Page 32 of A Clean Sweep

Duly washed and dressed Emily returned to the job in hand.

Despite herself she was enjoying the story which was tightly paced and with more twists and turns than a rollercoaster ride.

The writer – who'd given herself the ridiculous pen name of Astra Du Bois – had both a vivid imagination and a deft way with words.

Aside from a couple of spelling mistakes and misuse of quotation marks it was well presented, unlike some of the shambolic pieces she'd encountered in the past. She flicked back to the covering email from the magazine – Tea Break – but there was no mention of the writer's real name.

Unless she really was Astra Du Bois and had a side line as a clairvoyant complete with headscarf and crystal ball.

Emily's mind drifted away from the manuscript and into the future.

The very near future, as in the next evening.

She wished she had a crystal ball of her own to foresee what was in store for her and Joe.

Then again, would she really want to know?

Her sensible and rational side said they'd perhaps date for a short time until Joe realised the age difference was too big a deal.

They'd politely call it a day and, hopefully, remain friends.

However, her wild and devil-may-care side – not often let off the leash – argued that nothing was impossible, that true love could conquer all as long as both parties felt the same.

Or was she deluding herself, carried away on a wave of lust and influenced by Astra's torrid writing? Anyway, who said anything about love?

With the Joe Jackson song playing away on a constant loop in her head, Emily ploughed her way through the rest of the manuscript.

Made her corrections and suggestions and fired it back to the publisher.

Job done, what next? Maybe a trip to the shops, look for something new to wear tomorrow night.

Her wardrobe badly needed an overhaul as Tabitha frequently reminded her.

And much as she hoped to end the evening in her birthday suit it would be nice to start it in something reasonably alluring.

Emily parked Hamish just behind the high street and stuck the ticket behind the windscreen.

She bypassed Bab's Boutique which she always thought was a little overly frilly and headed for Dressed To Kill which Tabitha assured her was a bit more 'edgy' and up to the minute.

She wasn't convinced she was an 'edgy' kind of person – at least not in the fashion sense – but emboldened by her fledgling relationship she pushed open the door.

To her great relief, no klaxons went off signalling the arrival of an older woman.

The girl behind the counter – who looked in her early twenties – gave her a smile.

'Hi there. Just browsing? Give me a shout if you need anything.

' Emily was relieved to be left alone to rifle through the racks.

Too often assistants were immediately breathing down your neck, offering unsolicited advice and making polite chitchat.

On her one and only trip to the US with Jim many years ago she'd wanted to beat them off with a big stick, so persistent were they in providing maximum customer service.

Emily was just stroking the sleeve of a satiny red top – scarlet woman!

– when she heard her name being called. Seconds later she was being hugged by her friend, Christine.

A rather awkward embrace as Christine was toting several shopping bags.

Plonking them at her feet she looked Emily up and down then grinned broadly.

'Well, hello stranger! Haven't seen you in absolutely ages.

How the hell are you, and why are you so rubbish at replying to texts?

' Emily immediately flushed with guilt, stammering something about being very busy with work and stuff.

The truth was, she was happy to meet up with friends from time to time but often made excuses when another coffee gathering or night out was mentioned.

She'd never been one for meeting up on a regular basis to regurgitate previous conversations or indulge in wild speculation about other people's lives.

This was another bugbear of her darling daughter.

'Mum, you spend far too much time home alone!

It's not healthy, you know. You've got some nice friends, stop hiding away like a blinking hermit!

' Maybe she was, but she enjoyed her own company and saw little need to change.

'Listen, do you have time for a quick cuppa when you're finished in here?

' asked Christine. 'My feet are killing me and I could do with a sit down and a catch up.

' Emily hesitated briefly, then nodded in agreement.

She was fond of Christine even though – on the surface – they didn't have a lot in common.

They'd met at a pastry-making course run by the local patisserie.

Emily had signed up on a mad whim, with notions of creating delicious pies, quiches and éclairs.

In reality, she couldn't get to grips with choux and her shortcrust was more hardcore and virtually inedible.

She resigned herself to ready-made from the supermarket but bonded with Christine who was similarly cack-handed.

They generally got together every few weeks but Emily was embarrassingly aware it had been closer to three months since they'd last seen each other.

Sitting in a nearby café with a pot of mint tea, they got up to speed with their lives.

Christine had been divorced several years earlier.

Amicably, by all accounts. She was an attractive woman, if a bit forthright in her opinions, and incredibly sporty.

Tennis, swimming, half-marathons – you name it, she sweated her way through it.

Emily liked to keep in shape but would only run if something horrible was pursuing her.

And her tennis skills left much to be desired. As did her breaststroke.

'I've been seeing him on and off for a few weeks now.

Early days, who knows what'll happen? I'm not really looking for anything permanent.

Been there, done that, got the decree nisi.

Still, nice to know there's life in the old girl yet!

Not ready for the vow of total chastity, if you catch my drift! '

Christine was chatting about the man she was currently seeing.

A mid-fifties gym fanatic who had apparently run twenty full marathons and competed in several triathlons.

Widowed fairly recently, he'd spotted Christine at the local sports centre smashing her opponent to pulp on the tennis court and asked her out.

They'd been lobbing shots at each other ever since, neither apparently willing to concede an inch.

Emily knew her friend well enough to know that everything was a contest and there could only be one winner.

Probably the main reason her ex-husband had waved the white flag and beat a hasty retreat.

'So, what gives with the elusive Emily?' Christine swirled the teabags around inside the pot, then poured them a top-up. 'Anything or anyone I should know about? That was quite a sassy little number you picked up in the shop!'

Emily glanced at the plastic bag next to her, containing the red top with its cutaway shoulders.

She hadn't tried it on, but knew it would look perfect with the slim-fitting white jeans she'd had for six years and still clung in all the right places.

'No, nothing. No one. All pretty dull really.

Just plodding along, as you do.' Emily had no intention of sharing Joe with Christine.

Or anyone else, for that matter. Not yet, not when it was all so new and shiny.

Plus, she still wasn't sure what the general reaction would be when they went public. If they ever did.