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‘Tara …’ Harry broke off, putting his head in his hands, frustration written across his face. ‘As far as I see it, there’s only one option. Neither of us are ready to be parents. We’re certainly not going to settle down and play happy families, are we?’

Tara shrugged petulantly.

‘You only call me when you’re drunk,’ Harry continued. ‘When you’ve split up with your latest guy and you need an ego boost, someone to tell you how hot you are.’

Tara stayed silent, knowing Harry’s words were true.

‘We are not right for each other, Tara. Having a baby together is not the right thing to do. You know it and I know it.’

For a moment, Tara was taken aback. Despite the reality of what he was saying, she hadn’t expected Harry to be quite so decisive or level-headed. Of the many scenarios that had run through her mind, the one she kept coming back to was Harry declaring his love for her, telling her he couldn’t live without her and wanted to make a go of it. Tara had always enjoyed his attention, the comfort in knowing he would never turn her down, so his words stung.

But she was Tara Oliver, wasn’t she? Daughter of the legendary Neville Oliver, and she was talented, gorgeous, and riding high in her career. Harry Swan was just some cog in the machine, playing at being a grown-up with his dull, corporate job.

‘Thanks for your clarity,’ she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Clearly I wouldn’t want to have a child with an arsehole like you.’

‘It was a mistake, Tara. We both know it.’ Harry’s face was serious. ‘Look, do you need me to pay to get it taken care of?’

‘I don’t need anything from you.’ Tara’s eyes were glittering like chips of ice.

‘Listen, don’t say a word to your brother, or your father.’ Harry looked anxious now. ‘It wouldn’t be helpful to have my reputation spoiled for something that wasn’t my fault.’

‘Screw you, Harry!’ Tara burst out, feeling utterly humiliated. This was her brother’s best friend, who she had known for over a decade now. She couldn’t believe how he was speaking to her. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t say a thing. I don’t want anyone knowing that I lowered my standards enough to sleep with you. Enjoy your date with Katie – I wonder how long it will take her to see through you?’

Tara downed her champagne, then slammed the glass down on the table and stormed out.

Chapter 26

Fliss was walking along Portobello Road on her way to meet Sally when her phone pinged with a text:

So sorry, I’m running late. Tara should be there so can let you in. See you asap xxx

Fliss sighed as she reached the enormous Ladbroke Grove house that used to be her home before she moved in with Kit. Whilst the situation with Tara was amicable, it could still be awkward at times. Fliss dating Kit had fractured their friendship and Fliss didn’t know if it would ever be fully repaired.

She was still in touch almost daily with Sally and Katie, so she heard what Tara was up to, and the four of them still met for drinks and dinners and Fliss was quietly aware that the group relationship was no longer as harmonious as it had once been, and she blamed herself for that – despite Sally and Katie assuring her she didn’t need to.

‘It’s not your fault that Kit wants to be with you and not Tara,’ Sally had assured her.

‘It’ll probably do her good to learn that she can’t automatically have everything she wants just because she’s an Oliver,’ Katie added.

Fliss climbed the stone steps to the imposing front door and pressed the bell. It took so long before anyone answered that she thought Sally must be mistaken and Tara wasn’t home. It was almost a relief and Fliss turned to go, thinking she would wait in a café nearby, then she heard the lock click and the door opened a fraction.

‘Oh God, what’s happened?’ Fliss asked, the moment she took in Tara’s puffy, tear-stained face. Terrible thoughts ran through her head that perhaps something had happened to Lord or Lady Oliver.

‘I-it’s nothing, I’m just being silly. Did you want to come in?’

‘Yeah. I’m supposed to be meeting Sally but she’s running late.’

Tara opened the door and stood aside to let Fliss walk in. The house had barely changed since she lived there; there was still a pile of Tara’s shoes inside the front door, designer heels in a rainbow of colours thrown carelessly in a basket. There were the same pictures on the walls, and the same pile of knick-knacks on the shelf above the radiator.

They went through to the living room and sat down on the oversized sofas, eyeing one another cautiously. Since the argument at the party, this was the first time they had been alone together. Light from the streetlamps streamed in through the large bay windows; Tara hadn’t closed the curtains, but they were far enough from the pavement that no one could look in.

‘Is everyone OK?’ Fliss asked gently. ‘Your parents …?’

‘They’re fine. It’s nothing like that.’

‘Then what’s happened? I’ve never seen you like this before.’ It was true. Tara was usually so ballsy and brash.

Tara looked at her through red, bloodshot eyes, and Fliss could tell that she was weighing up whether or not to trust her, after everything that had happened between them. In the end, she burst out, ‘I’m pregnant!’