For my incredible family, with love.

THE GIN LOVER’S GUIDE TO DATING

Nina Kaye

CONTENTS

Dedication

Title Page

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Copyright

Prologue

‘Anya, have you seen Mark?’ I address my colleague urgently through my earpiece.

‘Mark? No.’ Anya’s reply is swift. ‘Isn’t he due on the podium right now?’

‘He is. And he’s disappeared. What is it about Chief Execs that makes them impossible to track down at the most crucial of moments?’

‘Tell me about it.’ Anya’s giggling voice crackles in my ear. ‘I’ll see if he’s in the foyer.’

This is all I need when I’m trying to show I’m worthy of a promotion. Cursing under my breath, I hurtle through the backstage door and out into the corridor leading to the toilets. As I’m rushing along the circular walkway of the Edinburgh International Conference Centre, I spot my target, casually chatting to Jen Collins, the IT Director.

‘It’s fine, Anya.’ I hiss into my earpiece. ‘I’ve found him. Hasn’t the slightest clue he’s late, as usual. Will have him there in two.’

‘Received.’ Her reply crackles in my ear.

I approach the two senior leaders and gently touch Mark’s elbow in a bid to extricate him from his conversation – without appearing rude.

‘I’m so sorry to interrupt…’ I purr. ‘But Mark is meant to be on stage – right now.’

‘Goodness, Liv. That time already?’ Our bumbling Chief Exec gives me an apologetic look. ‘I’ll come right away.’

‘No problem, Mark.’ I flash him and Jen a super cool smile. ‘We’ve only lost a few minutes. You’ll just have to stick to the script, as we agreed.’

‘Right. Yes, of course.’ Mark suddenly looks intense. ‘Is my tie straight?’

‘As ever.’ I smile at him. ‘Now go and inspire them.’

‘Inspire. Tell a story. Stick to the script. Got it. Thanks, Liv.’

‘A pleasure as always.’ I beam at him as we make our way through the backstage door.

Once in position, Mark clears his throat a couple of times. Then, prompted by Anya, he steps onto the stage to polite corporate applause.

‘And… crisis averted,’ I say through my earpiece.

‘Well done!’ Anya whispers back excitedly. ‘Well done on the whole conference, Liv. So smooth and professional. People have been talking about how much you have put into this – and the very impressive result!’

‘Really?’ I’m delighted to hear this.

Able to stand down for a few minutes, I slip into the auditorium to listen to Mark’s speech on the future of leadership – in an environment where my own company, McArthur Cohen, and our merging partner, JG Harper Group, will come together to create a new force in the world of management consultancy.

As Mark speaks, I hear some of my own carefully crafted statements being repeated back at me, and I almost burst with pride. There’s nothing I love more than constructing a really effective communication.

Now, having spent the last few weeks supporting Mark with his speech, it’s obvious that our hard work has paid off. He’s not entirely sticking to the script, but that’s fine. I only tell him he must, so he doesn’t go off on a complete tangent. He needs to be real, as well as getting key business messages across. Surely, this is enough to show I’m ready for the next step. I’ve put my heart and soul into leading this event. Glancing at my watch, I realise I need to check everything is in place for the breakout sessions. I slip out of the auditorium and make my way along the corridor to check on the group facilitators – Mark’s own team of directors.

On my way, I spot my manager, Derek, coming towards me, completely engrossed in his phone as usual.

‘All right, Derek?’ I address him as I rush past.

‘Oh… Liv… yes, good thanks.’ He barely looks up.

I chuckle to myself as I walk on, wondering how a senior manager of communications can be so uncommunicative.

‘Actually, Liv?’ Derek’s voice comes from behind me suddenly.

‘Yes?’ I stop and turn on the spot.

‘I’ve put some time in your diary this week. There’s something important we need to discuss.’

‘OK, sure. What’s it about?’ I ask, but Derek is already lost in his phone again, and swiftly disappearing from sight.

Something important we need to discuss? I wonder what that could be… oh, wow! I don’t want to jinx things, but isn’t it obvious? From our discussion at my appraisal, all the extra work I’ve done on the merger, and now the hugely positive reactions to the conference.

I must be finally getting my promotion.

Chapter 1

‘Liv, hi! Oh, you sooo missed out last night!’

I turn to find Anya has joined the coffee queue behind me. She’s immaculately dressed in a smart outfit similar to mine, her hair slicked back in an elegant bun and thick-lensed diamanté-studded glasses perched on her perfect button nose.

‘What do you mean I missed out?’ I’m immediately alert and alarmed. ‘Tony’s retirement do is next week.’

‘Oh, it wasn’t planned,’ Anya chirrups. ‘Tom and I were working late on the merger completion press release, then Derek popped his head around the door and suggested we get a drink in.’

