Chapter Nine

THE NEXT FEW DAYS felt heavy with sadness and getting through each one was like wading through quicksand. Rory was in Berlin. He’d finally called me, the evening after putting Marmalade down, to say he had to go to away again for work.

‘Darling, I’ll be back soon!’ he said, assuming my tears were for him.

I explained that I was more upset because I’d had to put my cat down.

‘I know, sweetheart, but at the end of the day you have to remember, he was just a cat.’

A huge bunch of cream roses arrived at the shop the following day as an apology.

Sorry about the cat. Can I sweep you out for a special dinner on Friday? Rory X

Friday was my birthday, but the thought of that wasn’t perking me up much either. There was too much pressure on adult birthdays. ‘Did you have a nice birthday?’ people ask and you have to reply positively to avoid disappointing them. ‘Yeah, a great time, thanks, I got a book and a rude card about ageing from Scribbler!’ Birthdays peak at around seven or eight, when you have a cake, balloons, mandatory presents from everybody at your party (otherwise why did you ask them?), and perhaps a magician. After that, it’s downhill. Adult birthdays make you feel like a junkie who’s clean but fondly remembers his first hit. Someone in the office uses petty cash to buy you a Colin the Caterpillar and you gather round the printer for a dutiful rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, but it’s nowhere near as thrilling as the princess cake you had when you turned seven.

As usual, I hadn’t planned anything this year, figuring I’d just text a few people a couple of days in advance and see if anyone was up for a drink. This was my theory: if I didn’t make a big spectacle out of my birthday, I couldn’t be disappointed when I ended up counting beer mats in the pub. But I felt lifted by the idea of dinner with Rory, to make things feel more normal after the rockiness of the ball and to close a terrible week. So we made up via messages and he said he’d book an Italian restaurant that did ‘sensational ossobuco’. I assumed this was a cheese but Google told me it was veal.

On Tuesday, I opened a box of deliveries in the shop to find Norris had ordered several copies of a new cartoon book called How To Tell If Your Cat Is Plotting To Kill You, which set me off again. The next afternoon, Mrs Delaney appeared while I was having another weep behind the till and asked if it was ‘boyfriend trouble’. Eugene quickly escorted her to the gardening section.

He, Norris and Zach were all weirdly nice to me that week, like husbands who’d been caught shagging the nanny. Cups of tea kept appearing at the till. So much tea I had to ask them to stop in the end because that many cups meant multiple trips to the loo. Eugene cleaned the kitchen every day, Norris didn’t shout and there were no Rory the Tory jibes. I also emailed him my Curtis the caterpillar story and, on Thursday, he appeared upstairs and suggested lunch in the square.

‘I’ve brought my lunch.’

‘I know, I know,’ he said, surrendering his hands in the air. ‘I wasn’t for a second suggesting you try a different type of sandwich. But bring it with you. I want to chat about the Christmas party.’

Once on the bench outside, he revealed this had been a cover story. ‘I do want to chat about the Christmas party, but I also wanted to check that you’re OK.’

I smiled up at him. He was sitting on the wooden arm, his boots on the seat. ‘Kind of. The house has been pretty weird this week. I get home and wait for the feeling of him around my ankles, but Ruby and Mia have been amazing.’

The previous night, they’d lined up in the kitchen, clearly holding something behind them.

‘Why are you guys being so weird? What’s going on?’ I’d asked.

Mia had revealed a framed picture of Marmalade and me in the garden. Ruby had taken it from her bedroom window the previous summer; I was lying on my front reading, he was lying across a rectangle of sunshine on my back. It made me cry again, obviously, but it also made me more grateful for my half-sisters than I could remember. We’d got through two bottles of wine afterwards and I’d teased Ruby about Zach.

‘How were the headshots, Rubes?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I tried. I gave him my best sex face but it didn’t work so I guess that’s that.’

Mia forced her to demonstrate her best sex face and Ruby had lowered her eyelids like a drunk and pouted her lips. We laughed so hard I’d almost choked.

‘I think you’re off the hook with Ruby,’ I told Zach, as he ripped through his baguette.

He grinned, his cheeks stuffed with sandwich. ‘Ah, she’s great. But she’s your sister. I couldn’t. How’s your fascist boyfriend, anyway?’

‘All right. Been away this week but taking me out for my birthday tomorrow.’

Zach’s eyes widened. ‘Your birthday! You’ve kept that very quiet. What you doing?’

‘Nothing, I hate it.’

He shook his head. ‘You can’t hate your own birthday. Even for you, that’s tragic.’

‘Thanks. And I know. But I do. So I’m having supper with Rory and that’s it.’

‘He’d better take you somewhere decent. I don’t want to hear next week that you spent your birthday eating peri peri chicken in Nando’s.’

‘I don’t think Rory knows what Nando’s is,’ I said, before catching Zach’s eye and we both snorted with laughter. There was no way Rory would risk splashing hot sauce on any of his shirts.

‘Hey, so what’s happening with the Christmas party?’ I asked, once we’d regained control of ourselves.

Zach brushed crumbs off his jeans. ‘What do you think about carol singing?’

‘Us?’

‘No, Jesus, no! Can you sing? No, course you can’t. I’ve heard you in the stockroom.’

‘Watch it, I’m still sensitive.’

‘You’re all right. And I’ve been looking into it and the Chelsea Pensioners have a choir, so I thought we could try and get them in? A singalong, mulled wine and Norris in his Father Christmas costume. It’s my last week in the shop so I want to make sure it’s a proper knees-up.’

‘Last week?’

‘Yeah. I go to South America that weekend.’

