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Well. This morning was delightful. Nicola couldn't be more pleased.

She’d wondered how they’d get on. More if she’d succumb stupidly and melt at some vulnerability of heart-broken Geeta. And yes, Nicola softened too much at Geeta’s euphoria, finding bhangra as part of the procession.

But the bickering. The questions. The disapproval. She could handle this slightly grumpy Geeta. A smidgeon of adversary was life-spice for Nicola and engaged her in the best way. And perfect-mother Geeta, blushing and hot flushing, having an outburst about sex was her highlight so far.

“So, you’re ready for relationships again. That’s a good sign,” Nicola said, taking a mouthful of breakfast.

“Oh, my goodness no.” Geeta fanned herself with a menu. “My life’s too messy to accommodate yet another person's needs. I have too many demands on me already! And...”

Geeta saddened a moment, a shadow crossing her face. Oh no, Nicola didn’t want to see that. Her heart did odd things when Geeta did that.

“...I’m not over the guilt of leaving Sumit enough for a full-blown relationship.”

That was Nicola's Achilles heel. Upset-Geeta elicited melting and sympathy.

Then Geeta looked her in the eye, and said, “But I would like sex though.”

Nicola coughed before grinning broadly. She dabbed her lips with a serviette.

“You’re a very attractive woman, Geeta.”

And she so meant that. With those intelligent brown eyes, the high cheeks, the full lips, whether smiling and kind, or naughty and talking sex. Or sad, the worst. Then her curvy figure, a vision of beauty.

“I’m sure plenty of men will be happy to oblige your every desire,” she said.

“I don’t just want any man.” Geeta shook her head. “It has to be someone I like.”

Nicola paused. “But you're not interested in relationships.”

“No, but didn’t you have casual flings with nice blokes? Guys who were your friends, and sometimes you slept together, but no more than that?”

She didn’t answer, because her cheeks ached too much, suppressing a smile at sitting in The Turf, at some early hour, talking sex with Geeta Sachdeva.

"Look,” Geeta said, turning grumpy again. “It’s been a long time since I was single. I don’t know what the deal is anymore. I’m not like you with...” she waved a hand “...handsome barristers begging to get into your bed.”

Oh. That confrontation with Blake at Bentley had been unfortunate.

“Sorry.” Nicola dabbed her mouth again. “I'm struggling with the idea that you need to like someone to sleep with them.”

“Wha...” Geeta’s mouth shaped consternation. “Well...” Then confusion. “I must have respect for them as human beings at least?” She frowned, thinking it through. “I need some level of trust and familiarity, even for a physical step.”

Nicola tutted. “I’ve never had respect for many people, least of all those I slept with.”

“What?!” Larger consternation shaped Geeta’s lips. “How...? When...?” Geeta crossed her arms. “Who do you respect?"

Hmm. Good question.

Nicola shrugged. “For a start, you, clearly.”

“Me?!”

“Of course. I wouldn't be sitting here chatting otherwise.”

Outright mystification and exasperation exploded on Geeta’s face. Nicola carried on undeterred.

“My mother, although I have reservations. I respect my daughter, Bryony, although again, reservations. I love both my daughters, of course. Then there’s respect for your daughter, Olivia and her partner, Kate. Philip, my oldest college friend, even though he’s made mistakes in the past.” Who else was there? The list was admittedly short. “Barack Obama? There. Plenty of people.”

Geeta stared. “Really?” she said. “That’s the extent of people you respect?”

Nicola shrugged. “Well, who do you respect?”

“Almost everyone!” Geeta replied, a pitch higher, throwing both hands in the air. They’d reached new heights with this one, like they were a measure of how much she annoyed Geeta.

“For goodness’ sake,” Geeta continued. “If someone’s trying to live their life with respect for others, I respect them. So, almost everyone I meet.”

“Apart from me.”

“You are...” Geeta dropped her hands and stared at her for a long time. Nicola must be many things in Geeta’s clever brain right now. “...confusing,” she said at last.

“Well,” Nicola said, “good to know you’re one of the few people I respect. And that I’m one of the few you don’t.”

“I didn’t say that.” Geeta pointed.

“You–”

“And don’t say ‘you didn’t have to’.” Geeta waggled the finger.

Nicola couldn’t be more delighted. “This is fun,” she said. “We should do this again sometime.”

And she took another mouthful while watching Geeta, because she didn't want to miss the jaw drop.

