Page 11

Chapter Eleven

A ccident and Emergency was as full as Philippa had expected, but given the state of her wrist, she knew she had no choice but to stay.

She needed an X-ray at the very least. Rebecca had dropped her right outside the doors of the department.

Philippa thanked her, and insisted she head back to her parish immediately rather than waiting with her.

It was going to be a long, dull wait, and she had a book in her bag.

She’d be fine, although she wasn’t sure she was prepared to risk the vending machine’s coffee.

Philippa was quickly triaged and given a sling, before being told she needed to wait for a slot in X-ray.

She picked up her phone for the first time since she’d dropped it, to see if it was working.

The screen was shattered but the phone was working, after a fashion.

She had a text message from Alex. Her blood chilled.

In her Prosecco-induced buzz she remembered she had invited Alex over to her house.

She shuddered. Alex would see her as desperate and inexperienced.

How naive she had been. Inwardly, she rolled her eyes.

But she knew she had to open it to see what polite excuse Alex had given.

“Sure,” she read. “Game planning sounds good and I’m at a loose end, so let’s do it. What’s your address? x”

Philippa’s eyes widened. Perhaps she was less naive than she’d thought.

Alex had said yes to meeting her. But was this as a friend or as something more than that?

Philippa’s experience told her that if you invited a straight man to your house after a few drinks, most of them would interpret that in only one way.

But her experience wasn’t valid any more. The rules of dating had changed.

She quickly typed a message back, explaining her detour to the hospital and suggesting a rain check. She sighed. How frustrating. Her first sniff of something resembling lesbian romance, and she’d wound up in an episode of Casualty . She put her phone back in her bag and got her book out.

One of her new discoveries since coming out had been sapphic romance.

She’d never seen the point of romance fiction before now and had been quite dismissive of it.

But around the time she was preparing to leave her husband, she’d picked one up from her local independent bookshop.

She was unexpectedly gripped by the story and felt thoroughly seen by the characters.

The sex scenes had confirmed to her that she definitely was one hundred percent gay, which was unexpectedly affirming, but it had also left her feeling strangely bereft.

She was finally the person she wanted to be, but she was in her mid-forties, with a child.

That wasn’t how it was shown in the movies.

Her current book was an ice queen romance, with a standoffish executive being charmed by a roguish delivery cyclist. She was thoroughly ensconced in the story when she was called to go down to X-ray.

“Lovely hair,” said the male healthcare assistant who showed her the way. Philippa smiled. In all the drama, she’d forgotten about her hair.

“Thanks,” she smiled.

“Sit yourself down here and someone will call you in a while,” he said, before having a quick word with the receptionist.

Philippa breathed out. This was the third place she’d sat and waited and as yet, very little had happened. She reminded herself that it could be a lot worse, and at least she wasn’t in too much pain – as long as she didn’t move her wrist. She was just relieved it was her left one.

The X-ray took a few minutes, and then she was sent back down to the first waiting area. She would be called again once the doctor had reviewed the pictures. She looked over at the coffee machine and decided to take the risk.

For the next ten minutes, Philippa battled with the vending machine, valiantly and with just one hand.

It was ridiculously complicated, and she swore under her breath.

Using only one hand wasn’t easy, and when liquid that seemed hotter than the sun poured into the improbably thin plastic cup beneath, she knew it had all gone horribly wrong.

It was the wrong colour entirely. She swore under her breath again.

“Yes,” came a voice from behind her. “That’s definitely chicken soup.”

Philippa swung round to see Alex’s amused grin and smiled. “Hi!”

“I get the impression you weren’t trying for soup,” chuckled Alex.

“Try double espresso,” said Philippa, raising her eyes to the ceiling. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“You said you were at the hospital after bashing yourself up, and we still need to game plan, so it seemed only right to do that at the same time as checking you’re ok.

Two birds with one stone and all that,” said Alex.

She placed a hand on Philippa’s good arm.

“Come on, sit yourself down. I’ll get you a proper coffee from the cafe in Outpatients. ”

“Oh, you are kind,” said Philippa, pleased not to be on her own any more. “Thank you. I could murder a double espresso that’s been made with actual coffee beans rather than cardboard and brake fluid.” She took a seat.

Alex gave a little bow. “Your wish is my command,” she said.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She turned to walk away, then looked back over her shoulder.

“By the way, the hair looks even better in real life.” She’d gone before Philippa had a chance to reply, but not before her face had turned bright red and her stomach was awash with butterflies.

Philippa sat for a few minutes, smiling, before amending her features. The last thing she wanted was for Alex to return to a stupidly grinning wounded solicitor.

The coffee Alex returned with was a distinct improvement on the insipid chicken soup, which Philippa had abandoned at the vending machine. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to, but I appreciate it,” said Philippa.

“You’re welcome. There are very few things duller than sitting in an A&E waiting room. How’s your wrist?” Alex pointed at Philippa’s sling.

“Sore, but bearable. It’s about three times its usual size though, so I suspect something’s gone ping.”

“I think you’re probably right,” said Alex. “So let’s distract you from this place and your giant arm. Tell me about this Gerry bloke.”

“He’s a decent guy,” said Philippa, “and he’s a partner at one of the big finance firms in the city.

I’ve been running into him on the corporate circuit for the last few years, and we’ve always got on.

His wife’s called Alison. I’ve met her a few times.

He reckons he has an opportunity for me.

It used to be that if there was something to talk about, he’d invite me and Paul for dinner with him and Alison. ”

“Your ex?”

“Yeah. But obviously, things have changed. And now he’s found out I have a new partner, well, he’s invited you, too,” said Philippa.

“Lucky me,” said Alex. “Do I need to say or do anything specifically?”

“Nope. There’ll be a bit of him and me doing business talk. I’m not sure what it is he thinks we can do together, given I’m a family solicitor, but he always has interesting things to say. I think he just wants the four of us to have a nice evening.”

“If it’s in that swanky restaurant, I’m sure we will,” grinned Alex. “We probably need some kind of backstory. How did we meet?”

Philippa had already thought about this. “The truth is always the best option. I think we say we met at a networking event. It’s not a lie, although he doesn’t need to know which one it was. Keep it simple, I’d say.”

“You’re a genius,” said Alex. “I was trying to think of something much more creative, like we met in a bar, and you chatted me up, all confident and bossy.”

Philippa screwed up her eyes momentarily, feeling her stomach clench with a sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. “I think that’s a little far-fetched.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’ve never chatted anyone up in a bar, male or female, and I wouldn’t have the first idea how,” said Philippa.

“Oh, I think you’d be better than you think,” said Alex.

“There speaks an expert,” said Philippa, just as her name was called. “I’ll be back soon, hopefully.”