‘Slim,’ Rhianne said, ‘but lucky for you I know a hairdresser who owes me a favour.’
‘Of course you do,’ smiled Niamh.
Two hours – and two glasses of hair salon wine – later, Rosie was the proud owner of a wavy chin-length bob with face-framing bangs. Jules – Rhianne’s own hairdresser and good friend – had convinced her it would look stunning, and supplied ice-cold Sauvignon Blanc for Dutch courage.
‘Our girl’s all grown up!’ Niamh cooed, clutching Rhianne and grinning at Rosie as Jules added shine spray to her new do. ‘You lookexquisite.’
Turning her head from side to side in Jules’s Hollywood-style mirror, Rosie noted a lit-from-within glow that had little to do with the ‘pink quartz shimmer brick’ she’d purchased. She felt good about herself.
On the bus back to Walthamstow, Rosie felt her phone buzz from inside her bag.
Aled: You in for dinner?
Rosie smiled and started typing.
Rosie: Yep. On way back now. Do we need anything picked up?
She caught her reflection in the drizzle-spattered window, beyond which the sky was turning a deep, darkening blue. Shedidlook gooey, in just the way Niamh had described this morning in her kitchen.
Rosie thanked god, the universe, or whatever else might be out there that she was heading home alone. That there were no witnesses to her daft expression beyond the sleepy-looking woman across the aisle.
Niamh had caught a cab back to Wanstead, while Rhianne had matched with someone on one of the many dating apps she dabbled in. On a whim, she’d decided to head to Soho for a no-notice date.
Rosie sighed and shook herself, determined to wipe the hazy look from her face. She nearly jumped when her phone vibrated again.
Aled: It’s Saturday night so I say we live a little. How about takeaway curry and a few beers? X
Rosie’s stomach immediately rumbled at the thought of chicken dhansak, Bombay aloo and golden fried parathas. The realisation that she was famished almost masked the involuntary jolt to the heart that accompanied Aled’s casual use of ‘we’ – not to mention the electronic kiss that followed it.
Stop it, she told herself.Put ‘sends nice texts’ on the list.
The problem was, the catalogue of things Rosie liked about her flatmate was rapidly swelling beyond the boundaries she’d set for it. She had no idea how to quantify the way he looked when he was bent over a pile of paperwork, painstakingly searching a student’s essay for ideas he could award marks for. It was impossible to categorise the electric thrill of feeling his hand graze hers as she passed him a frying pan or bowl that she’d washed up, and which he stood ready to dry.
How could she file away the stomach-dropping, breathtaking sensation of simply beingnearhim? The feeling that the air around her was denser and heavier than it should be; the clean, soapy smell that wafted from his t-shirts and made her palms itch to find the bare skin beneath; the simultaneous softening and sense-sharpening that always came with meeting his dark gaze and being brave enough not to look away.
She took a deep breath and messaged him back.
Rosie: Amen to that! Will get the drinks on my way and we can order when I’m home? x
As the bus neared her stop, Rosie remembered what Niamh had said earlier:you’re zooming in to distract yourself from the big picture. Her best friend had no idea how right she was.
A little too late, Rosie was realising that, try as she might, the man she’d found herself sharing a flat with could not be broken down into individual components. The whole was greater than the sum of its parts, and she was losing control of how he made her feel.
Aled replied a moment after she alighted on the pavement.
Perfect??x
The word seemed to shimmer too brightly from her phone screen, imprinting itself on Rosie’s retinas. She knew she’d still be able to see it with her eyes closed.
Aledwasn’tperfect, she told herself. Nobody was. But increasingly, she suspected he came pretty close.
Chapter 16
The following morning, Rosie awoke to find her mum had already sent her a text message.
Mum: What time will U & James arrive 2day? Wd B gd if U cd get here 11ish, help me do the lamb, potatoes, mint sauce, etc x
Rosie groaned. She hated textspeak, and she knew that ‘help’ meant ‘cook single-handed’ – though it was always fun to predict what excuse her mother would make for disappearing during Sunday lunch prep.
