Page 9 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

I became consumed with the ticking clock of that last term. In a matter of weeks, my three years at university would be over and we’d be scattered all around the country as the next phase of our lives began. If I was going to tell Mike how I felt about him, it needed to be soon. The worst that could happen was that he’d turn me down, I reasoned. But imagine if he didn’t. Imagine if I ended my time at the University of Bath as Mike Marriott’s girlfriend. Now wouldn’t that be something?

The next time I bumped into him, he asked me how plans for our supper club were going.

‘The first one is next Saturday. Come along,’ I said without giving myself time to think it through or wimp out. ‘There’s a space left.’

There wasn’t, we were sold out and Jen would probably kill me, but I didn’t care.

When Mike pressed the five pounds ticket price into my hand, I could barely believe it. He wanted to come to my flat. He didn’t know anyone else who’d be there except me. It was a sign.

I almost told Jen several times between then and the big night. But I was worried she’d make a fuss and make it too obvious about my crush on him when he turned up. Plus, she’d never have stopped going on about what I was going to wear; she’d have made me even more on edge than I already was.

The night finally came around. I was making mini goat’s cheese tartlets for starters and had attempted chicken Kievs for the first time. Dessert was Eton mess, chosen because I could assemble it at the last minute.

‘How do I look?’ I asked Jen, peeling off my apron five minutes before our guests were due to arrive.

Jen stood back, head tilted, and appraised my appearance.

‘Gorgeous,’ she nodded her approval. ‘Voluptuous and cute all at the same time. Is that a new top?’

‘Yes, I thought I’d better make an effort tonight.’

She poured us both a glass of wine. ‘Intriguing. Is there someone you’ve got your eye on?’

I swigged the wine, praying I could pass off my pink cheeks as a result of slaving over a hot oven for the last hour.

‘No, but this could be the start of something exciting,’ I said. ‘The first of many.’

‘To The Gourmet Girls!’ she said with a grin.

We tapped our glasses together and knocked back our wine. The doorbell rang and our supper club had officially begun.

The first half an hour whizzed by in a blur of chatter and chinking of bottles. Everyone had come and our tiny ground-floor flat was bursting at the seams. Luckily, we had access to an outside yard and most of our guests headed outdoors for some fresh air. I managed a quick hello to Mike, but then had to race off to sort out a red wine spillage. Jen handled all the pre-dinner stuff while I headed back to the kitchen and my checklist. The pastry tartlets were due in the oven and, for the next twenty minutes, I didn’t dare leave their side. I kept popping my head out, hoping to catch Mike’s eye and invite him over for a chat, but he was working his way around the room, chatting to everyone.

‘Take your seats, please, folks!’ I heard Jen yell at eight o’clock sharp.

I smiled with pride to myself, as I took the tartlets out of the oven. What a team we made, I thought.

Seconds later, Jen skittered into the kitchen like a whirlwind, shutting the door behind her.

‘Liz!’ she hissed, gripping my arm.

‘Get off, you idiot,’ I laughed. ‘That one nearly hit the deck.’

‘Leave it,’ she said urgently, ‘and look at me. I’ve got something to ask you. Something important.’

I looked at her properly, taking in her dilated pupils and the high colour to her cheeks.

‘OK,’ I laughed, ‘out with it.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she half-squealed. ‘About Mike? You dark horse!’

Anticipation swirled through me. I pressed a hand to my heart, aware of it thudding against my ribs. Was it possible he felt the same as I did?

‘I … well, I didn’t want to,’ I stuttered. ‘I didn’t know what to say, I mean, what has he said?’

She gripped my shaking hands. ‘Just tell me, do you like him?’

‘Yes!’ I cried. ‘He’s … oh God, he is gorgeous, and clever and so sophisticated. When I’m with him, I—’