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CHAPTERFIVE
Millie stared into her morning coffee and thought of George and their weekend together. It had been perfect; he had been perfect.
‘Morning, flatmate.’ Martha, still wearing her teddy-bear patterned pyjamas, stumbled sleepily from her bedroom, spiky hair pointing in all directions. She yawned and said, ‘You were back late last night.’
‘Were you waiting up for me?’
‘No, silly. I heard you in the shower.’ Martha gave her a gappy-toothed smile and, seizing a mug from the side, she lifted a questioning eyebrow at Millie. ‘Well? Are you going to tell me why you were late?’
‘We caught the last train out of Brighton.’ Millie sighed wistfully before adding, ‘I didn’t want the weekend to end.’
Martha poured herself a coffee and shuffled up onto the stool next to Millie. ‘You had a good time, then?’
‘The best.’
‘Hmm.’ Martha sipped slowly at her coffee, examining her friend before adding, ‘Just be careful, love bunny. You know what young men are like.’
‘I am being careful, and anyway, George isn’t like Robert.’
Martha’s eyebrows did a sceptical gig. ‘If you say so, but if you’ll take some advice from me, all men are like Robert. They are all out for what they can get, and we all know what most of them are after.’
Millie shook her head. ‘George is not like that.’
‘Hmph,’ Martha grunted scornfully. ‘Want some toast?’ She set down her coffee and slipped off the stool.
Millie shook her head, refusing the offer of toast. But she knew only too well what her friend was thinking. Her flatmates had witnessed her total melt-down after Robert. He’d told her he loved her; he’d said she was the best, most beautiful woman in the world, and he’d never feel the same about anyone else. She, gullible fool, had believed every word he’d said, including the plans he had for their future life together. In a year or two when he was established with his career, they’d marry, buy a house together, start a family. She’d thought him perfect until she learned it was all lies. Millie swirled her cooling coffee and thought George wasn’t like Robert. He made no empty promises, told her no lies.
She listened to the scraping sounds of butter spreading on toast and thought about George and their weekend. She hoped George liked her–that was the one worrying thing–he hadn’t said.
‘Are you seeing him again?’ Martha tossed her toast onto a plate and returned to the breakfast bar.
‘I think so.’
‘You don’t know?’ she asked, levering herself back onto the stool next to Millie.
‘Not for sure. We didn’t arrange anything last night.’
‘Why? What happened?’
‘George dropped me off at the door. We’d taken a taxi from Victoria Station. I got out, said goodnight and thanked him for a wonderful weekend. He said it had been great for him too and before I could ask him in for coffee, he’d said night, sleep well and the taxi was pulling away.’
Martha scowled as she chewed slowly on her toast, then asked, ‘No goodnight kiss?’
‘No.’
‘No snog in the back of the taxi or on the train back from Brighton?’
‘No, the only time George kissed me was after I told him about Robert and he held my arms, kissed my brow and said he was sorry.’
‘What washesorry about?’
‘I guess the fact I’d been hurt.’
Martha took another bite of her toast, munching as she mulled over the situation. Finally, she swallowed her toast with a gulp and said, ‘Perhaps he’s gay.’
Millie spluttered, coffee spewing all over the countertop. ‘How can you say that?’ she squealed.
‘Because it’s a possibility. Some gays like to hang out with female friends and think about it. He took you to Brighton.’