‘Oh, course.’ I looked down at my sandwich and was almost overwhelmed by a wave of self-pity. My life felt small. I made the same sandwich every morning and double-wrapped it in clingfilm. That was pretty much the only element of risk I faced each day – arriving at work and checking the tomato pips hadn’t leaked into my rucksack.

‘Finally you’ll be rid of me,’ said Zach, gently punching my shoulder with his fist.

‘About time,’ I said, trying to grin up at him. ‘Has Norris said yes to the carol singing?’

‘No, but he will.’

The Chelsea Pensioners were army veterans who lived in a nearby retirement home and still pottered up and down the King’s Road in red uniforms and black hats. I had no idea if their singing was any good but they were a local institution.

‘How does the shop make any cash? Won’t we need to pay them?’

‘It’s charitable,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘We pass a bucket around for the singers and stay open late for Christmas shopping. Offer free wrapping or something.’

‘We already do free wrapping.’

‘All right, Little Miss Pedantic, I’ll think of something else. But do you think it’s a good idea?’

I nodded. ‘Yeah, well done, Superman.’

He raised his arm in front of him like Clark Kent flying through the air.

‘Don’t get too cocky. The landlord hasn’t backed down yet.’

‘He will,’ said Zach, scrunching up his baguette wrapper, ‘he will.’

Eugene offered to open up the following morning so I could have a ‘birthday lie-in’ but I still woke at seven. Lying in bed, I tried to gauge whether thirty-three felt any different to thirty-two. Looking at it from a purely mathematic basis, I’d gained a year and a boyfriend but lost a cat. Did they cancel one another out? Was I any wiser? Hard to tell.

I rolled on my side and looked at the photo taken twenty-nine years earlier of Mum crouched around me as I puffed my chubby red cheeks to blow out my candles. I frowned as if willing her back to life, wondering what she’d say to me today if she was still here.

‘Get into the shower, probably,’ I muttered, throwing back the duvet. My habit of talking to Marmalade in the morning hadn’t stopped.

I dressed and walked to the shop but it was eerily silent. ‘Hello?’ I shouted. No answer. There was nobody behind the till, nobody on the shop floor and nobody downstairs. ‘HELLO?’ I shouted again, down the staircase at the office. Nothing. What the hell? I leave them for a morning and the place goes to sleep.

‘Men,’ I grumbled, pulling off my rucksack and very nearly dying from immediate cardiac arrest when Eugene, Norris and Zach leapt like salmon from behind the till. Well, Eugene and Zach leapt. Norris just stood up a bit faster than he would usually.

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ they shouted as I reached for a bookshelf to steady myself.

‘Jesus!’ I said, clutching the shelf. ‘I wasn’t expecting an aerobatic display.’

‘I think my hip’s gone,’ said Norris. ‘I need to sit down.’

‘Hang on,’ said Eugene, ‘we have to give her the card.’ He held out an envelope.

I opened it to find it was signed by all three of them plus, clearly, whoever had been into the shop that week. Rita the cleaner. Mrs Delaney. I squinted at one of the messages: A VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY AND I HOPE THE NEXT YEAR BRINGS YOU EVERYTHING YOU WISH FOR, BEST REGARDS, TERRENCE.

‘Who’s Terrence?’

Eugene looked embarrassed. ‘He bought a book about bicycles yesterday while you were at lunch with Zach.’

‘Thanks, guys.’

‘There’s something else in the envelope,’ he added, nodding at it.

I pulled out a slip of paper: a voucher for a massage at a posh spa nearby.

‘We thought you could do with it after, well, everything,’ Zach added.

I grinned again. ‘Thank you, I’m very touched.’

Norris limped downstairs and I kicked my bag under the till. I’d brought in the same black dress I’d worn on my first date with Rory and my trusty black heels, which I could actually walk in. I still wasn’t sure where his Italian restaurant was. He’d texted me that morning saying I was to ‘await further instructions’.

‘What you doing later?’ asked Eugene.

‘Not sure, it’s a surprise.’

‘Remember what I said about Nando’s,’ said Zach, narrowing his eyes at me, ‘if he even dares.’

‘It’s not going to be Nando’s,’ I said, reaching for my pocket as my phone vibrated against my hip.

Darling, the meeting’s been delayed. Not sure what flight we’ll get back but probably not much before 10pm at this rate. I have to stay until the minister’s done. I’m so sorry, forgive me. Can we go out tomorrow night instead? Rx

‘Oh,’ I mumbled. ‘It’s not going to be anywhere.’

‘What?’ Zach and Eugene asked simultaneously.

‘Rory’s meeting has been delayed so he’s not getting back until late.’ I tried to smile at them. ‘Want to come to Nando’s for a birthday dinner?’

‘No,’ said Zach, shaking his head. ‘We can do better than that. Eugene, you free tonight?’

Eugene nodded.

‘Right, leave this one to me.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Never you mind, but Superman to the rescue. There will be no peri peri chicken and you will have a good time. Deal?’

‘Deal,’ I said, trying to sound less glum than I felt inside. Maybe a cat was better than a boyfriend after all.

When the shop closed that night, Eugene told me to put my coat on and Zach appeared from the office waving a blindfold. I almost told him about the time Rory pinched one of Mia’s sleep masks and tied my wrists together, but I wasn’t sure it was the right moment.

‘What’s this for?’ I asked, standing in front of him while he fastened it around my head.

‘You’ll see. And drink this.’ I felt Zach’s hands over mine as he slipped a cold bottle into them. ‘Beer. Dutch courage.’

‘For what?’

‘Wait and see,’ he said. ‘Eugene, is the Uber here?’

‘Just pulled up.’

‘I need my bag!’

