t even think of any other famous pianists, let alone regular joes.’ Honey frowned.

‘Elton John?’ Tash suggested.

‘He’s gay. And married. I don’t want married. Or gay.’

‘Liberace?’

‘Great.Deadand gay.’

‘Right,’ Nell intervened. ‘So we’re looking for straight, breathing pianists with a thing for boho blondes.’

‘And gorgeous,’ Honey said. ‘He has to be gorgeous.’

‘Well, I think it’s genius,’ Tash said. ‘In one easy swipe you’ve managed to eliminate ninety-nine per cent of the male population, leaving only a small pool to fish in for the catch of the day.’

Honey laughed and shook her head to dislodge the image of herself in waders reeling in an unwilling Michael Bublé. ‘A fishy pianist. Every girl’s dream.’

Hal heard female laughter and doors slamming well after midnight in the shared hallway outside his flat and yanked the hard, unfamiliar pillow over his head.

Great. His new neighbour had a laugh like an alley cat as well as no respect for anyone else in the house. Had he been in a charitable mood, he might have acknowledged that she actually had no clue he’d moved in that afternoon, but her laughter annoyed him too much to be reasonable. Laughter annoyed him right now. As did people. Laughing people were a particular bugbear. He’d been here for less than a day, but he hated this house already.

CHAPTER TWO

Honey squinted like a gremlin against the glare of the morning sun. Or was it afternoon? After a morning spent lounging on the sofa, her hangover had been replaced with the dire need for a bacon sandwich and a bucket of coffee. Pan on and bacon in, she started to feel a little less deathly and ran to grab the ringing phone before it clicked to the machine.

‘Hello?’

‘You sound as rough as I feel,’ Tash grumbled. ‘What did we drink last night? Meths?’

‘The tequila was your idea.’ Honey grimaced. ‘Did you get home okay?’

‘Course. The taxi driver made me hang my head out of the bloody window in case I threw up, but yeah.’

Honey laughed at the image of Tash like a family dog on a road trip.

‘I wonder how Nell is?’

‘Fine, no doubt. She’ll have drunk two pints of water before bed, and have Simon on hand with Alka-Seltzer and a bowl of hand-mixed muesli. Lucky cow.’

Honey knew Tash well enough to detect fondness behind the grouch.

‘It’s our own fault,’ Honey laughed. ‘Nell didn’t have tequila. It’s the mixing that kills.’

‘Does she always have to be so friggin’ sensible?’

‘Yeah, but who would you rather be this morning?’

‘Er, waking up next to Simon, the dullest man on earth?’ Tash said. ‘I’ll stick to the tequila and the headaches, ta very much.’

Honey yelped as a screechy wail assaulted her ears.

‘What the fuck is that noise?’ Tash yelled.

‘Crap! The smoke alarm! Gotta go, Tash. Love you.’

Honey belted into the kitchen. Smoke and burnt bacon. Double crap. At least there were no flames yet. She hurled the pan in the sink, wincing as the high-pitched alarm battered her already thumping head. She scrabbled onto a chair and pressed reset, weak with relief as the noise stopped. Then she tilted her head. It hadn’t completely stopped. Triple crap. Wow, she’d done a thorough job. When she opened her front door the alarm out in the hallway was going full throttle, and the damn thing was too high for her to reach.

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