Page 5 of Never Date a Celebrity

Niamh held her hands up. “I had assumed you’d take the one bedroom. We’re fine with sharing. I’ve already promised not to watch Piper sleep.”

“She did. Wait. Does that mean you’re considering it?” Piper asked eagerly, her face full of hope now too.

“No, of course not,” Imogen said, feeling bad for immediately crushing it. But the fact that either of them thought that she would ever go along this bizarre plan was beyond her. Did they not know her at all? She was the most rigid person she knew, especially lately. Predictability and routine had become dear friends. “You may as well have an apartment each. I’ll sleep in the spare room when I visit.” Which she would. Because she would miss them. Her heart sank as the realisation set in that her two best friends in the whole world were planning on leaving. She wouldn’t see them around at work anymore. They wouldn’t grab lunch together. Or wait for each other beside the huge oak tree by the revolving glass door at the front of Clover’s building after work like they always did. Instead of hanging out on the regular, their meetups would become preplanned and rare. And that’s if they didn’t grow apart completely when their lives went separate ways. That happened sometimes. It was a natural thing that people drifted apart.

Imogen tried to shake off the sadness. She would make sure that didn’t happen—try to visit as often as she could. These two were her people after all. She refused to lose them.

“Immy,” Niamh said gently, “When was the last time you were happy here?”

“I am happy here.”

“You’re comfortable here,” Niamh said. “That’s different.”

Imogen stiffened. “It’s home.”

And it was. When Imogen had first moved out of her parents’ house, she hadn’t ventured far. Only a short drive away. Imogen had only been able to afford the tiniest studio apartment in Belfast. Yet, more than a decade later—several pay rises and one spectacular heartbreak on—she still lived there. Why? Because she was used to it. Used to the smell of terrible Chinese takeaway drifting through the window if she left it open. Used to the corner shop charging criminal prices for milk. Used to her upstairs neighbour hoovering at seven p.m. every Tuesday and Friday without fail. Used to the eleven-minute walk to work plagued with lines of pink buses and revving cars—eighteen minutes if she took the quieter route through the park, which she often did.

Niamh reached out and touched Imogen’s arm. “It’s also a place that’s full of bad memories now.”

The words landed hard. Especially with the thought so fresh in her mind.

Piper winced. “Subtle.”

“You know I’m right,” Niamh said.

Imogen did know. But she lifted her chin anyway. “I’m not uprooting my life because of my ex-girlfriend.”

“This isn’t about Chelsea,” Niamh said. “It’s about you.”

“It’s about running away, you mean,” Imogen shot back.

“No,” said Niamh. “It’s about moving forward.”

For one irritating second, Imogen had no reply.

The bathroom door swung open and a woman from accounts walked in. Without hesitation, Piper threw herself into Niamh’s arms and let out a theatrical wail. “Why doesn’t she want me back? I don’t understand. How can I be too pretty?”

Imogen bit the inside of her cheek to stop the grin that threatened.

“Sorry,” Niamh mouthed to the woman, patting Piper’s back. “Bad breakup.”

The woman nodded sympathetically and backed straight out again.

Piper straightened. “And scene.”

“You’re going to hell,” Imogen said.

“Maybe,” Piper replied. “But first Ballyluck.”

Despite herself, Imogen laughed. She checked the time. “I need to get back.”

Niamh stepped closer. “Please just think about it. Properly.”

Piper clasped her hands. “Imagine it, Immy. Sea air, cosy pub, no whispers about The-Bitch-Who-Shan’t-Be-Named, and me behind a bar pulling pints badly.”

“You might poison people,” she pointed out, only half joking.

“Only accidentally.”