Page 21 of The Best Friend
‘That’s what he says.’
‘What will the rent be after that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jared replies. ‘We can negotiate that nearer the time, I suppose.’
I turn away from the view to face my husband. This is exactly the kind of thing I was afraid of.
‘What?’ he says, catching my troubled expression.
‘You can’t wait until “nearer the time” to sort out the rent,’ I say. ‘You have to sort that out now, before you move in.’
Jared’s face darkens. ‘Don’t spoil it for me, Lou. For once, can’t you just enjoy the feeling that everything is working out.’
‘I’m not spoiling it. I am enjoying it. But you don’t want a nasty shock in a year’s time when Mike slaps you with a huge invoice.’
‘Mike’s not like that. We get on. He’s going to help me make a success of this. I know he won’t shaft me.’
I dig my nails into the palm of my hand, attempting to stifle my rising temper. ‘Chances are, it will be fine. But surely it would be better to know what kind of costs you’re looking at. It’ll help you to plan. And you need to know how long you’ll be tied into the lease. What did you allocate for rent in the business plan? The one you gave to the bank.’
‘I don’t know. I can’t remember off the top of my head.’
I grit my teeth.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Louisa.’
‘I’m just worried, that’s all. You need to sort out the details.’ I turn away and walk across the empty space, the clop of my boots echoing into the exposed rafters. If I carry on this conversation, we’ll end up having a massive row.
‘Look,’ he calls after me. ‘I’ll discuss it with Mike when we get home, okay?’
I stop and turn, my gaze drawn by dust motes floating in a shaft of light. ‘Okay,’ I reply.
‘Now,’ he says, his mouth twisting into a half smile, ‘can we stop with the doom and gloom and go and get some lunch? I’m bloody starving.’
I take a deep breath and nod. ‘Fish and chips?’
‘Now you’re talking,’ he says.
We head back down the stairs and out into the chill October air. Jared takes my hand and we walk into the wind towards the end of the quay where a cluster of cafés and restaurants huddle together under striped awnings.
Ten minutes later, we’re strolling back along the quay with our warm packets of cod and chips. I open mine up, break off a piece of the crispy fish and pop it into my mouth.
‘I’ve always fancied going fishing,’ Jared says. ‘Maybe we could get a boat.’ He turns to look at me.
I stop walking and raise an eyebrow.
‘Not now, obviously,’ he adds hastily. ‘In a year or two when everything’s sorted with the agency. We could moor it here. How cool would that be?’
‘I could meet you after work each night with a bottle of champagne and a picnic hamper,’ I say, laughing. ‘Dressed in all my finery.’
‘Mock all you like, woman,’ Jared says, tweaking my nose. ‘It could be a reality sooner than you think.’
‘Next year, boats and champagne, today we’ll have to settle for takeaway food on a wooden bench.’
‘What about something like that?’ He points to a sleek, white motor yacht moored on the other side of the quay.
‘It’s a bit flashy.’ I pop another chip into my mouth.
‘Nothing wrong with flashy,’ Jared says with a grin. ‘Do you like it, though?’
