Lara reached down to pat Albert’s warm flank before he bundled back to his owner, tail whirring. The contact made her think of Bruce, the large black rescue cat they’d rehomed five years ago, who was always deeply offended if his dinner was late for any reason. When she’d adopted Bruce, she’d been advised by the rescue centre that he had been abandoned, had picked up some bad habits and didn’t trust men. You and me both, mate, Lara had thought, feeling an immediate kinship with his suspicious yellow glare. But today, in all of the palaver, she hadn’t spared a thought to who’d be giving him dinner that evening. She pictured his tail-stiffened indignation as the house grew dark and cold and his plate remained empty and then, because she was a soft-hearted idiot, started worrying about him feeling walked out on all over again. Who would feed him? Her mum and her best friend, Heidi, both had spare keys to her house but she wasn’t sure she wanted to tell her mum the reason for their absence. Frances was the dictionary definition of pessimist, especially when it came to men; a person for whom there was never any light at the end of the tunnel, only a dumpster aflame with burning toxic waste. Heidi, meanwhile, was the polar opposite – and on balance, Lara needed optimism today.
Retrieving her phone, she noticed that Heidi had actually just sent a message to their book group thread.
Everyone still on for tonight? Have emptied Tesco’s wine shelves in readiness. Thought the book was shite, mind, but looking forward to an argument about it!!
Lara smiled to herself. Heidi thought a lot of the books they read at book group were ‘shite’. ‘I guessed the murderer in, like, chapter two or something,’ she’d claim whenever they discussed a thriller. ‘Is this author up themselves or what?’ she’d mutter if they tackled something Booker-shortlisted. ‘Not as good as The Hobbit’ was her perennial verdict on any novel that turned out to be vaguely fantastical. Natalie, another book group member, had even ordered Heidi a T-shirt with this last slogan printed on the chest, because it had become such a catchphrase among them.
Lara pressed ‘Call’ and swigged more coffee while she waited for her friend to reply.
‘No, you’re not,’ was Heidi’s opening gambit on picking up. ‘Don’t you dare bail on me, Spenno. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise on WhatsApp, but I’ve made a coffee and walnut cake and everything and it took me bloody ages. Do not give me your I’m really tired crap and stay home, otherwise we’re going to seriously fall out.’
Lara laughed. She and Heidi had met on their children’s first day at primary school, bonding instantly when Eliza emerged holding hands with Heidi’s son Ned, announcing that they were going to get married. ‘Well, hello there, mother of the bride,’ Heidi had said to Lara, eyes twinkling. ‘You and my new daughter-in-law will have to come round for tea one day. Start planning the wedding.’ If she’d been less friendly, Heidi might have intimidated Lara: she was one of those women who apparently had everything – the husband, three children, guinea pigs in hutches, a successful career as a wedding photographer; another perfect family right there – but she was so warm and funny, it was impossible to dislike her. Plus she had a wild streak to her that Lara discovered the first time they went out together when, hammered on tequila, Heidi had started demonstrating high kicks at the bar before flirting outrageously with Mr Hawkins, the nervous-looking peripatetic violin teacher from school. ‘Get out of this friendship while the going’s good, Lara,’ Heidi had slurred on the way home, stumbling against a parked car and setting off a shrieking alarm. ‘I am a terrible person, I warn you now.’
‘Are you kidding me? This is the most fun I’ve had in years,’ Lara had told her, hauling her upright again. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Since then, their friendship had become strong and sisterly. Heidi and her husband, Jim, were the sort who always had extra chairs at their dinner table, and while Lara still secretly envied them their solid, cheerful marriage and rumbustious family life, she was glad to have been welcomed into it – or to feel she had an honorary place on the sidelines at least.
‘I’m not bailing because I’m tired,’ she began now, only to be interrupted by a loud huffing sound.
‘I knew it! I bloody knew it! And there’s me, slaving over my effing buttercream icing and for what? For—’
‘I’m on my way to Cambridge,’ Lara put in quickly, before her friend could blow a gasket. She had a sudden yearning to be in Heidi’s cosy living room instead, cackling with her book group while they tucked in to wine and cake, setting the world to rights before belatedly remembering, several hours in, that they were meant to be discussing a novel. ‘And I won’t be back until late tonight. Possibly not even till tomorrow, realistically,’ she said, thinking aloud as she checked her watch and did some calculations. Shit. Where would they sleep? ‘Even with the temptations of your baking. Sorry.’
‘What? Cambridge? Since when? What’s going on?’ Never one to ask a single question when you could get four in, Heidi rattled them out like gunfire.
‘Remember me telling you about that guy I met in New York?’ Lara asked.
‘The gorgeous, enigmatic one-night stand who ruined your love life for evermore by setting the bar impossibly high and also being a bastard? Yes, of course. Why?’ A gasp rushed out of the phone in the next second. ‘No! Seriously? You’ve found him? You’re back in touch?’
‘Well . . .’ The rain was pattering down on her hood and shoulders and she headed back to find shelter. She didn’t want to be sitting in the car for the next hour with wet trousers. ‘It’s a long story. Basically, Eliza found out about him being her dad. She’s really angry. And we’re on our way to see him – impulse road trip. Well, her impulse, not mine, to be fair. I’ve kind of been strong-armed into the whole thing. Anyway,’ she went on, aware that she was veering away from the favour she needed to ask, ‘I was wondering – you’ve still got a spare key, haven’t you? Would you be able to pop round and feed the cat? We’ll be back tomorrow, so if you just give him two scoops of food tonight, that should be—’
But Heidi didn’t want to be deflected by cat talk. ‘Oh my God, Lara. I can’t believe this. You’re going to see him again. The one who got away. Fuck!’
‘I’m not sure that will be on the cards for today,’ Lara joked, deadpan. ‘He’s married apparently. But yeah, I’m going to see him again. I’m bricking it, actually.’
‘Don’t! This could be the turning point of your life! A romantic reunion after, what, nearly twenty years? Whoa. This is major. How are you feeling? What are you going to say? What are you wearing?’
Lara glanced down at the pair of very ordinary mum jeans and the rather bobbly navy blue jumper she was wearing, neither of which screamed ‘romantic heroine’. When you sat in a car all day long for a living, you dressed for comfort rather than glamour; you barely thought about what outfit you threw on, as long as it was presentable. ‘I don’t think it will be like that,’ she replied.