‘Eugene’s got it. Don’t worry,’ said Zach.

As if carrying out a very civilized kidnapping where the hostage is given a drink before being bundled into the getaway car, Zach led me outside and gently pressed on my head so I could fold myself into it.

‘Florence, can you put your fingers in your ears please?’

‘What? Why?’

He sighed. ‘If this was for real I’d have taken you back already, no ransom required. Just do it. I need to talk to the driver about where we’re going.’

I propped the bottle between my legs and waggled my fingers in and out of my ears until I heard Zach shout that I could remove them.

‘Can we have Magic?’ Eugene asked from the front so the driver tapped at his radio and the speakers belted out Tina Turner’s ‘Simply the Best’. Eugene started singing along.

‘Come on, birthday girl, you know the lyrics,’ said Zach, before he joined in too.

‘Give me a lifetime of promises and a world of dreeeeeeams,’ they shouted.

I swallowed another mouthful of beer and pinched my lips together.

‘Florence, I can’t hear you,’ said Zach.

‘All right,’ I said, opening my mouth and muttering a few words: ‘Better than all the rest, better than anyone.’

‘You sound like a virgin at choir practice, come on!’ Zach urged, before bellowing another line.

‘Zach, I had no idea you were such a fan,’ said Eugene, pausing from his own harmony.

‘Tina? Love her. Big fan of an Eighties ballad.’

Eugene tutted. ‘I wish you were gay.’

‘Sorry, buddy. But if I was, you’d be first on my list.’

I smiled into my bottle. This was crazy. Sitting in an Uber, blindfolded, singing Tina Turner while drinking a Peroni was crazy. But good crazy.

‘Just here’s great, mate, thanks,’ I heard Zach say a few minutes later and the car stopped.

‘Out we get, come on,’ he said, taking my hand and pulling me across the seat. I felt his hand on my head again to protect it as I stood up.

I could hear the buzz of London traffic and the odd squeal of a child. Where were we?

‘Ready?’ said Zach, before untying the blindfold.

‘SURPRISE!’ came a unified shout.

I blinked at the fairy lights on the trees around us. We were outside the Natural History Museum and Ruby, Mia, Hugo, Jaz and Dunc were all standing in front of me.

‘Happy birthday, doll,’ said Jaz, stepping forward to give me a hug. ‘Dunc, show Floz what you’ve got for her.’

He stepped forward and offered up a card with ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ written in crayon. ‘Made you this,’ he said.

‘Oh Dunc, thank you, is that me?’ I said, pointing at the drawing. It was either a woman or a blancmange wearing a wig.

He nodded.

‘It’s brilliant,’ I said, crouching down to squeeze him. ‘Thank you very much.’

After several ‘Happy birthdays’ and hugs from everyone else I turned back to Zach. ‘So what are we doing?’

‘We’re going skating,’ he said, pointing around the others to an ice rink at the side of the museum. That’s where the squeals of children were coming from. Blue and pink neon lights flashed across the white surface as people skidded across it, circling a giant Christmas tree flashing in the middle. The sound of Justin Timberlake floated through a speaker.

‘I can’t skate!’

‘Yes, you can,’ he replied. ‘Dunc, can you skate?’

He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Yeah, but only if my mum holds my hand.’

‘Exactly,’ went on Zach. ‘If Dunc can skate, so can you. Let’s go, our time slot’s up.’

He led us down a slope and into a marquee behind the rink. Shelves of blue plastic skates spanned one end of it.

‘Size?’ said a bored-looking man standing in front the shelves.

‘Eight,’ I whispered very quietly.

‘Pardon?’

‘Eight,’ I said, slightly louder.

‘EIGHT,’ shouted Ruby, appearing beside me.

‘Thanks, Rubes.’

We stomped outside like Transformers, unable to bend our legs properly once the skates were strapped on. Hugo muttered about whether the rink had the correct health and safety insurance; Mia told him not to be a baby. Jaz said she’d always wanted to be a skater when she was younger.

‘Did you? Why?’ I asked.

‘I loved that Torvill and Jean.’

‘Do you mean Dean?’ said Zach.

‘Yeah, her.’

She and Dunc slid out first. Then Mia and Hugo, followed by Eugene, then Ruby, which left me and Zach.

‘Come on,’ he said, holding his hand out.

‘I bet you’re good at this, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve picked it,’ I said, as my fingers grasped his and I stepped on to the ice like an old person.

He grinned. ‘Maybe. I’ll be Jean if you’ll be my Torvill?’

I inched along the ice, praying not to fall immediately. Small children slid around me like professionals. Ruby had done several laps already, hair flying behind her. I laughed as Hugo pulled himself along by the rail on the side of the rink while Mia shouted beside him: ‘Let go, don’t be such a wimp. Why am I marrying such a wimp?’

‘I’m not a wimp, it’s a long way down,’ Hugo shot back in a panicked, high-pitched voice.

‘Go!’ I said to Zach, who was tugging me along. ‘This is boring for you.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s funny. Look, concentrate, lean back. You’re bending like you’re constipated.’

‘Shut up!’

‘Well, you are. That’s it. And bend your knees a bit more. There we go. Use your arms for balance. Look, you’re off!’

I was off. Sort of. There were still children outperforming me, but I sped up. I let go of Zach’s hand and pushed one leg out behind the other, making a satisfying slicing sound with my boots.

‘YOU’RE SIMPLY THE BEST,’ shouted Eugene as he went past me, spinning in a little circle.

‘Show off!’ I yelled back.

Zach swooped up behind Dunc and took his hand.

Jaz let them go on ahead and skated over to me. ‘The hero worship’s strong in that one,’ she said, nodding towards them. Zach was pulling Dunc along to gurgles of laughter.

