Chapter One
‘Laura Pearce, you’re officially on the naughty list.’
Throwing an awkward smile at the bus driver, I fumbled with my earbuds as I dropped into the first available seat, my best friend Desi’s voice echoing through my skull. It was one of my most deeply held beliefs no one should ever be allowed to talk on the phone in public without headphones and anyone who did ought to be sent directly to the centre of the earth, along with Cybertruck owners, people who post movie spoilers on social media and any man who has thought about starting a podcast, ever.
‘What are you talking about?’ I said as the bus took off, hurtling down the high street. ‘I’m not on the naughty list, you’re on the naughty list.’
‘Naturally, I’d be gutted if I wasn’t,’ Desi replied. ‘But you’re the one who used all the milk then skedaddled out the flat. What am I supposed to do, make teawithoutmilk? Drink it neat like some kind of animal?’
‘Neat? You consider milk a mixer?’
‘Where are you?’ she asked. ‘And the answer betterbe either at the supermarket or gone to the farm to buy a cow.’
‘That’s right. I’m negotiating with Old Macdonald right now. Do you think you can pick me and Buttercup up in your Honda Jazz or should we call an Uber?’
The man in the seat beside me let out a pitch-perfect, passive-aggressive huff and I pulled my scarf up over my mouth to muffle my voice. If I could tolerate the amount of aftershave he was wearing, he could tolerate my chat for another three minutes.
‘I’m on the way to the flat,’ I said as quietly as I could. ‘Remember? I asked if you wanted to come with me to help measure up and you said you didn’t believe in unpaid labour.’
‘Manual or emotional,’ she replied. ‘How long will you be? I thought we could do something festive later, maybe have a mooch around Liberty and touch all the ornaments without actually buying anything.’
‘The weekend before Christmas?’ I frowned so hard my face almost collapsed in on itself. ‘I would rather eat my own foot.’
‘You mean you don’t want to cram into a packed tube, fight with last-minute shoppers on Oxford Street then have your phone stolen out your hand by some git on an electric scooter? ’Tis the season, Lau, ’tis!’
I sighed and massaged my right temple. ‘Is this a good time to remind you that you’re Jewish? You don’t even celebrate Christmas.’
‘I celebrate the true meaning of the season.’
‘You like drinking Baileys and getting presents.’
‘And your point is?’ Desi yawned and changed topics, bored of her own argument already. ‘Are you almost there yet? I thought you said it was close.’
As if on cue, the bus came to a halt and the back doors wheezed open to spit me out on the side of the street. Yesterday had been crisp and sunny but the weather had turned overnight, Jack Frost no longer nipping at my nose so much as slapping the shit out of it. I pulled my bobble hat down over my ears, dragging the chunky pink wool all the way down to my eyebrows and tucking my red hair underneath.
‘Almost,’ I said. ‘According to Maps, it’s an even fifteen minutes door-to-door.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t want to look for a flat a bit further away?’
‘Nice try,’ I said, swiping at my wind-stung face with the sleeve of my coat. ‘You know you’re thrilled to have me so close by.’
‘I’m thrilled to have you out my place,’ she countered. ‘I love you very much but you’re a right ballache to live with, babe.’
For the last six weeks, I’d been living with Desi and Joel, the third side of our eternal friendship triangle, after my landlord decided it would be fun to sell my lovely little flat out from under me with very little notice. The three of us hadn’t lived under one roof since the second year of uni and even though Desi and Joel had managed to survive together in imperfect harmony, adding a third adult to a two-bedroom, one-bathroom flat was, it turned out, a step too far. After discovering mine and Desi’s cycles were perfectly in sync, we’d agreed it would be best for everyone’s physical and emotional wellbeing if I was out by the New Year; otherwise, as Joel had so sweetly put it, he was going to kill the pair of us in a way that was so inhumane, no one would be able to identify the bodies.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ Desi said, ‘but I still think you’re an idiot.’
As usual, there really was only one way to take it.
‘In general or specifically about the flat?’
‘Both but this time I am talking mostly about the flat.’
Inside my bag, her face glowered up at me from the screen of my phone. It was my favourite photo ever, taken on her last birthday, me hanging around her neck, Desi scowling straight to camera, and Joel gurning wildly, half obscured by his own arm as he took the selfie. Our truest forms, captured forever.
‘It’s dangerous to rent privately,’ she went on, a lecture I’d heard at least ten times already. ‘Especially for a woman on her own. You should’ve gone through a management company, the whole thing could be a scam. Anyone could be waiting for you in that flat.’
‘Lestat de Lioncourt?’ I replied hopefully.
