‘You only saw him last night,’ I point out as I pick the recipe up off the floor and add it to the pile we’ve already looked at. ‘Give him a chance. He’s probably been busy with work. What does he do?’
Nicky shrugs. ‘No idea.’
‘But you slept with him.’ Nicky has, unfortunately, shared all the details of her date the previous night.
‘So?’
I close the recipe book I’ve been poring over, saving my page with the aging slip of paper containing Gran’s recipe for blackberry pie. ‘Do you know anything about him, other than his name?’ And by name, I’m referring to the username on the dating app Nicky uses to meet men. I don’t know if she knows his actual – and full – name.
‘I know that he’s got a mole right here.’ Nicky places a finger a couple of centimetres below her right hip. ‘And a tattoo of an eagle here.’ She trails her finger up to her shoulder blade.
‘Have you ever thought about playing it a bit cooler?’ I ask. ‘Waiting for a guy who’ll respect you enough to call you afterwards before you have sex with him?’
Nicky nods and takes a sip of wine. ‘I’ve thought about it but I sort of get caught up in the moment.’ She nudges me playfully with her elbow. ‘We can’t all be Snow White like you.’
‘Hey, I’ve had my moments.’ I think of Joel, even though I shouldn’t.
Nicky sighs. ‘I’ve had lots of moments. Too many.’ She looks down at her phone and growls. ‘Why hasn’t he texted? Do you think I should send him a message on the app?’
‘No, I really think you should leave it for now.’ We’ve been down this path so many times before, the trail has practically worn away. Nicky will send a message to this guy, wait a day (at the most) before sending another. And another. Until she’s sent a barrage of increasingly desperate messages, none of which will be replied to. In the end, Nicky will be blocked and she’ll move on to the next guy, restarting the cycle.
The takeaway arrives and I take the foil dishes and paper packages into the little kitchenette to distribute onto the plates I’ve already set out. The plates are piled high with noodles and fried rice, roast duck and stir-fried vegetables, crispy spring rolls and prawn toast. I have similar restraint when it comes to the local Chinese takeaway that Nicky has with men on her dating app. Joel used to say I had hollow legs, marvelling that I could eat so much and still stay slim. When we first met at the call centre, Penny used to joke that she hated me as she only had to glance in the general direction of a takeaway and she put on a couple of pounds.
Nicky looks guilty as I carry the plates into the living area, a bag of prawn crackers tucked under one arm and another bottle of wine under the other. I soon see why when I place the plates down on the coffee table and relieve myself of the prawn crackers and wine. Nicky’s phone had been on the arm of the sofa when the doorbell rang. It’s now been tossed across the coffee table.
‘You sent him a message, didn’t you?’
Nicky cringes. ‘Sort of.’
I pass Nicky a plate and a set of cutlery and join her on the sofa. It’s done now. All we can do is wait for him to reply. Or not, as the case will probably be. And we may as well stuff ourselves stupid while we wait it out.
After the Chinese, I pull the leftover raspberry cream cheese brownies out of the fridge and top up our glasses. Stuffed and a little bit squiffy, Nicky has to be practically rolled down the stairs and wedged into the waiting taxi. I return to the flat and pick up a recipe book for one last look before bed. Most of the desserts we serve at the teashop can be downsized, from apple crumble served in ramekin dishes with a dollop of warm custard to bite-sized brownies and mini cupcakes.
Caught up and forgetting I have to be up at five the next morning, I start to compile a list, noting ingredients and quantities so I can gauge how much cash the party will eat up. I’ll get Mags to take a thorough look on Monday but a rough estimate will do for now.
Ouch. It’s quite a hit but fingers crossed it will do the trick and earn us a healthier customer base. Because we can’t keep going as we are. My funds are quickly dwindling and soon, if things don’t pick up, I’ll be forced to close the teashop and I’ll be as heartbroken as I was a year ago.
‘Too much?’ Penny lifted her face away from the mirror propped up on top of the chest of drawers and turned towards me, pouting her cherry-red lips at me. I was sitting cross-legged on her bed, applying a coat of mascara using the shaving mirror from the bathroom. Penny and I shared a flat so my own bedroom was only next door, but it was more fun to get ready together, our favourite music blasting from the CD player.
I was twenty-two and living away from home for the first time and I’d honestly never had so much fun. Yes, the bills were a pain and the discovery that there wasn’t a washing-up fairy (or a laundry or toilet-cleaning fairy) was a shock to the system and I was constantly plagued with pangs of guilt at leaving Dad on his own, but living with Penny was amazing.
We’d met six months earlier, at the call centre where we attempted to coax people (who neither liked being disturbed or being coaxed) into buying double glazing, and we’d gravitated towards each other. Penny was so fun and vibrant, it was hard not to smile when she was around and she seemed to enjoy my company too. We quickly became best friends and when Penny’s flatmate moved out, I took his place. Not only did I get to live with my best friend, the flat was a short walk to the Deansgate call centre where we worked, which saved on travel costs.
‘You look fierce,’ I told Penny as she pouted at me. She’d spritzed her usually frizzy ginger hair with some kind of magical potion that had given her bouncy, shimmery curls, applied a perfect eyeliner flick and finished off the look with a glossy cherry-red lipstick.
‘That’s exactly the look I was going for,’ Penny said, attempting an air of uber-confidence but spoiling the effect with a self-conscious giggle. ‘Do you think I’ll finally pull Jack?’
Jack was our team leader at the call centre and Penny had a major, major crush on him. We were getting ready for a night out with the team to celebrate his birthday so Penny had made an extra special effort, both with her hair and make-up and the super-clingy, super-low-cut dress she’d bought that afternoon.
‘He’d be mad not to fancy you,’ I told her, which made her go all giggly, which in turn made me go all giggly.
We finished getting ready and then made our way to the pub to meet the others. Penny made a beeline for Jack, flinging her arms around him and giving him a birthday kiss on the cheek that branded him with a bright red lipstick mark. We had a couple of drinks before we moved on to a club, where Penny pulled Jack onto the dance floor. I followed, dancing with some of the other girls from the team while Penny worked her magic on Jack. It was a good night, a proper let-your-hair-down kind of night with lots of dancing and laughing and team bonding. My feet were in agony as my shoes slowly murdered them and I was sure I’d have a killer hangover in the morning, but I didn’t care.
‘Oh my God. He is gorgeous.’ Penny had hauled herself off the dance floor for refreshment purposes and we were at the bar, trying to catch the attention of the harried bar staff. ‘He makes Jack look like Quasimodo.’ I followed Penny’s wide-eyed gaze and understood what she meant as I spotted the object of her lust. Tall and muscular without being too bulky, he was throwing back his head as he laughed, his blue eyes sparkling despite the dim lighting of the club. Wow. Just wow. He was stunning.
‘Hey, Pen.’ Jack – without a hunchback, despite Penny’s assessment – draped an arm around her waist and pulled her away from the bar. ‘Come and dance. I love this song.’
‘Grab me a drink!’ Penny yelled as she was towed away and I nodded before turning back towards the blond God. But he was gone and I couldn’t