‘Cute.’

‘It is,’ said Jaz, looking from them to me. ‘So where’s Rory?’

‘Stuck with work. Getting a late plane from Berlin.’ I’d had increasingly apologetic messages that day and another bunch of flowers. Pink lilies this time, an even bigger bunch than the roses he’d sent earlier in the week. If you glanced through Frisbee’s window, you might have thought it was a florist not a bookshop. Flowers seemed to be Rory’s automatic way of apologizing. Send a big bouquet, all would be well.

‘How are things with him?’

‘All right.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, nodding. ‘Really.’ Then I sighed. ‘It’s just been a weird week.’ She already knew about Marmalade but I explained about the Tory party, the dress, our row afterwards.

‘Well,’ she said, looking back out to the rink, ‘either it’s the first test of your relationship, and if you really like him then it’s fine. Or…’

‘Or what?’

She bit her lower lip.

‘Go on, when have you ever been afraid to tell me something?’

‘Just make sure you’re not in a relationship for the sake of being in a relationship. There are others out there, you know. Look at me and George.’

‘Me and George is it now?’ I teased. ‘So you’ve seen him?’

She smiled. ‘Yeah, we went to the park at the weekend with the kids, and then he had a glass of wine at mine afterwards.’

‘Snogged yet?’

She shook her head. ‘Nah, I think it’s going to be a slow burn, this one. He seems to have Maya most nights and I’ve got Dunc but, yeah, we’ve messaged every day. So all I’m saying is you never know when someone’s just going to appear in your life.’

I nodded but, surprisingly, felt a flash of jealousy. Other women seemed to find boyfriends so easily, swinging seamlessly from one to the next like a monkey in the jungle. I’d waited years for just one and the thought of not having Rory made me feel panicked, as if I would be sliding backwards in life. I couldn’t lose him this quickly. ‘Jaz, I can’t break up with Rory after one bad week.’

‘I’m not saying you should. Just make sure you’re in this for the right reasons. But enough chat, we can’t stand here all night like a pair of pensioners.’

She pulled me away from the side and, as the opening chords of ‘Livin’ On A Prayer’ twanged through the speaker, we skated around the Christmas tree, Jaz screaming Bon Jovi so loudly that parents pulled their children away from us. I fell over, a spectacular collapse to the ice as my legs slipped from underneath me and I found myself flat out, my jumper riding up and exposing my belly to the cold. This sparked a brief flashback to the dance floor of the Tory ball, except here nobody looked down their horsey noses at me. Instead, Jaz squatted to help, although unfortunately this meant she went over too and we lay, screaming with laughter, until one of the supervisors skated over and said we were obstructing the others.

Then came an announcement on the tannoy that our time slot was over, so we waddled back inside and swapped our boots for shoes.

‘Drinks!’ announced Eugene, pointing to a bar sign.

‘I’m taking this one home,’ Jaz said, inclining her head at Dunc. ‘Happy birthday again, love,’ she said, reaching her arms around me.

‘Thanks for coming.’

‘Have fun,’ she said. ‘Get pissed.’

‘Will do,’ I replied. And with hindsight, I blame Jaz for what happened next because I took her instructions very literally.

Upstairs, above the boot area, was a space which had been designed to look like an Alpine chalet: a wooden bar decorated with garlands of fir and fairy lights, long trestle tables and benches on which sat punters drinking glass steins of beer.

‘Get a table,’ Zach instructed, ‘I’ll get the drinks.’

We sat around a trestle table. Hugo said he needed to sit on the end of a bench so he could rub his sore shins. The boots had ‘dug into them’, apparently. Mia rolled her eyes and turned her back to him.

‘When’s the wedding?’ Eugene asked.

‘Three weeks tomorrow,’ Mia replied in a tone which suggested genuine excitement. I glanced back at Hugo, wincing like a 4-year-old who’d fallen over in the playground and grazed his knee, and marvelled that she could seem so cheerful about it.

I checked my phone to see a missed call from Rory but ignored it as I spied Zach weaving through the crowd in the bar with a big tray.

‘Dive in,’ he said, putting it down. There was a jug of frothy beer, glasses and several packets of crisps. I went straight for the beer. Down one went, then another, then Hugo was sent back to the bar by Mia. Eugene did the next round and returned not only with vodka shots and more beer but also rubbery hot dogs. It was like chewing on salty tyre, but I’d swallowed mine in minutes and was back to the pints again. At some point, it was getting quite blurry by then, Zach appeared over the table, cupping the flame of a single candle in a muffin and there was a round of ‘Happy Birthday’.

‘Happy birthday, dear Florence,’ sang our table.

‘Happy birthday, dear so and so,’ sang the rest of the bar.

‘Happy birthday, dear meeeeeee,’ I slurred.

‘Love you guys,’ I told them, grinning around the table afterwards. ‘I love you,’ I said, looking at Mia. ‘And you,’ I said to Ruby. ‘And I have to love you since you’re about to be my brother,’ I told Hugo. ‘I love you a lot,’ I promised Eugene. ‘And I didn’t think I loved you but I do now,’ I said, looking at Zach with droopy, half-lidded eyes.

‘Relieved I made the cut,’ he said, laughing.

‘You’re welcome,’ I replied, before slumping on Eugene’s shoulder.

‘I think we might need to get the birthday girl home,’ said Ruby.

‘No!’ I sat bolt upright again. ‘Not home! More shots!’ I hiccupped and felt a mouthful of hot dog revisit the back of my throat. I swallowed quickly but it didn’t escape Ruby’s notice.

‘Uh-oh, we’re definitely going home,’ she said. ‘Mia, will you call an Uber?’

