Page 10

Chapter Ten

C hrissie squealed when she saw Philippa’s new look.

“Oh my God, you look amazing! Women will be positively throwing themselves at you,” she said, taking a seat opposite her friend. Chrissie had become a close friend in the last year or so and had been one of the first people Philippa had come out to.

“Thank you. But as of yet, aside from being called hot by our friend over at the bar,” Philippa nodded her head in the direction of her admirer, “who is at least twenty years my junior, I seem to be safe from projectile women.”

“Hmm,” said Chrissie. “For now. I’ll get some more Prosecco. It looks like you’ve started celebrating already. Good for you. You deserve it.”

They caught up on their respective life news, Chrissie full of excitement about how her life was working now she and Nisha were living together.

“I never thought I’d do that with anyone again,” she confided, “but honestly, it’s perfect.

I’m enjoying it all, except perhaps the muddy football boots on a Saturday afternoon.

She always leaves them on the front door mat as though the fairies will clean them. ”

“Ha,” said Philippa. “If that’s your biggest problem, you’re doing ok.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” said Chrissie, her long, wavy blonde hair pulled back into a plait. “I feel very lucky. So, if you haven’t had any projectile women, have you at least met some?”

“Well,” said Philippa, “after a fashion. Her name’s Alex. She’s a bit of a mystery. I’m not sure exactly whether we’ll be anything more than friends. But I’m enjoying getting to know her.”

“Oooh,” said Chrissie, “sounds positive. And I think you’ve got the right idea. Getting to know someone is the secret to all of this. Chemistry isn’t always instant.”

“No, but…”

“Oh, I see,” said Chrissie. “It’s there for you, then?”

Philippa nodded and quickly took a sip of her drink in a bid to hide her reddening cheeks.

“Well, my advice still stands. Get to know her, see where it goes.” Chrissie smiled.

After Chrissie had left to spend the rest of the day with her girlfriend, Philippa picked up her phone. She had three messages. The first was from Charlie.

“OMGeeee, darling,” he wrote, “you look gorgeous! What an amazing transformation. Let’s do drinks soon xxx”

Philippa replied with a heart and moved onto the next message, which was from Alex. Her heart leapt at the sight of the name on her screen. “Wowsers, you look like a sapphic dreamboat! x”

Then, a few minutes later, there was a second message from Alex. “I mean it. Looking good, Samfire. You’ll be fighting them off xx”

Philippa tried to discern the meaning of the messages. Was Alex saying she thought Philippa was hot? Or was she trying to say that, objectively, she looked good? The closing line about fighting off her admirers suggested that maybe Alex was just being nice, right?

Philippa sighed. She didn’t recall ever trying to understand the minutiae of communications between her and Paul when they had met. But then, perhaps, there was a good reason for that.

She had an empty stomach, and she slowly walked home to prepare herself something to eat.

Walking home was a bit of an anticlimax after such an exciting day so far. The Prosecco had gone to her head, so it was something of a wobbly walk. And perhaps it was the Prosecco that inspired her to pull her phone out of her pocket and send Alex a message.

She thanked Alex for being so enthusiastic about her new look, then asked if she fancied coming over to game plan for the dinner with Gerry and his wife, in just a few days’ time.

She knew in her heart of hearts that she had no interest in game planning anything.

She was curious to see if Alex really meant the things she said in her texts.

She was just pressing send when a man with a small yappy dog overtook her gentle stroll.

She wasn’t a fan of dogs at the best of times, but this one seemed determined to snap at her heels.

Its owner, oblivious, did nothing to get his mutt under control, and before Philippa could say anything, she found herself tangled up in the dog’s extending lead, and she tripped over.

Her first feeling was mortification. Her phone had skittered along the pavement when she put her hand out to save herself.

As a result her left hand was badly grazed, and her wrist was throbbing.

Both knees felt sore. She sat up slowly, praying that no one was there to witness her shame.

But this was Kings Heath High Street on a Saturday.

Everyone was there, not least, the man whose dog had tripped her up.

He stood still, his mouth open, his dog jumping up and down and barking.

“Are you ok?” he asked, quietly.

“Yes,” lied Philippa. She didn’t want his help, and she certainly didn’t want his pet anywhere near her.

“Oh bab,” said a woman wearing a dog collar under a brightly coloured fleece. “Let’s get you up.”

“Er, thanks, Reverend,” replied Philippa, wishing she could just disappear into the ground.

The man sloped off, his dog following him, noisily. “I’m Rebecca,” said the woman. “I’m the vicar at All Saints,” she nodded towards the church.

“Nice to meet you,” said Philippa with a grimace. What was it about falling over past the age of twenty-five that made you feel like you were going to die?

“I think you need that wrist looking at,” said Rebecca with an appraising glance. “It’s swollen up already. Probably needs X-raying. Look, I’ve got my car at the church over there. I could drop you at the QE?”

Philippa badly wanted to say no, but the woman was both kind and correct. The pain in her wrist was intense and she knew already that she wouldn’t be able to drive to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital herself. “That’s good of you,” said Philippa. “Yes, if it doesn’t take you away from your duties.”

“You’re within spitting distance of my church. You are one of my duties,” said Rebecca with a smile. She picked up Philippa’s scuffed phone and handed it back to her, and they walked slowly over to the vicar’s car.