‘I’m going to make you a coconut milk hot chocolate!’ Daisy calls out. It’s our go-to comfort drink. The one we always crave when either of us is sad or anxious. ‘Get into your PJs!’
‘Yes, Mum,’ I call back. I dry my face and pull myself together. Tomorrow is the day I’ve been looking forward to for months. It’s all been perfectly planned. There’s no reason for me to be nervous.
Back in the lounge, Daisy is waiting with two mugs of the good stuff. She’s even gone the extra mile and topped our hot chocolates with squirty cream and mini marshmallows.
‘Not sure this is the best idea after all that food,’ I say. ‘But I’m willing to give it a go.’
‘That’s my girl,’ Daisy says. ‘I’ve also got these amazing herbal drops from the chemist that will help calm your nerves. Do you want me to squeeze a couple into your drink?’
I squint at the small glass vial in her hand. ‘They won’t knock me out, will they? I want to be clear-headed tomorrow.’
‘No, nothing like that. They’re not strong. They’ll just take the edge off your nerves.’
I realise my left hand is still shaking. ‘Okay, yes please. Whack a couple of drops in there.’ I hold out my mug and watch her use the dropper – once, twice.
I start sipping my milky drink.
Within minutes, I already feel pleasantly relaxed and ready for bed, a warm sense of well-being blooming in my chest. ‘Thanks, Daisy. For everything. You’ve been a great flatmate. The best.’ I drain the last drops of my drink.
‘Right back at ya,’ she says with a fond smile.
I stand woozily and give her a hug before toddling off to bed. All my earlier worries and doubts have been banished into a hazy fog as I give myself up to a deep and dreamless sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Two
NOW
‘Alice Porter?’ The twenty-something-year-old letting agent is dressed in a pale-grey suit, his hair newly cut, his woodsy aftershave a bit too liberally applied.
I cough to clear my throat. ‘Yes, hi, you must be Tom.’ I shake his hand before turning my face to the side to suck down some fresh air. ‘This is my friend, Daisy. She’s here for moral support.’
‘Great, no problem,’ he says in a professional, friendly-yet-businesslike manner.
It’s Saturday afternoon and Daisy has offered to come along to check out a potential one-bedroom flat to rent – a character conversion in the heart of town. The details aren’t up on Rightmove yet, so I haven’t seen photos, but the letting agent assured me it’s exactly what I’m looking for. Gazing at the overgrown front garden and hearing the thumping house music emanating from the downstairs flat, I highly doubt it.
I probably should have cancelled the appointment. I’m not at all in the right frame of mind to make such an important decision. Not with the maelstrom of emotions whizzing around my body – the wedding disaster, Seth, work, Charlotte, moving outof my apartment ... everything in my life is so up in the air. Why is it, though, that all I can think about isLaurence?
The letting agent unlocks the front door and shows us into a dingy hall that smells of old soup. Daisy gives me a horrified stare that makes me want to laugh. The wine-coloured carpet is shiny in places and covered in fluff. I’ve already decided this place is a definite no. But I suppose we’re going to have to go through the charade of looking around and pretending to consider it.
As we trudge up the stairs, Tom is elaborating on the benefits of living in Ringwood. I don’t have the heart to tell him I know because I already live here. Instead, I tune him out and wonder whether I should tell Daisy about Laurence’s declaration. What will she think of it? Seeing as how it’s always been the three of us, will she be as weirded out as I was? Or might she think it’s a good idea? I highly doubt she’ll be pleased. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything, but I need to talk it through withsomeone, and as the person I would normally talk to is Laurence, then Daisy is my next-best option.
The inside of the rental flat is small, dark and unwelcoming. The music from downstairs filters up through the floorboards, filling the rooms with a muffled bassline and repetitive keyboard riff. The nicest thing about the place is the view from the bedroom that looks out on to some tall trees at the end of a pretty garden belonging to the downstairs flat.
‘Lovely aspect, isn’t it?’ Tom says.
‘Mm,’ I reply, staring out at the greenery, my mind still stuck on Laurence. On his earnest face as he told me how he felt. My belly has started fluttering, but I can’t tell if the flutters are caused by excited anticipation at what might be, or delayed shock.
Daisy’s hand on my arm jolts me back to my surroundings. ‘Ready to go?’ she asks.
‘Oh. Yes, sorry, I was miles away.’
She gives me a bemused smile.
‘What do you think?’ Tom asks, hope in his eyes.
‘I’m afraid it’s not quite right,’ I reply. ‘But thank you for showing us round.’
‘Oh.’ His face falls. ‘Is it the music?’
