Maybe he should just find someone to be his plus-one for the wedding. It was the easier option, certainly far easier than finding himself in the clutches of the awful Claire whatever-her-name-was from Lucy’s work. He wasn’t vain enough to believe that every single woman he met was interested in him, but there’d been no mistaking Claire’s intent on the few occasions they’d met.
Tom left behind the clearing up and stepped outside into the back garden for some fresh air. It was a warm summer’s evening on Foxglove Street, the sky dipping to a sweet shade of blue, and he sank into one of the garden chairs on the patio and pulled out his phone.
Scrolling through his contacts and friends on social media, he wondered if he ought to drop any of them a message and ask if they’d be interested in going with him to the wedding. It felt a bit desperate, but then again, after what he’d just heard from Evie and Lucy, hewasdesperate.
Desperate to avoid being caught up in Claire what’s-her-face’s tractor beam at the wedding reception and subjected to an entire evening of innuendo and false eyelash-batting.
He was still scrolling on his phone when he heard his neighbour’s voice on the other side of the garden fence. Carole was new to the street, having only moved in properly a week or two ago, but Tom had said hello and chatted with her a few times, keen to make her feel welcome.
Although he had no intention of eavesdropping, the quiet evening meant he couldn’t help but pick up on what Carole was saying.
It sounded like she was talking on the phone to someone.
And the conversation she seemed to be having left Tom completely intrigued.