And then the weirdest thing happened: I tried to stand up but I couldn’t. It was like my legs had turned to noodles. They couldn’t push me up. I tried. I really tried to raise myself from the table but nothing happened. The next thing I knew, I was flying.

Sort of.

Zach had effortlessly swept me into the air, cradling me like a baby. As he walked downstairs, I exhaled over his shoulder so he wasn’t asphyxiated by my breath. All the fairy lights had become one fairy light, other people’s voices sounded as if they’d been put through a distorter to protect their identity and my hiccupping was becoming more violent.

He lowered me through a passenger door as if he was posting a parcel and I noticed the street lamps outside the car swaying like palm trees.

This is when I made my third major mistake of the evening. Another hiccup turned into another mouthful of hot dog and I scrabbled for my rucksack as a waterfall of beer and frankfurter poured out of me and into it.

I heard Mia apologizing to the driver while Ruby rubbed my back. ‘Yup, OK, good, let’s get it all out. Oh no, there’s more. Good. Right, do you want a tissue? Oh no. Not done yet. That’s it. Jesus, that is a lot of beer. We finished? OK, here you go.’

Ruby handed me a Pret napkin from her bag and I wiped my mouth. Then I wondered why we were in a gale; my hair was blowing around my face with individual strands sticking to my wet lips. Ruby later told me that the smell was so vile the driver insisted on winding down all four windows, even though it was near freezing that night. Also, when we finally got home, apparently Hugo tried to give me a fireman’s lift upstairs but was too weak and had to sit down after one flight. Ruby and Mia took over: one at my feet, the other’s hands under my armpits while I burbled another round of ‘Happy Birthday’ until they swung me into bed. Still, it had been a happy birthday in the end. Much happier than I expected. Less happy for Mia, though, since her Uber rating dropped two stars as a result.

‘Bzzzzzzz,’ went the giant bird. ‘Bzzzzzz, bzzzzzzzzzz.’ We were in thick green undergrowth and its giant beak was about to snap off my head. ‘Bzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzzzzzzz.’ I stumbled on a vine and waited to be engulfed. Oh no, this was it. Well, I’d had a good innings. Life hadn’t been bad to me. There’d been friends, family, Marmalade, a job in a bookshop. The image of Dad’s face briefly flashed before me as I felt the beak widen over my head and I felt bad that this would embarrass him in the papers: ‘Ambassador’s daughter eaten by giant bird.’ But there were worse ways to go. ‘Bzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzzzzz.’ I braced for the end and… Ah.

The buzzing was the doorbell and the pain in my head was an ache so bad I wasn’t sure I could move. Could I move? I flexed my fingers under the duvet, then tried my toes. They were all right. What about my arm? Nope, shifting my arm intensified the pain in my head. It was as if my brain was trying to burst free from my scalp. Water. Painkillers. I flapped at my bedside table and knocked my water glass to the carpet. Fuck.

Bzzzzzzz, bzzzzzzzzzz. The doorbell went again. Where was Mia? Where was Ruby? They were closer to the front door than me. I needed immediate medical attention. I opened the drawer of my bedside table and found a packet of Nurofen, staggered to the bathroom and lowered my mouth to the cold tap.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. I stood up and swallowed the pills, then hit my head on the glass shelf attached to my mirror. Who was being such a dick this early on a Saturday morning? I reached for my dressing gown and knotted it as I went downstairs. If it was someone selling tea towels, fish or God, I would breathe on them as punishment.

Bzzzzzzzzzz, it went yet again as I reached the hall. Jesus, the hall stank. What was that?

My eye fell on my rucksack, lying under the coat stand, and I felt confused. I had the vague sensation that something bad had happened to that bag. Why was it down here and not upstairs in my bedroom? Where was my phone, come to think of it? But as I got closer to it, the smell intensified. I leant over it to open it and— oh Jesus no! No, no, no. Back away from the rucksack. Do not disturb the rucksack. The rucksack had turned evil overnight.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!

‘All right, all right, I’m coming,’ I said, pulling the chain off the door. ‘Zach!’

He was standing on the doormat with a cardboard box but threw his head back and barked with laughter when he saw me.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I was looking for Florence Fairfax but I seem to have come to the house of her elderly grandmother. Do you know where I might find her?’

‘Don’t make me laugh,’ I said, putting my palms to the side of my head. ‘It hurts. What are you doing?’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Er, yeah but I should warn you tha—’

‘What is that smell?’ he said, stepping past me into the hall.

‘Never mind,’ I said quickly. ‘Coffee?’

‘Yes, please,’ he said, making for the kitchen. ‘I’ve brought you some croissants.’

‘How many croissants do we need?’ I said, glancing back at his box. ‘There must be hundreds in there.’

‘This does not contain anything edible,’ he said, placing the box gently down on the kitchen table.

‘What is it then?’

‘Have a look,’ he said with a wide grin.

I narrowed my eyes at him and reached for the top.

‘Careful,’ he said, more seriously.

I lifted one flap, then the other and my hands flew back to my face. ‘Oh my God, Zach.’

For in the box, no bigger than a teacup, was a ginger kitten.

‘Are you kidding?’ I said, looking up at him.

He shook his head, still grinning. ‘No! Unless you don’t want him?’

I reached into the box, picked him up and fell instantly in love. It reminded me of meeting Marmalade. Opening a box to find something so tiny peering up at you must be the closest you can come to having a gunky baby slapped on your chest after childbirth. Raising my hands to my face, I looked at him and he blinked back, quite still in my palms. ‘Hi, pal,’ I whispered, before kissing the top of his very small head. He replied with a very small mewl.

