I smiled at the memory. I’d been sat at the kitchen table doing homework, and Isla had been visibly nervous. Mum had been baking overtime, presenting Joe and Isla with cookies and flapjacks the minute they’d walked through the door. It was a good job Isla had a sweet tooth. She’d chatted to Mum for ages whilst Joe had helped with my equations. We’d still been in those fragile years post-divorce, navigating a new landscape where Dad had to meet Isla separately (and wasn’t around as much to help with my homework). Isla had arrived at a time when we’d needed something new.
‘Well, I, for one, am extremely glad that we were able to steal her.’ I took a long glug of water. ‘She makes an excellent bacon sandwich post-run.’
***
I rooted around in my bag, crouching down to try and find my keys and wincing from the indigestion. I’d inhaled Isla’s breakfast treat way too quickly for someone who was increasingly discovering the delights of acid reflux in their mid-twenties.
‘Come on, come on …’ Why was it that the second you needed to find something in your bag, it migrated to the unreachable depths? I pried some old chewing gum from the bottom of an ancient lipstick. My desk was the epitome of organisation. My handbag … not so much.
‘Gotcha.’ I stuck my key in the door, immediately hearing Rory’s voice coming from the kitchen.
‘I don’t know about that. Seems like a huge risk.’
I paused, halfway through the door. My gossip radar went off. What was a huge risk? I stayed still, trying not to breathe too loudly.
‘You’re an idiot if you don’t think that now is the right time.’ Maeve’s voice chimed in, soft but firm. ‘She needs to know. We can’t keep it from her.’
Keep it from her? It took all my willpower not to burst in. Call it a sixth sense, but I had a feeling that this was not a conversation I was meant to be overhearing.
Maeve continued, and I heard the fridge shut. ‘Tea? Come on, Ror, don’t look at me like that. I don’t like keeping secrets from my best friend. Particularly when it’s something I think they deserve to know.’
Shit. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears. Now it definitely wasn’t just a sixth sense – if they were talking about their best friend, there was only one person in the running.
Rory cleared his throat. ‘She’s got enough on her plate. It’s going to stress her out. And yes, but don’t put any of that oat shit in it.’
I stifled a laugh.
‘You’re going to have to start paying rent for this semi-skimmed. We only ever buy it for you and Joe.’ The sound of a spoon clinking against a mug tinkled through the airwaves. Stop dawdling over cups of tea and tell me what this secret is, for God’s sake.
‘Besides’ – the clinking stopped – ‘this isn’t a board meeting or a deadline. It isn’t about having too much on her plate. This is good news, Rory. Don’t you want to be happy?’
‘What a stupid question. Thanks.’
I imagined her passing him the tea, giving him one of her best ‘do what I say or else’ looks. I’d been on the receiving end more often than I’d liked.
‘It was rhetorical. I know you want to be happy. I want to be happy, and this is blocking my path. Just get the hard part over with. It won’t be as bad as you’re imagining, I promise.’
My legs tensed; delayed cramp from our ten miles. All I wanted was a hot shower, but I didn’t want to miss out on any gossip.
‘Can you tell her?’
Another sigh from Maeve. ‘No, I can’t. Obviously. Now come here.’
There was an immediate shuffling, and then silence. You know that classic icebreaker: what superpower would you choose? I closed my eyes tight and prayed that I would suddenly develop X-ray vision. What secret were they talking about, and why had they gone quiet? This was a real head–heart dilemma. On the one hand, I wanted to run in there and demand to know what was going on, but my head knew that I might miss out on important intel by rushing in too soon.
‘I promise,’ Maeve was speaking quietly now, and I had to strain to hear, ‘it’s going to be okay. She might be terrified of love, but she’ll come around.’
I reeled back, affronted. Terrified of love? That was harsh. I wasn’t terrified of love. Scared maybe, a sprinkle of fear that loomed every time someone suggested a date, but I wasn’t terrified. There was a difference. Anyway, why were they talking about love behind my back?
‘Rory,’ Maeve’s voice got closer and I sprang up, ready for an Oscar-worthy performance of someone who had just this second got back from their run, ‘I’m in this with you.’
I froze, almost dropping my keys. I’m in this with you. Wait, were Maeve and Rory seeing each other?
21
It was all I could think about. When I had finally walked into the living room they’d frozen, panicked expressions on their faces. I’d watched them like a hawk all evening, sitting in between them on the sofa whilst we ate Indian takeaway and used Rory’s dad’s Netflix login (because who was paying for their own any more?) I waited for some sure-fire giveaway that my suspicions were along the right tracks; some sign of the shift from friends to lovers. I’d felt itchy with unease, which I’d decided was definitely the reason I’d crumbled and texted Daniel to ask if he wanted to meet for coffee. My head was all over the place. I’d tried to imagine my reaction if Rory had decided to come clean about their secret relationship. Would I have been happy for them? They were my best friends. I’d been third-wheeling for over a decade now with Joe and Isla, and it had never bothered me with Adrian and Maeve, but this was Rory and Maeve. How had this even happened? Was Maisy even real? Mai-sy wasn’t a far cry from Mae-ve. And the only person who’d supposedly met the mystery redhead was Maeve herself. It had kept me up all night, and I was already regretting the decision to say yes to this coffee date.
‘One oat milk latte.’ Daniel pulled out the chair opposite me, placing a mug down. It had tiny giraffes all over it.
I’d suggested a coffee shop not too far from the flat – the kind of space with houseplants in every nook and cranny, and items on the menu like ‘beetroot latte’ and ‘rosehip chai’. I couldn’t imagine many people were out here ordering shots of vegetables in their caffeine hit.
‘Thanks.’ I cradled the mug, rubbing one of the giraffes affectionately.
‘Don’t say I never treat you to anything.’ Daniel started stirring a sweetener (gross, potential red flag) into his own mug. He was just as put together as the last time I’d seen him, only this time he was in a checked shirt rather than a suit and tie, leaving it wide open so that you could see the fitted white T-shirt underneath.
He nudged the pot of sugar packets in the middle of the table closer towards me. ‘With all the sugar a girl could dream of.’
Okay. This was getting weird.
‘How do you know that I take three sugars in my coffee?’ I tried to play it off as a light-hearted joke, but I couldn’t help it; my suspicion was clear.
Daniel sipped his own coffee and winced. ‘Definitely should have let that cool down first. I make the same mistake every time. You said you liked sugar at the event last week? We were having a conversation about controversial opinions, and you said that your business partner can’t stand the number of sugars you add to your coffee. I didn’t know the exact number, but I guess now I do.’
Oh shit, I did remember saying that, somewhere between the copious glasses of prosecco. I was jumpy, on edge for so many reasons (most outside of Daniel’s control), but I couldn’t shake off the fact that I was almost 100 per cent sure that whilst I had forgotten about mentioning my affliction for sugar, I hadn’t mentioned Level. Not mentioning it had been the foundations of our maybe meet-cute.
He was staring at me now, head slightly tilted.
‘Are you okay, Penny?’