‘Right. Awesome.’ I smile brightly, determined not to let my disappointment at missing out leak into my voice. ‘So, a good night, you say?’

‘Only. The Best. Yet.’ Anya’s so wound up and excitable, she looks like she might take off. ‘Derek opened a bar tab. It was basically Laurent-Perrier on tap.’

‘The boss paid? That’s new.’ For a moment, I’m so shocked that I almost forget how gutted I am. Derek barely ever comes out; and when he does, he never gets a round in.

‘I know, right?’ Anya bounces up and down a little on the spot.

‘Where did you go?’

‘That new rooftop bar near the Grassmarket. It’s a-ma-zing.’

‘I thought it hadn’t opened yet.’

‘It hasn’t. Last night was the VIP pre-opening event. Derek got an invite, the lucky sod.’

‘Right, yeah, that worked out well.’ I hope Anya misses the forced tone in my voice.

‘It’s a shame you were meeting your friend, or I’d have called you. Did you have a good night?’

‘Me? Yeah. It was fab.’ I pretend to stifle a yawn, inwardly cursing myself for my two errors of judgement: leaving work at a sensible time and agreeing to meet Dylan – who never works a minute past five – on a week night. ‘Late one, you know.’

‘I know how you feel.’ Anya leans in conspiratorially. ‘I got to bed at three this morning and was up at seven.’

‘The usual?’ I ask her, having reached the front of the queue and been prompted for my order.

‘Oh, thanks, Liv. I’ll shout you next time.’

I give our order to the barista, hand over the cash, and we move along to the end of the coffee bar to await our drinks.

‘So, any gossip to share?’ I decide that even if I couldn’t witness the goings-on first-hand, at least I can join in the day-after-the-night-before chat.

Anya suddenly looks all coy. ‘Actually, there is. I snogged Tom.’

‘You didn’t.’

‘I did!’ She reddens slightly and the bounce returns, intensified. ‘We’re going on a date.’

‘OMG!’ I clap my hand over my mouth. ‘Check you.’

Our names are called. We scoop our drinks up and march confidently out of the office café, masters of our skyscraper heels.

‘Well, much as I’m dying to hear the rest…’ I turn to Anya as we reach the lifts ‘…I’ve got a meeting to get to.’

As I say this, I feel my anticipation rising. A sense of excitement stirs within me. Even my disappointment about last night cannot quell my expectations.

‘Anything exciting?’ Anya asks.

‘Not really.’ Being slightly, and probably unjustifiably, miffed that Anya didn’t at least text me the opportunity to join them, I decide I’m keeping this one close to my chest. ‘Talk to you later.’

As I head for the ground-floor meeting rooms, my phone pings in my handbag. Pulling it out to switch it to silent, I see it’s a text from Dylan, my childhood friend, who rather annoyingly assumed the self-awarded status of being my ‘surrogate big brother’ at just seven years old. Still irritated that he was a key factor in my missing the events of the evening before, I almost don’t bother reading his message. But seeing I’m several minutes early for my meeting, curiosity takes over. I open the message and read it.

Good luck today, Squirt. You’ll smash it!

Despite being peeved at him, I smile at the words in front of me and quickly tap out and send a response.

Thanks. I shouldn’t need luck. This is hopefully just to formalise it. I’ve already done all the hard work.

As I read back my response to him, I feel a swell of excitement. Getting my promotion will be real recognition of the progress and effort I’ve made in the last year. I’ve worked my backside off to deliver hard-hitting projects, completed the leadership development programme – supposedly a guaranteed ticket to the top – and my manager, Derek, agreed at my last appraisal that I’m ready for that next step. Perhaps a senior management role in internal or external communications? And my own team of consultants reporting to me. Amazing.

As I get lost in my ideas, my phone lights up in my hand with another message from Dylan.

Confident bugger. Still think it’s a load of corporate nonsense, but hope you get whatever poncey role you’re after.

Rolling my eyes at Dylan’s indelicate (but unsurprising) observation, I stuff my phone in my bag and stride along the corridor to my meeting, my mind now firmly focused.

‘Liv, come on in and take a seat.’ Derek ushers me inside the moment I reach the meeting room, and quickly closes the door.

‘How are you?’ I consider asking how he enjoyed the previous evening’s events but think better of it; I don’t want to seem bitter that I missed out.

‘The usual, really.’ Derek, brisk as ever, gives nothing away, though his under-eyes look slightly dark and puffy, suggesting too much booze and not enough sleep.

He doesn’t ask me how I am in return, but this is nothing unusual.

I sit quietly for a moment, expecting Derek to start the conversation, but he’s scrolling through his emails on his phone. I study him surreptitiously, wondering where this elusive party animal emerged from the previous night. He strikes me as more of a hot-cocoa-on-the-couch-with-a-copy-of-Reader’s-Digest-kind-of-guy.

