CHAPTER 1
Rose
“He left me on read.”
Erin crossed her legs in a manner that made her look like a contortionist.
“I hope you deleted him.” Fallon was never one to remain on the fence.
I sat back, legs curled under me, wondering if a nap would be rude, given this was the first time in weeks since the four of us had managed to get together.
“Rose, don’t you know him?” Harriet dug me in the side with a fingernail that should’ve been listed as a lethal weapon.
“Know who?” I sipped the merlot that was nicely warmed to room temperature.
Fallon shook her head slowly, giving me a stink eye that was utterly disapproving. “Are we keeping you up? Sebastian Duffy. The bloke you worked with at the hospital in Camden.”
I sat up, awake now Seb’s name was mentioned. “Why were you messaging Seb?”
Erin joined in with the glaring. “I met him when we went out for drinks and you introduced us. Remember?”
I thought back, by-passing the pressure she was attempting to ply. “I thought I warned you against accepting Satan’s number?”
Erin shrugged and topped up her wine. “You did. I mistook it for a challenge. We went for a drink two weeks ago and we’ve been messaging since – until he left me on read for three days.”
“He’s an arsehole. Delete him.” I put my glass down on the side table, careful to aim for a coaster. We’d gathered at Fallon’s house because it was the biggest and she was a stickler for being house-proud. “Seriously, there’s a thread online dedicated to the souls of those he’s eaten, and I’m not referring to anything pleasant.”
“Or you can give me his number.” Fallon reached for a piece of cheese. “Let me play with him.”
I considered the idea briefly. “He’d give you a run for your money.” There was probably a thread somewhere on the internet about Fallon too. One where men sobbed about their broken hearts, ripped apart by my beautiful, brilliant, surgeon friend when they tried to persuade her that she did indeed want a long-term relationship and not just a friends-with-benefits arrangement.
“Sounds like a challenge.” Fallon twisted her almost black curls into a top-knot on her head, the same way she’d been wearing her hair since we were kids.
The four of us had met eighteen years ago, all on the same ward in hospital, being treated for a variety of heart conditions. I’d been eleven and just starting secondary school, Fallon and Harriet a couple of years older, and Erin a few months the eldest. We'd stayed in touch. Our parents had felt it was good for us to have the kinship and understanding of the shared experiences. We all knew what it was like to have the fear and stigma of a heart condition – to miss school, milestones and parties because we were too ill, to have family always worried, and to stress overeven the smallest sniffle. Most people never experience that in their lives, let alone as children.
We’d grown up together after that, even sharing holidays and houses. I lived with Harriet in Hampstead, sharing a two-bed flat owned by my aunt Ava, and rented to me at a fifth of the market price. Erin roomed with three of her colleagues in Wimbledon, and Fallon had her own place in Clapham, a property that’d been in her mother’s family for years and she’d somehow inherited.
I saw Fallon and Erin at least once a week, although times when we could get together was rare, so I really shouldn’t be falling asleep tonight.
“Technically, we’re all spinsters.” Erin helped herself to a cracker, applying it with a creamy stilton. It was wine and cheese evening, which made us sound far posher than we were. “Independent, unmarried women over the age where females are usually married.”
“I have no intention of ever not being a spinster,” Fallon said, settling back into a huge armchair that was probably another heirloom. “I have money, I can support myself, I have no intention of having kids, I can find a man to entertain me when I’m in the mood – why would I choose to have an overgrown man-child leaving his dirty underwear in the middle of the bathroom floor?”
“Some men are house trained,” I added. “I imagine Sebastian Duffy has a full-time housekeeper though.”
“Is he rich?” Fallon squinted at me. “Rich men are even lower down the scale of unhousetrained man children.”
“Is that why you only date men who left school at sixteen?” Erin taunted.
“I don’t date anyone.” Fallon pulled a blanket over her. “I can set you up with one of the doctors at work, Erin, if you need aphoto of yourself with a hot bloke to post on your socials to piss Sebastian off.”
Erin shook her head. “I’ve heard too much about your colleagues. I have a date on Sunday with the brother of one of the interns at work.” Erin was a journalist on a women’s magazine, although she really wanted to be an author.
“You can have a date with more than one man. And Jonah isn’t that bad.” Fallon reached for her wine which Harriet had just topped up.
“You go on a date with him then,” Harriet said. “I dare you to actually go on a date with someone.”
“I do date.” Fallon sunk into the cushions. “Just behind closed doors. Besides, he’s a colleague and he has at least one degree. I think he might have a PhD.”
