Page 8 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

Liz felt a wobble of nerves; was she doing the right thing? Would Clare really be OK with it? The two of them had made plans, things they were going to do this summer, places they were going to take the baby. The dynamic would be completely different with Skye there. Plus, now, of course, Liz would need to be working as much as possible.

‘And you promise you’ll let Clare know?’ she reiterated. ‘Because for this to work, both girls need to be on board.’

‘Sure.’ Mike chuckled. ‘Look at you. Your eyes are sparkling, I can virtually see the cogs in your brain making plans already. Retire? You? Not a chance.’

He was up to his usual tricks: making her feel like she could do anything. Just like he had when they were on the same project team at uni.

She shook her head, bemused. ‘You old charmer.’

He reached for her other hand. Anyone looking over would think they were a couple. His face lit up with a smile that spoke straight to her heart. The years fell away and in front of her was the boy with the infectious laugh, the intoxicating energy she remembered being entranced by when she was eighteen.

The searing heat of his gaze made her heart pound, and she leaned in closer.

Everything had changed in those intervening years. Well, almost everything, she thought, willing her heart to stop racing. There was one thing that hadn’t changed at all. Not one bit. But that was her secret, no one else needed to know.

Chapter Three

Liz

1980

I first noticed Mike Marriott at the cheese and wine party for the Business course during Freshers’ Week. I remember being so nervous. It seemed so grown-up and such a sharp contrast to being at school. I’d gone from running around Salcombe in denim cut-offs and flip-flops to this in the space of a few short days. I could hardly believe this was my life now. A student in Bath, wearing proper shoes at a proper party.

Mike was talking to the head of Business. Looking back now, the man was probably in his forties, but at the time, I’d considered anyone over the age of twenty-nine ancient.

Mike looked completely at ease with the older adults. He was so confident that I assumed he was a member of staff. He was also gorgeous: dark-haired, brown-eyed and suntanned. He commanded everyone’s attention. One of the female lecturers fancied him, I could tell.

Most of us had only gone to the event because of the promise of free booze and to see who we’d be studying alongside for the next three years. I didn’t meet anyone else there who gave a toss about chatting to the staff. No one except Mike.

I later learned that this was a strategy of his: identify the most powerful people in the room and align yourself with them. That sounded a pompous thing to say, but I did get it. He had goals in life, he’d read that to be successful, you had to seek out the company of those who’d already made it. Learn from them and follow their lead.

Mike seemed so unattainable that night, that after I’d clocked him and thought ‘phwoar’, I stopped thinking about him. Instead, I hovered around the edges of the room and nibbled cheese like the country mouse at the town mouse’s party and sipped dry white wine wishing there was some lemonade I could slosh into it to sweeten it. I’d got used to the taste over the years; the drier, the better these days.

When lectures started properly the following week, I was gobsmacked to see Mike sitting with the rest of us students and that was when my crush really began.

Of course, me being me, I did absolutely nothing about it. There were over one hundred people on my course. We were divided into smaller groups for seminars and tutorial groups, but, in the first and second year, I was never in his group for anything but the big all-course lectures.

For two years, I watched him from afar. He had girlfriends. Lots of them. One of his exes told me that he was boring, that he was here to work not play. I was definitely here to play, although I respected his commitment. But in my final year my patience was rewarded: Mike and I were assigned the same group for the marketing team project.

For a month and a half, I got to spend three glorious hours a week with him. He was clever and enthusiastic and somehow managed to galvanise the group into action. He inspired me to produce the best work I’d done during my university career, and the two of us gravitated together, putting in extra time to polish our presentation.

I was so happy. Even my best friend Jen, who I shared a flat with, couldn’t understand what was going on with me, why I was so upbeat all of a sudden. I had never told another soul about my secret adoration of Mike. Not even Jen. I couldn’t bear anyone to know how hard I’d fallen for someone who was so out of my league. I didn’t want to hear their amusement, or their pity.

Also, if I was honest, I kept him secret from Jen because telling her about the absolute god that was Mike Marriott would have been too dangerous. Where I was shy, a homebird, too scared to put myself out there in case anyone laughed, Jen was completely the opposite. If Jen fancied someone, they’d know about it in around thirty seconds. I had had a crush on Mike for coming up to thirty months and he still didn’t have a clue.

Outside of classes, I had become something of a cook. Jen wasn’t bothered about cooking back then, but she did love a party. She loved organising and adding the final touches, like decorations and table setting and mix tapes. So dinner parties became our thing and because most students couldn’t be bothered to cook from fresh, we were very popular.

I couldn’t remember who started calling us The Gourmet Girls, but we liked it and it stuck, and by my final year, dinner at ours was the hot ticket. So much so that it was costing us a fortune in food shopping. I told Mike about the dilemma, bashfully explaining that our dinner parties had got a bit out of control. It was his suggestion that we should start charging people and make some money out of it. He’d read an article about supper clubs being all the rage in London. Jen thought it was a brilliant idea and so we set the date for the first one.

Meanwhile, back in the marketing module, Mike and I and the other two (whose names I can’t even remember) gave our presentation to the rest of the course. It was an absolute triumph and the lecturer asked if he could use it as a template for best practice for future students. A week later, our grades came through – we were awarded a first for the project. Mike and I jumped up and down, clinging on to each other with excitement. I remember squealing and the next moment, he picked me up, spun me around and kissed me.

Mike Marriott kissed me.

On the mouth.

It lasted maybe half a second, but it changed my life.

Until then, I’d resigned myself to being eternally in the friend zone. But that kiss gave me wings. The memory of his lips against mine added flames to the gentle heat of my feelings towards him. For days afterwards, I could think of nothing else. Perhaps, I thought, maybe, I wondered, could he feel the same? I mused …