Thirty days hath September, April, June and November.
All except February which has twenty-eight days clear and twenty-nine in leap year.
And January which has a hundred and ninety-seven.
At least that’s what it had always felt like to her. She took her Christmas decorations down on 2 January. It hadn’t taken her long; there was just a tree, as opposed to filling her house with a Santa’s grotto’s-worth of sparkle and glitz as she had done before. Meredith and Brendan had sent her a card almost as if protocol demanded. A very ordinary charity-supporting one signed only with their names, Meredith, Brendan, Naomi, curt and cold. Laurie hadn’t written any. Not this year.
‘Well? How was your Christmas and New Year?’ said Bella, with emphasis, hungrier for details than she was for food.
‘It was—’
‘It’s what you deserve,’ enthused Bella, not letting her finish. ‘After what Alex did to you, and that bloody fireman.’
Reid was polished and sophisticated, generous and affectionate. Masterful, Bella called him. She was already looking at hats for the wedding.
They’d swapped Christmas presents after making a pact to keep them small. Laurie had given him a scarf; Reid had presented her with an envelope containing details of an evening for two: dinner at the Ritz in London, a pair of theatre tickets and then back to the Ritz for an overnight stay there. It must have cost a fortune.
‘How was the Ritz?’ Bella grinned. ‘Well, actually I mean how was your first shag together in the Ritz? How smooth is that – buying you a luxury night away?’
‘It was certainly a surprise.’ She’d been slightly put out and a lot embarrassed that he’d ignored the arrangement and he’d laughed and told her to enjoy and not even think about it. Bella had said the same. ‘I’m not sure it’s going to work with Reid, though,’ said Laurie.
‘Eh?’ shrieked Bella. ‘How can it not?’
Because Laurie couldn’t forget Pete Moore, that’s why. She didn’t say it because Bella would have told her to get a grip of herself and Bella would probably have been right. On paper Reid was perfect for her. Then again, on paper she had been perfect for Alex.
‘He wants to move too fast,’ said Laurie. ‘I’m not ready for it.’
‘Tell him to slow down, then,’ said Bella.
She already had. Then Reid had presented her with that Christmas present and she’d felt railroaded into spending the night with him. She’d even found herself hoping to catch the winter virus bug that everyone at work had, but she’d managed to dodge it – annoyingly.
She’d presumed she was just being stupidly nervous about sleeping with someone again after being dumped straight after last time. Bella told her not to judge everyone by Alex’s and Pete’s very low standards and just go, relish being spoiled. So she had eaten a fantastic dinner, seen an amazing show and then returned to the hotel. She suggested a drink in the bar – Fabian tactics, delaying the inevitable like a frigid virgin bride – but Reid said he wanted her stone cold sober for the rest of the night. And she had gone to bed with him. He had been attentive to her body but she had faked because she wished she were home alone instead, watching TV in a fluffy robe with a bowl of nachos and getting horribly drunk on red wine. Outside she could hear London cheering, the deep clang of twelve horrible bells that sounded more like a death knell than a celebration, sealing up a year that had been the worst ever . . . but which had also brought someone into it who had given her a tantalising glimpse into a new chapter, a happier one, a love that made her soul sing. When she had finally got back into her house the next day, she’d shut the door on the world and had fought very hard against shedding a single tear over the hungry Pete Moore-shaped hole in her heart.
‘The trouble with you,’ said Bella, ‘is that you’ve been steamrollered so much that you couldn’t spot a decent man if he had a written testimonial from God. These are just tiny teething problems, Laurie, they’ll sort themselves out. Reid is such a catch. He’s absolutely minted as well. One day you’ll come home and there will be a gift-wrapped Maserati on your drive.’
‘Money isn’t everything, I have enough of that myself,’ said Laurie, with a rare snap in her voice.
‘I know,’ replied Bella, with a small smile of apology for overstepping the crass mark. ‘I only want you to have someone who looks after you. You’re scared, Laurie. And who could blame you? Just give him a chance. Isn’t that what Pat Morrison said?’
‘The fortune teller woman you said was rubbish?’
‘Well, that was before she started talking sense. Please don’t do anything rash like finish with Reid. Your heart doesn’t know what to do with someone like him, that’s the problem, someone strong and romantic who knows how to treat a woman. Listen to your head for a change, Laurie and give him a chance.’
Bella, she supposed, had a point. Her heart had made some incredibly dodgy choices in the past. Maybe it was the turn of her brain to take the wheel.
Chapter 51
7 January
The call came in during the night: house fire on the Ketherwood Estate. Both pumping appliances needed. Pete and the others launched themselves out of their beds as soon as the persistent beep-beep of the alarm and the pulsing light combo began, adrenaline streaming through their veins almost before their eyes had opened. Down the pole, out of the door, stepping into their trousers and boots. Onto the vehicle, donning their protective gear and breathing apparatus en route, ready to storm in, douse fires, pull people out, whatever they needed to do when they got there. When the two crews reached the building, there was already a crescent of spectators in pyjamas – but then around here that was all-day garb for a lot of them. A man was sitting on the grass holding his head, rocking back and forth, a woman with flying arms was bouncing with rage and distress at the side of him but was being held back by others.
‘You fucking arsehole,’ she was screaming at him.
A younger, stocky man was trying to get in through the front door.
‘Her kid’s in there,’ he explained when Andy Burlap tried to move him back.
‘She’s in a cot in the bedroom above the kitchen,’ sobbed the woman.
‘Front or back, love?’
‘Front. That fucking arsehole, pissed and making chips. Don’t let my baby die, pleeease.’
Andy quickly assessed, directed.
Sal was first in with the hose. The fire had taken hold of the kitchen units, the curtains and had already burned through to the upper floor. The smoke was thick, rolling freely through the house. Pete and Krish, working as a pair, hurried up the stairs, following the sound of the wailing baby and their inner satnav sense of the house’s layout. She was standing up in her cot, coughing, crying pitifully. Pete lifted her up, held her as close to his mask as possible, straight down the stairs and out. The ambulance had just turned up.
‘My baby,’ the distraught woman was screaming.
‘Let me just check her over,’ said the paramedic, calm and controlled, taking the child from Pete’s arms.
‘Where’s my dog? Where’s Barney?’ The woman broke out into fresh hysteria.