‘Where did you get him?’

‘From a cat lady in Neasden whose house smelt even worse than this one. He’s been microchipped, by the way. I’ve got some paperwork in my bag.’

I held him to my chest, unable to put him down. There was a new felt bed in the box along with assorted toys: a mouse, a pink ball and a kitten with plastic eyes which was larger than the real one in my hand.

‘I thought he might need a friend,’ Zach explained.

‘This is amazing. He is amazing. Thank you.’

‘Do you want me to make the coffee?’

‘Would you?’ The mention of coffee reminded me that I was very ill, possibly close to death. I pulled out a chair and sat down.

Zach slung his rucksack on the floor and filled up the kettle. ‘What you going to call him?’

‘Coffee in the fridge, mugs in the cupboard next to the fridge, plunger on the side,’ I said, as he opened various doors. ‘And don’t know. What d’you reckon?’

‘Nothing too obvious.’

‘Like Tigger, or Simba.’

‘Or Garfield. Hmm. Harry?’

I frowned at him, unsure who he meant.

‘Prince Harry, he’s a ginger.’

‘Harry,’ I repeated. ‘Can you have a cat called Harry? What do we think about animals with human names?’

‘I like it. I think it’s funny.’

‘Rory’s mother’s cats are called after artists.’

Zach rolled his eyes. ‘Course they are. Posh sorts always give their animals pretentious names. I heard someone shouting “Tybalt” at their spaniel in the park once.’

‘Coming from the man with a Greek god on his arm?’

‘I could take Harry back to Neasden?’

‘Uh-uh, he’s mine.’ I looked down at him and felt a pang of guilt about Rory, remembering that I’d ignored his calls last night. But there wasn’t much I could do. Presumably my phone was buried in that bag, covered in sick.

Zach put a mug down in front of me and coffee slopped over the rim. ‘Sorry. Got any kitchen roll?’

‘By the sink.’

‘Plates?’

‘In the cupboard next to the sink.’

He mopped the coffee puddle and found the plates, then reached into his rucksack and produced a paper bag. ‘I wasn’t sure what you’d feel like,’ he said, tearing it open, ‘so there’s croissants, one pain au chocolat, a cinnamon roll and one with raisins in it.’

I lowered the kitten to my lap – Harry? Did Harry work? – and took a croissant.

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Not just for this though,’ I said, waving the croissant at him. ‘For everything. For last night, and coming over now, and for him,’ I said, looking down at the kitten, who’d wedged himself between my thighs.

‘Hey, it was your birthday. And you didn’t hate it, right?’

I shook my head. Thankfully the Nurofen was kicking in. ‘I had a good time.’

‘Any word from you-know-who?’

I grimaced as I ripped my croissant in half. ‘Probably, but my phone is indisposed.’

He frowned at me.

‘I was sick on it.’

‘You weren’t?’

I nodded slowly. ‘In the cab on the way back. I didn’t know where else to throw up so I used my bag.’

He smiled and shook his head. ‘Florence Fairfax, usually so prim, I’m proud of you.’

‘I’m not prim!’

Zach swallowed the last of his croissant.

‘I’m not!’ I protested. ‘Am I?’

‘Do you remember my first day?’

‘When I thought you were a burglar?’

‘Exactly, when you thought I was a burglar and you wanted to stab me with the Stanley knife for spilling my coffee?’

‘OK, I was a bit prim. But I didn’t know you!’

‘And you do now?’

His frankness made me awkward, so I looked down at my lap and stroked the sleeping kitten. ‘I know you can’t be trusted with a coffee cup.’

‘You always do that.’

‘What?’ I asked, raising my eyes to his.

‘Make a joke when you’re uncomfortable. It’s called deflection.’

I didn’t have time to make a joke about this because the door buzzer went again, making the kitten spring up on its paws.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

‘Here you go,’ I said, passing him to Zach.

As I trudged through the hall, I held my breath while passing my bag, only inhaling again once I’d opened the door.

It was Rory, also carrying a box. Although his was bright blue and had Smythson written across it.

‘You’re alive!’ he replied, throwing a gloved hand in the air. ‘But good lord, are you all right? You look like a ghost. And why aren’t you answering your phone? I thought something terrible had happened.’

Before I could answer, I heard footsteps in the hall and glanced over my shoulder to see Zach and the kitten.

‘What’s he doing here?’ added Rory. ‘And what on earth is that smell?’

I sighed and stepped back to open the door properly. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

He ignored my question and stalked past us both to the kitchen. I followed him, Zach after me.

‘I’m jolly confused,’ Rory went on, taking off his gloves and dropping them on his box, before draping his overcoat on the back of a kitchen chair. ‘I’ve been ringing and ringing you all night but no answer. What is that frightful noise?’

He glanced at the kitchen ceiling as if there was a bat circling it.

‘It’s Harry.’

‘Another stranger! Who’s Harry?’ Rory demanded.

‘My new kitten,’ I said, pointing to Zach, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, cradling the mewling kitten. ‘Zach bought him for me.’

‘Did he indeed?’

‘I think I’d better get going, leave you guys to it,’ said Zach, quickly. He lowered Harry into his box and picked up his rucksack. ‘See you on Monday and, er, Rory, good to see you.’

Rory didn’t reply. Instead, he looked at Zach in the same way that someone would inspect the contents of their handkerchief. I brushed past him to hug Zach. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it, and eat the rest of those,’ he said, nodding at the bag of pastries. ‘You’ll feel better.’

I waited until the front door had closed and turned back to Rory.

‘Florence, what is going on? I race back from Berlin and you don’t answer your phone, and then I arrive this morning to find your house has become a menagerie.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘A kitten and a Neanderthal ape in the kitchen!’