Nicola paid up, and they browsed Blackwell’s bookshop. She followed Geeta around the shelves, fascinated with the books she picked up, in sections that Nicola never thought of searching. Popular science, and an appealing book about the chemistry of herbs and spices, which Geeta trailed her finger over the embossed cover. Another on the impact of microorganisms on world history. And a romance novel. They left empty-handed though, Geeta sighing, and turning to Nicola with a smile, saying she’d order them from the library.

The sun was higher in a clear blue sky by the time they left. Too hot for her long coat, Nicola carried it over her arm and slung her other into her trouser pocket. They wandered beneath the Bridge of Sighs and followed the quiet and narrow Queen’s Lane, the tall stone walls hiding them from the rest of Oxford.

Geeta ambled beside her, arms crossed, head tilted, as if trying to make her out. Nicola would definitely give a penny for her thoughts. But also a pound to spare them.

“So,” Nicola said, wondering what terrible conclusions Geeta drew. “Have you met any nice men you want to have sex with?”

“God.” Geeta snorted, delightfully annoyed. “I wish I’d never said anything.”

“It’s a perfectly natural desire. Have you started dating?”

“No, of course not.” Geeta gave her a look, as if this was obvious. “I don't go anywhere to meet anyone. And I clearly project this wholesome stay-at-home mother vibe.”

“Hmm.” Nicola said, mulling it over.

“See. You think the same. I’m just this mother figure for people.”

Yes, she had thought that. And also, so not.

“It’s easy for you,” Geeta continued. "You receive offers.”

True. Not simple ones though. She met plenty of people. Well, lawyers.

“Try a dating app?” It seemed obvious. There was a problem, and a solution. You simply needed to take the step.

Geeta laughed. Then the smile quickly faded, like Nicola had noticed recently. Geeta crossed her arms, more protectively than annoyed this time. “I tried. I didn’t get any, you know, matches or whatever.”

“Really?” Nicola found that hard to believe.

“Really,” Geeta said quietly.

She may as well have reached into Nicola’s chest and tugged. God, she hated seeing Geeta unhappy.

“Show me.” She put out her hand. “Show me your profile.”

Geeta ground her teeth in grumpy suspicion. “Promise not to laugh.”

“Come on. Out with it.” Nicola beckoned with her fingers.

Because always with this stupid urge to see Geeta cheery again. And if Geeta was happily paired up, it might stop these melty feelings. Nicola never passed by a problem she couldn’t fix. This was her MO exactly.

Geeta retrieved her phone from her jeans and handed it over with the profile displayed.

“You cannot use that photo,” Nicola said immediately.

“It’s not that old. I still look similar.”

The picture showed Geeta on a garden seat, with a soft smile on a fuller face, and less grey in her hair.

“Actually,” Geeta added, “it was ten years ago. How did that pass so fast?” She started to drift again, her features falling. And that absolutely must not happen.

“You're far sexier now,” Nicola said.

Geeta snapped back her gaze, eyes wide.

“Because this is not sexy.” Nicola held up the screen. “That’s a look you would give your children.”

“I was probably watching my son.”

“Exactly, you can’t use a photo like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it hardly says fuck-me-now.”

Geeta stared at her, first with surprise, before her eyebrows furrowed, defiant.

“Maybe I don’t want a photo that says fuck-me-now.” She jutted her jaw. “Maybe I prefer one that says I-want-to-fuck-you-now.”

“So...” Nicola paused.

And decades of command and steady voice came into play. Because her heart was beating, and her body sprung alert. And Nicola loved everything about Geeta when she pushed back.

“Do you have any I-want-to-fuck-you-now photos?” Nicola raised her eyebrows.

And they glared at each other, in the middle of Queen’s Lane, two women who’d annoyed each other for years, now bickering about the merits of fuck-me or fuck-you photos.

They must have realised the absurdity at the same time. Geeta’s face twitched first. Then Nicola’s.

“Of course I bloody don’t,” Geeta relented.

And they both grinned.

“So,” Nicola drew herself up. “Let’s take one.”

“What?”

“Let’s set up a shot.” Nicola shrugged.

“What, now?”

“Yes. You’re looking beautiful this morning. Why not?”

See a problem. Fix it.

Geeta paused and frowned at Nicola, shifting her weight to one side. “I... Why?” Geeta sighed, exasperated. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because,” Nicola assumed her most sincere manner, which she used in high-level client consultations, then said, “This is a ferociously bad photo and I’m embarrassed for you.”

And Geeta looked like she might kill her.