As he’s still not showing any urgency to kick things off, I decide to seize the opportunity to score some additional points before we get down to the important stuff.

‘That was a great response we got on the merger survey. Some really useful insights we can use.’

‘Sure.’ Derek nods absent-mindedly, barely looking up from his phone.

‘I’ve had some ideas about the follow-up work,’ I continue, undeterred. ‘It would also be a great external PR piece to show the work we’re doing. You know: a business at the forefront, putting people at the heart of our success. I can write it and let you see the first draft—’

The meeting room door suddenly bursts open, interrupting me.

‘Sharon.’ Derek almost leaps out of his seat, as his own larger-than-life manager enters the room.

‘Sorry, I’m late,’ Sharon blusters. ‘Those damn lawyers of ours, can’t make a decision on their own. Makes me wonder what I’m paying them for.’

I look from Derek to Sharon, confused. ‘I’m meeting both of you?’

‘Liv, apologies. Did Derek not mention it?’ Sharon throws him a sideways look.

‘No, he didn’t.’ My tone is deliberate; but lost in his phone once again, Derek misses this prompt. ‘That’s fine, though.’

What’s going on here? Is this a good sign: my promotion is in the bag, and the Director of Communications has turned out in person to offer it to me? Doesn’t really sound like something she would do.

‘Right, shall we get down to business?’ Sharon directs this at Derek, who has to almost surgically remove himself from his emails.

‘Eh, yes, sure thing, Sharon.’

‘So, Liv.’ Sharon leans over the table, giving me an unwanted eyeful of her huge, tanned and dimply cleavage. ‘You probably know all mergers come with a need to review the company structure.’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. Then you’re probably also aware that it’s not as simple as just stripping out half the workforce.’

‘Absolutely.’ I nod along knowledgeably.

‘With that in mind,’ Sharon continues, ‘we wanted to talk to you about what that might mean for you personally.’

Here we go.

I glance across at Derek, who, having said nothing so far, just looks awkward and a bit shifty. I wonder if he’ll be for the chop. For a senior manager of communications and PR, he has the charisma of a four-day-old turd.

‘Of course, yes.’ I lean in, consciously mirroring Sharon’s body language. ‘I’m keen to hear where you think I fit into the new structure. It’s no secret that I’m looking for a step up. The bigger the better, if you know what I mean.’

I let out a punchy, boisterous laugh that echoes round the bare white walls, before falling on an uncomfortable silence. Derek’s lack of reaction is nothing new. But I’m well accustomed to the alpha-female office banter and innuendos that Sharon throws around. Normally, matching her style goes down well.

‘I am aware of your aspirations.’ Sharon clears her throat. ‘Unfortunately, that’s not what we’re here to talk about today.’

‘We’re not?’

‘No, Liv.’

Recognition dawns and something suddenly cuts through my mind: a razor-sharp disappointment. Why did I not think of this before? With there being redundancies, all the senior management jobs will be filled. Frustrating as it is, my opportunity is not happening now. I need a change of game plan – fast.

‘Of course.’ I emphasise my understanding. ‘There probably won’t be any vacancies – for now.’

‘That is indeed the case.’ Sharon confirms my statement. ‘However, we’re not here to talk about a future role for you at all today.’

‘Err… I’m sorry…’ I’m suddenly alarmed for the second time this morning. ‘I don’t understand.’

I glance at Derek, who has retreated behind his phone again.

‘What I’m saying, Liv…’ Sharon purses her lips thoughtfully ‘…is that we don’t see an appropriate role for you in the new structure – at all.’

A chill creeps up my spine. ‘You’ve lost me.’

‘As you know, we brought you in a grade above the other senior consultants,’ says Sharon. ‘And in the new structure, there are no communications roles at your level.’

‘Right.’ I pause – so thrown by this turn in the conversation that the usual confidence and ease with which I conduct my interactions is starting to waver. ‘Wait… are you saying… I’m displaced?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’ Sharon’s tone and face are neutral, her earlier jovial demeanour gone.

I feel the colour drain from my face. There’s no job for me at all? I’m so shocked, I can’t speak. My mind is locked in a tornado of utter disbelief. It takes all my effort to escape the giddiness and gather myself together.

‘If I’m displaced,’ I venture cautiously, ‘doesn’t that mean I should have the opportunity to apply for other roles through the redeployment process?’

‘Ordinarily, yes.’ Sharon nods. ‘And you still can. If you really want to do that. However, we don’t see an opportunity for you. Unless you want to take a role at the grade below?’

I instinctively wrinkle my nose at this suggestion.