I sighed and sat down. This morning was proving much more eventful than I’d anticipated.

‘He’s not an ape. He’s my colleague. Last night he organized an impromptu birthday party for me and this morning he bought me Harry,’ I said, reaching back into the box and picking him up.

Rory scowled with indignation. ‘Sounds like he’s got a crush on you.’

‘He’s just being nice.’

‘Good,’ he said, before crouching down in front of me. ‘Because, darling, I realized something last night when I couldn’t get hold of you, when I was having visions of you lying dead in a ditch.’

‘Lying in a ditch? Rory, I live in south London. Where are the ditches?’

‘Never mind the ditches. Listen. What I want to tell you is that I’m in love with you. I love you. That’s what I realized on the plane last night. That’s why I was so desperate to get home.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh?’ Rory’s face remained inches from mine. He looked expectant.

‘What’s in the box?’ I said, changing the subject. I needed to buy time.

He stood to slide it off the table and held it out.

‘Can you take Harry?’

Rory frowned down at his navy trousers. ‘What if he has an accident? These are a new pair.’

‘He won’t.’

As if handling a grenade, Rory took him and I pulled the box on to my lap and untied the ribbon. Under the lid, under a layer of tissue paper, was a black, crocodile-embossed handbag.

‘Turn it round,’ said Rory, so I lifted it from the box and found my initials stamped on the other side. FAF in gold capitals.

‘I thought it was time you got rid of that revolting rucksack,’ he said, ‘so this is a proper handbag to say I love you. I love you, Florence Amélie Fairfax.’

‘Wow,’ I murmured, running my thumb over the initials. ‘Thank you. This is crazy generous.’

Rory shook his head. ‘No, it isn’t. Not for the woman I love.’

He kept saying it and I wasn’t sure what to reply. This was the moment I’d dreamt of. A handsome man, my boyfriend, was sitting in front of me saying that he loved me. In the films, this was the moment when violins started up, the camera zoomed in on the lovers’ faces, the other person said it back and then they kissed, lips and noses pressed up against one another’s faces so hard you wondered if they could breathe. And yet here I was, in the same situation, and all I could think was: is it too greedy if I have the cinnamon roll as well as the pain au chocolat?

‘Thank you,’ I said eventually, ‘I’m honoured.’

Rory leant back in his chair. ‘You’re honoured? Is that all I’m getting?’

I winced. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just a lot to take in this morning and I don’t want to be flippant about this. I want to say it when it’s right. Not when I’m…’ I gestured at my dressing gown, flecked with croissant flakes.

He nodded but looked so crestfallen I felt guilt pluck at my heart. ‘I love this though,’ I said, running my hand back over the bag, as if loving his present would make up for it.

‘Do you really?’ he said, looking more hopeful.

I nodded but I actually didn’t. A crocodile-patterned bag was the sort of thing Patricia would like. I couldn’t carry my cheese and tomato sandwich to work in this monstrosity. What if the pips leaked on the suede?

‘Can we go upstairs?’ he asked.

‘Really? Now? Like this?’ I said with a laugh, relieved to be off the topic of both love and handbags.

‘Absolutely like that. I think it’s the pinkness and the fluffiness of the dressing gown that’s doing it for me.’

‘But what about Harry? I can’t leave him here, on his own.’

‘He can’t join in, sorry.’

In the end, I put Harry back into his box, on his new bed, and carried it upstairs. But I put the box in the bathroom because I didn’t think Harry needed to see what we were about to do and I was still haunted by the memory of Marmalade’s tail on my feet. I brushed my teeth – mindful that I hadn’t since Mia and Ruby threw me into bed last night – and pulled the bathroom door almost closed behind me.

Rory was already lying on my bed. I climbed in next to him and laid my head on his shoulder, before he slid his hand underneath my chin and ran his thumb over my lips, parting them a fraction. ‘I love you,’ he said, before kissing me. I still didn’t feel that chipper. My stomach was rolling like a battleship and the coffee had doubled my heart rate, but it’s funny how sex can make you forget a hangover.

Or it would have been funny, if, at the exact moment that I started feeling a tingling in my feet, the heat spreading up my legs, I didn’t imagine Zach’s hand between my legs, instead of Rory’s.

‘Oh fuck,’ I said, as the wave of heat continued to flood upwards.

‘That’s it, my darling,’ whispered Rory, ‘that’s it. I’ve missed this.’

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ I repeated. It was partly a response to the hot sense of release that I could feel growing as his finger pressed harder. But it was mostly the shock of seeing Zach in my head at that very critical moment.

What was he doing in there?

I was still feeling wobbly about this hallucination when I went for my final appointment with Gwendolyn that week.

Unfortunately, she now seemed to think we were such good friends that I deserved a hug. ‘Florence darling, welcome!’ she said, pressing my face to her chest so hard it was as if she was trying to take an imprint of it.

I mumbled ‘hello’ into her nipples. She was wearing a red mohair jersey tucked into a tulle skirt with purple tights and her green Crocs – she looked like a large child who’d got up that morning and ignored her wardrobe in favour of the fancy-dress box.

She released me and we sat.

‘How are we? Is the relationship progressing?’

I nodded and answered cautiously, ‘Yeah, I think so. He said that he loved me.’

She kicked her Crocs in the air and clapped at the same time. ‘Ah, I’m so pleased!’ Then she cocked her head. ‘But why so glum, Florence poppet? You look like you’ve just swallowed a snake.’

I paused and pressed my lips together before answering. ‘I’m not sure I love him back. How do I know? How do I work that out?’

