Page 53 of If We Were Young

Talk.

That nemesis of mine.

At five to eight the following night I was stood by the front door. My wardrobe had malfunctioned and the balance between work and ‘at home Ronnie’ resulted in me standing and waiting for the beep of his horn looking like my mother.

I’d replaced my chunky cardigan with the big pockets (Ange would be proud) for a thinner more fitted style, but I’d buttoned it over a blouse. I rocked a librarian vibe that shouldn’t be seen on anyone under sixty.

I’d gone for red shoes though. My other black ones had gone missing, and I had buried the navy, sensible but seriously painful, ones at the back of my wardrobe where I could forget about them.

“I don’t even know why you are so worked up,” Ange drawled down the phone.

“Angela! He saw you eating the face off another man and hasn’t spoken to me in fifteen years.” I cocked my head towards the door listening for the sound of a car in the quiet cul-de-sac.

“Well, darling, that’s his problem not yours.” She tutted like this was the most obvious thing in the universe. “You see, the problem with Matthew and you, is the fact that for alllll that time you both confused your feelings of friendship with something else. Have you ever considered that maybe the reason you didn’t go to the next level is because there wasn’t another level to go to? Some people are just meant to be friends and others are meant to fuck.”

“Angela!”

“What? I’m not on loudspeaker, am I?” She chuckled, and I winced at Ma who threw me one of her deadliest stares from the kitchen table.

Ange wasn’t going to give me the pep talk I needed. “Got to go.”

I hung up and turned, leaning my back against the door. Angela had put a dangerous visual image in my head, and it played in high definition with Dolby surround sound.

Matthew… and me… next levelling.

“And who are you going out with again?” Ma asked, her eyebrow doing half the talking for her.

“Mr Carling. He’s our client; the one who will hopefully keep us in business.”

Hannah sloped past the hallway and then stopped, her spoon paused midway between her cereal bowl and mouth. “What on earth are you wearing?”

“What?” I pulled at the neckline of the blouse. God. Was it hot or just me?

“Have you run out of clean clothes and borrowed Nonna’s? Although at least you’ve taken off that stinky black thing.”

“Huh, that’s rude.” And sooo very true.

“Where are you going, anyway?”

Ma smirked as Hannah leant against the wall opposite where I was guardian of the front door. “I’ve got a business dinner.”

“And you’re dressed like an old lady because?” She waved the spoon at me.

“Because it’s a professional evening out.”

“Red shoes.” Hannah utilised her inherited eyebrow skill. Saying that she waggled that spoon with the same dexterity that Ma used her index finger.

The knocker on the door vibrated against my back and I gave a shriek.

That wasn’t beeping from the car. I did specifically ask him to beep, during one of my unanswered messages.

I grimaced at Hannah and Ma; a lip curling sneer of warning, accompanied by a deep growl.

Then I smiled and opened the door, emitting a low breathy gasp as I clocked a view of the apparition on the other side of the front door.

Matthew did not look like a middle-aged librarian.

Nowhere even close.