‘I thought not,’ Sharon continues, ‘which is why we’re here today, Liv. To spare you a long and painful redundancy process, we want to offer you a settlement agreement. It means an enhanced financial package and extra time to look for alternative employment. You could go on garden leave from today – rather than working your notice.’

‘A settlement agreement?’ I blanch at this revelation. ‘And what if I don’t want that? What if I want to take the chance that a role might come up?’

‘Then that’s your choice.’ Sharon’s tone has hardened slightly. ‘But it’s very unlikely. If a promoted role does come up, the competition will be very stiff.’

‘But I’d still have a chance?’

Sharon takes a deep breath. It’s clear her patience with me is eroding. ‘Liv, you’ve given a lot to this company, and your efforts have not gone unnoticed, but no, I don’t think you’d have a chance. You’re not a good fit for the senior management roles in the new structure.’

‘But this just… isn’t fair.’ I cringe as I realise how this makes me sound. But it’s exactly how I feel. I look frantically from Sharon to Derek, who avoids eye contact at all costs.

Sharon sighs and quickly moves on to stop me from taking my desperate plea any further. ‘All the terms of the agreement would be settled between our lawyers and your representative – paid for by us. All details of your departure would be strictly confidential…’

As Sharon speaks, I desperately try to gather myself together; to find the confident, assertive young woman I am every single day at work. But she’s hit a weak spot; sliced through and exposed the bare nerve endings of my very deepest insecurities. Ones I didn’t even know I still had.

‘Quit runnin’ after things you’ve no chance at. We’re different, us. You’ll no’ fit in, so don’t bother yer backside tryin’.’

The familiar words I had buried so deep burst to the surface. I fiercely push them away, but they fight back, taunting me cruelly. Lost in this torment, I barely register what Sharon is saying.

‘Liv? I asked you if you have any questions?’

I snap back to the present.

‘I… err… yes, I do. Are you looking for a decision right now?’

‘Ideally, yes,’ Sharon replies. ‘But if you want to take some time to think things through, that’s fine.’

I look at Sharon’s expression and her body language. It’s not fine. She wants this wrapped up straight away. Another deal done and off the table. I’m nobody to her now. Relegated to the subs bench and there’s nothing I can do to change that. I think back to the stories I’ve heard about her being a complete Jekyll and Hyde; tales I’d laughed off, unable to believe she was capable of that, because it hadn’t happened to me. How very naive of me.

I take a faltering breath and sit back in my seat, realising that I’m defeated. ‘So, I’ll go today?’

‘You can gather your things and go straight after this meeting,’ says Sharon. ‘It would be a bit harsh to expect you to stay the day.’

That would be harsh? I’m now in a whirlwind of panic. How can this be happening?

‘So, if there isn’t anything else,’ says Sharon, ‘I think we should call a halt just now. We’ll pick up later on the legalities when you have a representative with you.’

‘Fine.’ I shake my head in defeat.

‘Thanks for your time, Liv. Sorry it wasn’t better news.’

With that, Sharon and Derek get up and leave the meeting room.

I sit alone in shock for several minutes, my confidence shattered, barely able to consider the next few hours, never mind what lies beyond. What did I do wrong? If they really wanted to keep me, they’d find a way. She says it’s about roles, but this feels personal. My career is my life; it defines who I am. All my hard work to get to where I am, and it’s gone, just like that. I never once thought I’d be on the receiving end of a message like this. I was supposed to be a high flyer. Was I kidding myself? Did they just tell me I was good because it was an easier message? As I chew all this over, suddenly my whole future starts to feel uncertain.

Eventually I get up and head miserably for the communications department, where I clear out my things. Thankfully, my colleagues are all in meetings, so I don’t have to suffer the humiliation of doing it in front of them. It doesn’t take long and soon I’m leaving the building for the last time, handing in my staff pass to reception as I go. As I emerge into the pouring rain, I look down at the brown cardboard box I’m holding, then up at the busy city streets around me, and feel completely lost.

What do I do now?

Chapter 2

Several hours later I’m at the breakfast bar in the kitchen/living area of my north Edinburgh modern two-bedroom apartment, poring over online job listings, gin and tonic in hand, fizzing at myself for not handling Sharon better. Why did I let her bulldoze me like that? Where did my political savvy suddenly disappear to? I’ve dealt with worse than her – regularly – and it’s never fazed me before. It’s my job to handle people like that.

My phone buzzes beside me. I grab it aggressively. Seeing that it’s yet another message from a concerned friend at work, I throw it straight back on the counter top.

How did I not see that Sharon was a snake? And Derek too. The slimy bugger didn’t say a word. Not a good fit? What does that even mean? I should have called her out on that one. I’m the one who’s led the most important strategic PR campaigns in that place, managed the press at the most difficult times. I’ve written articles that have sent the share price soaring. I’ve put out internal pieces and run staff engagement events that have defused internal tensions in relation to staff resisting the merger. How can I not be a good fit?