‘Ah, here we come to one of life’s great questions,’ she replied, settling back in her armchair. ‘Almost everyone I see in here is trying to work that out. Whether they love someone, how much they love them, if they love them enough, if they can love them again, if they love someone else more.’

‘What do you tell them?’

She smiled again. ‘I can’t answer that for them, my darling, just like I can’t tell you. It’s not that simple. We can’t pour your feelings into a measuring jug and see where they come up to. Only you can work that out.’

‘What if I can’t?’

‘Then that might be your answer.’

‘But… but…’ I floundered. ‘He has all the things I wanted on my list! And my family like him!’

‘Indeed. But perhaps the qualities you wrote on your list weren’t the ones that really mattered?’ she said, squinting at me. ‘Maybe that’s what this process has taught you. And of course your family’s opinion counts, we’re all swayed by our families. But ultimately it’s your feelings that matter.’

I sighed. Falling in love wasn’t this complicated in Disney cartoons. Then I steeled myself for my next question, opening my mouth before I replied, unsure how to phrase it.

‘What does it mean if you’re sleeping with someone but you see the face of someone else?’ I blurted, as my cheeks turned the colour of Gwendolyn’s jumper.

She frowned. ‘Do you mean…’ she dropped her voice to a whisper, ‘in the act?’

I nodded. It had happened again that week. I’d stayed at Rory’s on Wednesday and persuaded him to watch an old Bake Off rerun, but halfway through he’d hauled me on to his lap and we’d had sex on the sofa while Prue Leith talked about custard slices in the background. And as I was on top of him, his head bent to my chest, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like if it was Zach’s head there instead of Rory’s. I had to shake my own head to get rid of the idea while ignoring Prue’s voice at the same time. It hadn’t been a relaxing session.

‘But that’s all right, isn’t it?’ I added. ‘That happens in relationships sometimes, doesn’t it? My friend Jaz says she sometimes sees Gordon Ramsay when she’s having sex.’

‘Whose face did you see?’

‘It’s a friend, someone I work with.’ My entire body shrivelled with shame. Saying this out loud made it real, even if I was only admitting it to the overgrown fairy in front of me. But what if someone else could hear? What if Zach had called me and my phone had picked up in my bag so he was overhearing this conversation? I’d have to emigrate to the moon. I leant down and groped in my rucksack to check. My phone screen was black. No accidental phone call.

‘What’s he like, this friend that you work with?’

‘Lovely. But he’s not my type. He’s untidy and leaves mugs and his motorbike stuff all over the shop. He dresses like the lost member of Linkin Park. And doesn’t even have a proper job.’

‘I thought he worked with you?’

‘It’s only temporary.’

‘But why does that matter? Why do any of these things matter?’

‘Because…’ I stopped and looked out of the window. Actually, I wasn’t sure. I’d once read an article about evolution which explained that women were attracted to successful men because, when we were scrabbling around caves, the most successful men would have been the best hunters and provided hunks of woolly mammoth for us to ensure our survival, and the least successful men would have got picked off by a wild beast and left us to go hungry. But I didn’t want to date someone like Hugo just because they had a company Mercedes and a pension. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, looking back to Gwendolyn.

‘I tell you what we need to do,’ she said, one finger aloft in the air.

Here we go.

‘And that’s a little spell for clarity.’

Might have guessed.

‘Lie down on the sofa and close your eyes. I’m going to do a short incantation.’

‘Will this really help me decide?’

‘It will,’ she promised.

I lay down and listened to the sound of drawers opening and closing and a match being struck. Then she placed something cold on my forehead.

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s amethyst. I’ve put it on your third eye for clarity.’

‘My third eye?’

‘It’s a site of mystical powers. Our sixth sense. And take this in your left hand. It’s malachite to stimulate your aura and guard against any negative energies.’

I felt her press a hard, round object into my palm and closed my fingers over it.

‘And this smoky quartz in your other hand to increase your focus.’

With a crystal in each hand, I lay very still so the amethyst didn’t roll off my head, but the sudden stink of incense made me want to cough. It was like being in Camden Market. ‘What’s that smell?’

‘It’s cinnamon to raise the energy in the room. It’s a very powerful tool, cinnamon.’

‘Oh. I only have it on porridge.’

‘Florence, quiet please. I’m not interested in your breakfast. I need to summon the goddess.’

I pinched my lips, frozen in position, hoping that nobody would knock and see me lying on Gwendolyn’s pink sofa, clutching a couple of pebbles with a stone balancing on my face. I’d call the police if I stumbled into a scene like this.

‘Repeat after me. I smell the power within.’

‘I smell the power within.’

‘I see the power within.’ My nose twitched with an itch.

‘I see the power within,’ I said, trying to ignore the itch.

‘I feel the power within.’

‘I feel the power within.’

Then Gwendolyn read a short, very bad poem, but all I could think about was my nose. I didn’t want to scratch it and earn a scolding so I just lay there contorting my face in an effort to quell the itch. I imagined her acting the poem out like Eugene, flinging her arms in the air, but I didn’t dare open an eye to check.

‘Worries be gone, she needs you no more, worries be gone, out of the door. Stresses and strains, worries and strife, leave now, depart, be gone from her life!’

On balance, I reckon ‘The Owl and the Pussy-Cat’ was better.

‘Have you finished?’ I asked, after she’d fallen silent.

‘I have,’ she said, removing the stone from my forehead and prising open my fingers for the ones in my palms. I sat up and scratched my nose.

‘I believe this will help you see your path more clearly,’ she said solemnly. ‘You have a good soul, Florence. I know it will make the right decision in the end.’

As she clasped me to her nipples again in a goodbye hug, I wished I was as convinced.