We chat for a bit, then we exchange numbers and he offers towalk me to my door.
‘Oh, no. It’s okay. I’m almost home. You can see my block offlats from here.’
He looks where I’m pointing. ‘How about I stay here until Isee you going in? You know, just in case there’s some kind of serial killerconference going on that we don’t know about?’
I laugh. ‘All right. I’ll say goodnight, then, Doug.’
‘Goodnight, Krystle.’
We exchange a smile and I walk away down the street feelingoddly self-conscious. This would be the time I’d trip over a crack in thepavement, when I know he’s watching me. Aiming to act cool, I resist thetemptation to look back and see if he’s still there, until I arrive at my door.But when I put the key in the lock and turn around, sure enough, he’s standingright where we parted.
He raises his hand and turns away, and I let myself in witha smile.
Life is so strange. I was feeling at rock bottom after mydrink with Ryan. But knowing there are still nice guys out there has lifted meup a little.
I’ll probably never see Doug again, but it doesn’t matter.It was just a really nice, confidence-boosting thing to happen to me – just whenI needed it the most...
CHAPTERTWELVE
Next morning, when the alarm goes off, I wake with a poundingat my temples and a mouth as dry as the Sahara Desert. I’m a bit of a cheapdate. I can’t handle too much wine, and I gulped down that champagne as well...
Groaning, I try to sit up, aware that my shift at the caféstarts in an hour, but then images of the horrendous night before startflashing through my mind. Getting on so well with Ryan...thinking he’d changed and matured... even starting to wonderif we might get back together... then finding out he’d luredme to the pub under false pretences, pretending he had no idea about the lotterywin, when that was the very reason he wanted to see me again!
Feeling weak, I lie back down, covered in shame.
I’m not even going to tell Carrie that I had a drink (orthree) with Ryan because then she’ll want to know how it went and I just can’tbear to see her look of sympathy when I tell her the truth...that Ryan’s taken me for the mug that I so obviously am.
Stress stirs my insides and feeling suddenly nauseous, Ileap out of bed and run for the bathroom. Afterwards, I grip the basin feelingas feeble as a newborn kitten, staring at my ghostly white face in the mirror.How can I possibly face work in half an hour, feeling like this?
You’re a wealthy woman now. You don’t have to go to workif you don’t want to.
This startling thought pings into my head and despitefeeling like something the dog spat out, it makes me laugh out loud. I walkgingerly back to the bedroom and sit down on the very edge of the bed, thinkingabout this.
The thing about having money, I’m realising, is that itprovides you with realchoices. If I were to redesign my life exactlythe way I wanted it to be, would I really want to work in a café?
Most of the time, the customers are lovely, and I reallylike the people I work with, especially Bertha. She and I generally have a goodlaugh in between the boring clearing of tables and being polite to theoccasional awkward customer who really doesn’t deserve our patience.
But work there through choice, if I didn’t have the rent topay? Probably not.
So what would I do? Because I’d still have to earn a living.Even a million pounds won’t last forever...
Interior design.
Carrie’s always saying I’ve got a great eye for what looksgood. In fact, when she moved in with Ronan, she took me shopping with her forhints on colour schemes and soft furnishings, and I have to admit, their placeis looking great now.
If I could do that for Carrie and Ronan, could I helpother people with their interior design choices?
A little pulse of excitement starts up inside me at thethought, although I swallow it down hurriedly, my hands cradling my stomach. (Thelast thing I need is more bathroom shenanigans.)
Bertha is sympathetic when I phone and tell her I can’t cometo work today. I’m really tempted to tell her about Carrie’s win and my goodfortune (she hasn’t mentioned it, so the grapevine chat can’t have reached heryet) and confess to her that I’m thinking of giving up work at the café to dosomething else instead. But nausea takes over, making it prudent to end thecall as swiftly as possible. She’ll find out about my plans tomorrow. I’ll tellBertha before I officially hand in my notice at the café.
I’m going to be an interior designer!
But this is way too much excitement for a woman in mydelicate condition.
I lurch off the bed. Next stop, bathroom...
*****