I take a deep swig of my smooth, floral gin and tonic, and scroll down the listings on my iPad, noting that there’s plenty there. I’ll have another job in no time.

My phone buzzes again. This time it’s a text from Dylan.

Hey Squirt. Meeting go ok?

I hesitate. What do I tell him? I compose a very brief summary of what’s happened. But seeing my harsh reality glaring accusingly back at me is just too much. I swiftly delete it and tap out a different response.

Yup. All good as expected. X

Dylan doesn’t need to know. Once I’ve got a new job, I’ll just tell him I decided my promotion wasn’t a big enough jump, so I moved on.

I’m about to lob my phone back on the counter when I realise I should probably do some damage limitation. Sharon said that my colleagues would simply be told it was a mutual decision, but I know how that sounds – I’ve even had to manage the fallout from these situations before in my job. I need to be on the front foot with this.

I quickly look up Anya in my contacts list, hit the call button and wait for her to answer.

‘Liv, hi!’ She sounds out of breath. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you called! Did you get my messages? There’s all sorts of rumours flying around. What happened?’

I bristle a little, knowing the biggest office gossips will be all over this.

‘Honestly, have people got nothing better to do?’ I try to sound as casual as possible. ‘It’s no biggie. I just decided it was time to go. Didn’t fancy any of the roles in the new structure, so I made an agreement with Sharon. Worked out well actually.’

‘Oh… right, well that’s… great.’ Anya sounds a bit strangled. ‘So, you’re happy about it?’

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’ I add a deliberate air of dismissiveness. ‘I’m being paid to plan and execute my next career move. As much as I’ve enjoyed working at McArthur Cohen, that place is just too tolerant of deadbeats like Derek. I’ve always known I’d need to jump ship to get where I really want to be.’

‘OK, well in that case, that really is amazing!’ Anya’s bounce is back, leaving me in no doubt that she’s convinced. ‘I’m so pleased for you, Liv. And don’t worry, I’ll make those rumours go away.’

‘Whatever.’ My tone is nonchalant. ‘Not that I’m interested at all, but what kind of nonsense has been spreading? Go on, give me a laugh.’

‘Just total nonsense, as you say,’ Anya says, and I picture her waving her hand around dramatically in the way that she does when she gets animated. ‘So, Jake from the Strategy team said that he heard you’d been sacked, and Sinead was told that you left the building in tears after a run-in with Sharon. And apparently, it’s all round the Sales department that you told her where to go. You didn’t, did you?’

I wish I had.

‘No, obviously not.’ I put on a bored voice. ‘It was a mutual agreement. There were no tears, no recriminations and nobody was sacked.’

‘Yeah, that’s what came out in the email from Sharon,’ says Anya. ‘She said it was a mutual thing.’

‘Listen, Anya, it was great to catch up, but I need to go. I’ve got a call with a head-hunter in five minutes.’

‘You’re a fast worker!’

‘No point delaying my journey to success. I’ll speak to you later, yeah?’

‘Hang on… you’re still going to come to Tony’s retirement party next week, right?’ Anya voice is filled with concern. ‘Tom, Stella, the whole crowd, they’re all going to be there. And they’ve been really concerned, hearing you were gone.’

‘Of course. No way I’m missing that. I know, they’ve been great. I’ve had loads of messages. Just been too busy to reply this afternoon. I’ll message them back later.’

‘Fab! Well, good luck, Liv. Speak soon!’

I end the call and take a slug from my now rather flat gin and tonic, job done. Anya has just the right contacts to make sure my story gets to the right people. I pour myself a top-up and return to my job listings.

By seven in the evening, I’ve spoken with contacts at three recruitment agencies, applied for five jobs online, put some feelers out on LinkedIn and made my way through a further three gin and tonics. The alcohol having given me a temporary lift, I’ve now convinced myself that this was exactly what should have happened all along. Just a shame I didn’t get in there first. Sharon, Derek and the gossipmongers can all continue with their sad little lives, while I get out and make the most of this opportunity. Thank you, Sharon. You really have done me a favour, you cold cow.

I hop off my bar stool, switch on the Bose Bluetooth speaker that sits on my bookcase and select shuffle in iTunes on my phone. The room is immediately filled with the clear, crisp beat, and uplifting melody of Happy by Pharrell Williams: just the right tonic to offer me a further boost. Before I know it, I’m dancing round my living area, sliding across the laminate flooring, using my iPhone as a microphone prop.

I’m almost shouting the words of the chorus, acting in a way that I’d never be seen dead doing in public; a way that I haven’t allowed myself to be in years, when suddenly there’s an almighty thundering at my front door.

‘Shit. The neighbours.’ Forgetting I have a pseudo remote in my hand, I run across to the speaker to kill the sound.

I dart into the hallway and peer through the spyhole. To my surprise, it’s Dylan, looking very impatient. Definitely not what I need right now. I stand silently, completely still, hoping he’ll go away. He doesn’t. Thunderous rapping ensues once more, vibrating through me like a violent military assault.

‘Liv? I know you’re there. I heard the music. You gonna open the bloody door or what?’

Realising I have no choice, I reluctantly unlock the door and open it.

‘Dylan. Hi. Sorry, didn’t hear you there.’

‘Yeah, you did.’ He slumps past me sulkily. ‘You were avoiding me.’

‘I wasn’t. Well, not at first anyway. How did you get into the building?’

‘Your neighbour let me in. What’s with the party? You sounded like a demented crow.’ He throws me a cheeky grin.

‘What? I… How long were you standing outside?’ I feel myself begin to redden.

‘Long enough.’

Dylan heads straight for my fridge, helps himself to a Corona and starts to make a sandwich. ‘Why’d you buy this crap? Get some real beer in.’

‘It’s not crap. And I don’t normally buy beer at all. It’s left over from having the work lot round the other week.’

‘Huh. That makes sense.’ Dylan huffs. ‘Poncey lager for the ponce brigade.’

‘It’s not… arghh… never mind. How was your day? To what do I owe this pleasure?’

Dylan plonks himself on one of my bar stools, takes a huge bite from the sandwich and looks at me.

‘My day was fine. It’s just admin work but seems a good company and better than my last job. Learning about all sorts of cool tech stuff. Why do you think I’m here?’

‘Because it’s the end of the month and you’ve run out of money again, so you’ve come to raid my fridge?’

‘Half right. Guess again.’ His piercing blue eyes are fixed on mine.

‘Because there’s a match on and you want to watch it on Sky?’

‘Nope.’

‘Well, what then?’ I’m starting to get impatient.

‘Tell you what.’ He grins at me. ‘How about you tell me all about your meeting today, and once we’ve toasted your promotion, I’ll tell you why I’m here.’

‘Err… OK. There’s not much to tell.’ Despite the booze, I start to sweat a little, which irritates me slightly. ‘I had my meeting and got the right outcome.’

‘What outcome was that?’

‘You know. I’m moving on up in the dizzy world of communications and PR.’ I hate lying to Dylan, but there’s no way I’m revealing the truth.

‘Really? That’s the balls, Squirt. Let’s defo toast that. Get your glass.’

I tentatively pick up my gin and tonic and walk over to him.

‘To your big promotion.’ Dylan inelegantly smacks his beer bottle against my glass, which I instinctively inspect to see if it’s still in one piece.

‘Yup.’ I smile widely. ‘To my big—’

‘Cut the bullshit, Liv.’ Dylan puts his beer down on the breakfast bar and looks me straight in the eye knowingly.

‘What?’ Shocked, I pull back a little. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about the fact that, as of this morning, you’re unemployed.’

I freeze momentarily, then I go the fridge to refill my glass and get him another beer; anything to avoid the inevitable.

‘That’s not technically true.’ I hand him the open bottle. ‘I’m actually on garden leave. How do you know?’

‘Because, I went to the gym after work, and on my way home I bumped into your poncey mate, Angina, or whatever her name is – the one you were trying to hide me from a few months back. She told me what actually happened this morning.’

‘I wasn’t trying to hide you.’ Irritation starts to rise within me. ‘I needed to speak to Anya – her name’s Anya – about something confidential at work, so I had to go out of earshot.’

‘Don’t bullshit me, Liv.’ Dylan looks mildly hurt. ‘I may – like you – not be from the upper ends of society, but I’m not thick.’

I flinch at this observation, more at the reminder of my roots, than from the suggestion that I might consider Dylan to be less than able.

‘I know that, Dylan. OK, so you bumped into Anya, and she told you I decided to leave. So what? I realised the promotion wasn’t quite what I wanted after all, so I decided to take a bold decision. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Everything’s wrong with that.’ Dylan regards me with frustration. ‘Firstly, it’s a stupid thing to do, throwing in a job like that without something to move on to. And second, I just don’t buy it. Yesterday you were all about getting a bigwig job in that place; it’s all you’ve talked about for months, and now, just like that, you’ve decided it’s not good enough for you?’

Dylan fixes his defiant gaze on me. Unable to bear the scrutiny, and with my defences still weak from the earlier events of the day – plus the alcohol – I don’t have the fight in me to try to keep my charade going. Not with Dylan. He knows me too well. I pad across to the large charcoal fabric sofa and slump onto it.

‘I’ve been let go.’

Dylan leaps off the bar stool and joins me on the sofa. ‘What happened?’

Defeated, I tell him everything; the whole humiliating truth. I don’t cry. I never cry. I learned a long time ago that crying doesn’t help anything. Especially with an emotionally stunted mother and a father too loose with his tongue – as well as his fists. Dylan listens quietly, saying nothing until I’m done.

‘Bastards,’ he mutters eventually, his face etched with concentration as he rolls himself a cigarette. ‘They’ve really messed things up for you.’

‘Roll me one too?’ I ask.

‘No way. You haven’t touched a fag in years. I’m not letting you start again. Anyway, doesn’t fit your new image.’

‘Dylan. Roll me a cigarette.’ I command. ‘According to you, I’ve pretty much just had the worst day of my career. I don’t need you looking out for my health right now – or making snide comments about my lifestyle.’

Dylan looks up at me and smiles. ‘There she is. The ice queen returns.’

‘Stop it, would you?’

Dylan just chuckles, hands me his cigarette and rolls another.

We put on our jackets and head out onto the balcony, drinks in hand, and take a seat on my patio furniture. It’s a warm, sunny evening, with just a spattering of white fluffy clouds moving slowly across the horizon. The early evening Edinburgh traffic hums away rhythmically below. Dylan offers me a light and then sees to his own cigarette. I watch him blow smoke rings, remembering how I used to want to be able to do that myself, but could never master it.

‘So, rough day then,’ he says. ‘Sorry, Squirt.’

‘It’s fine. I’ll be fine.’ I take a puff of my roll-up and immediately start to cough; ignoring the knowing look Dylan gives me. ‘Before you arrived, I had already decided it was for the best. Now I realise I should have gotten out months ago. It’s the fact that they got one up on me. I was unwittingly led into that situation and I didn’t catch on quick enough. It’s my fault.’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘But, thankfully,’ I continue, ignoring him, ‘because of the settlement agreement they can’t tell anyone what really happened, so my reputation shouldn’t be affected by it. Dylan, this is actually a good thing. It’s my chance to go out and grab what I want.’

‘Here we go again.’ Dylan sighs. ‘It will probably work out for the best in the long run. You don’t want to work for a company that can ditch you so thanklessly after you’ve given them so much. All the having to act a certain way, the power grabs, the knife in the back when you’re not looking. When you gonna accept that this just isn’t you?’

‘It’s totally me.’ I sit back, lift my chin and offer a deliberate pout. ‘Why wouldn’t it be me? I’m as good as everyone else there.’

‘Wrong.’ Dylan looks me straight in the eye. ‘You’re better. Talking corporate bollocks and going to poncey bars isn’t a measure of anything. It just makes you a bit of a twat.’

Used to Dylan’s straight-talking approach, I’m unfazed by this comment.

‘I know you’re putting on a brave face,’ Dylan continues, his tone softer. ‘But I think you’re hurt and in shock. I think your confidence will have taken a knock. And you know what? That’s OK. It’s totally normal to feel that way. What’s not normal is to deny that it’s had any impact; and to act like some kind of indestructible ballbreaker.’

‘I’m not.’ I watch my cigarette burn slowly, having already abandoned the idea of smoking it.

‘Yes, you are. It’s me you’re talking to. How long have we known each other? You used to share everything with me: your dad’s rages; days of no food in your house, because your mum had spent her dole cheque on vodka. You’ve always been tough – you had to be to get through that. But you still felt it – and you let me in.’

‘Are you finished?’ I’m staring straight ahead of me.

‘I’m finished.’ Dylan shrugs his shoulders resignedly.

‘Good.’

We sit in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of the evening sun on our faces, listening to the sound of the traffic below. The predictable drone of engines is temporarily drowned out as an ambulance races by, siren blaring, then gradually fading away.

‘So, an opportunity, you say?’ Dylan prompts me.

‘Yes, exactly.’ I stub out my cigarette in the makeshift ashtray I use for Dylan’s visits. ‘I spent a few hours online this afternoon and there are a number of jobs in my area being advertised at the moment.’

‘Sounds promising.’ Dylan takes a swig of his Corona. ‘Though I’ve heard it’s tough in the job market at the moment. Got a friend in telesales who’s been unemployed for a while. Says all the power is with the hirers. Loads of companies downsizing and a shedload of people chasing after the same jobs.’

‘That doesn’t worry me,’ I say. ‘With my experience, I should be able to walk into something as soon as I’m officially free from McArthur Cohen.’

‘If you say so.’ Dylan shrugs. ‘So, as well as getting your career sorted, are you gonna use this time to do a bit more of your own stuff? Maybe write some more articles, like the ones you tried to get published before? They were really good – if a bit “Lean in” for my taste.’

‘Hey!’ I complain. ‘You wouldn’t even know that term if I hadn’t introduced you to it. Those articles were aimed at professional career women, to help them succeed and rise above chauvinistic behaviours in the workplace – the kind you have just so keenly demonstrated. Anya and Stella thought they were great.’

‘Sorry, didn’t mean it like that.’ Dylan shrugs again. ‘But I preferred the stuff you used to write at school – about the real hard shit people have to deal with in their lives and wanting to make the world a better place. Always felt real proud of you when you read that stuff out to me.’

‘That was a long time ago.’ I’m keen to change the subject. ‘No, I’m going to stay fully focused on my job search. That’s enough for now.’

‘How about you finally find yourself a bloke?’ Dylan ignores the hint.

‘Eh… no. No time for that nonsense. Men just get in the way.’

‘What, like me?’ Dylan jokes, then takes a long thoughtful drag on his cigarette. ‘You’re not getting any younger.’

‘Thanks for that.’ I throw him a look. ‘I’m not so old either. It might be normal to pop them out in your teens on the estate, but in the real world, people have kids much older. It’s meant to be a time of equality and opportunities for all. I want to be a high-flying businesswoman, Dylan, not a stay-at-home mum. Plus, who are you to judge?’

‘I’m not single by choice and you know it.’ Dylan stubs out his own roll-up. ‘Keira was the one who left me.’

‘Sorry, that was low.’ I look down at the floor.

‘No worries, Squirt. I get it. I just think it would be good for you to have someone around to help you chill a bit and enjoy life, that’s all.’

‘Dylan, you know how that works in practice. It starts out well, then they realise I’m not going to deprioritise my career for them, they start to resent me – and it all goes to shit. No. Men are off the agenda for the foreseeable future.’

‘All right, I hear you.’ Dylan holds up his hands in defeat. ‘Then forget that. How about you come for drinks at the Broken Arms instead? Surely you can take one day off. It’s been years since you made an appearance on the estate. The old crowd think you’ve ditched them altogether.’

‘I haven’t ditched them.’ I trace a non-existent pattern on the balcony floor with my toe. ‘I just don’t… fit in there anymore.’

‘You mean you don’t want to fit in.’

‘No. That’s not it. I’m happy here. People grow up, and they move on. That’s a fact of life.’

‘You’d probably have moved on from me by now too – if I’d let you.’ Dylan looks almost downtrodden for a moment.

I take in his puppy dog face, his dishevelled brown hair and single earring. Guilt stabs at me like an electric shock.

‘Definitely not.’ I shift a little in my seat, knowing that scenario might have been all too possible.

For a few minutes, we sit quietly, then Dylan breaks the silence.

‘Your mum’s been asking for you.’

I wince, saying nothing.

‘Saw her last week in Iceland.’ He continues. ‘She doesn’t look well.’

‘She’s never looked well.’ I avoid Dylan’s gaze.

‘I’m just saying. You could pop in every now and again.’

‘What’s the point? She never bothered with me. Was never there when I needed her. And she’s not interested now. She’s only asking because she doesn’t have anything else to say to you.’

Dylan searches my face, his expression unreadable. Uncomfortable, I look away.

‘Look, I know you had it tough.’ He reaches over and squeezes my shoulder affectionately, sparking an automatic flinch given the current topic of conversation. ‘It hasn’t been plain sailing for any of us. But that doesn’t mean you need to turn into the ice queen, cut everyone off, and pretend it never happened. Especially given what happened today. You need a bit of support.’

‘I’m not cutting people off, Dylan.’ I try to hide the exasperation from my voice. ‘I just want to make something of myself. I want a decent life. Without her in it. She’d bleed me dry if she got the chance. Now, can we talk about something else – please?’

Dylan watches me for a moment then stubs out his cigarette.

‘Probably not the time to be suggesting – given your current predicament – that you switch from your poncey gin to the Lidl one then either? It’s only a tenner a bottle.’

This time Dylan gets my full death stare.

‘Right then, time to make a move, I guess.’ He swiftly gets up from his seat and heads back indoors; I follow close behind. ‘I’m glad you’re OK – or you’re at least faking being OK. If you need anything, give me a bell.’

To my surprise, he plants a little kiss on the top of my head.

‘I am fine. I’m not putting it on.’ I stand with my arms folded to show him I mean business.

‘Whatevs. Later, Squirt.’ He gives me a wink and then disappears out the door.

Chapter 3

‘Liv, it’s so great to see you!’

‘It’s only been a week.’ I give my friend and colleague, Stella, a quick hug and hop up onto the bar stool next to her.

Why is everyone treating me like some long-lost pal?

‘I know that,’ Stella gushes. ‘But I’m so glad you came. Tony will be too. I just can’t believe he’s retiring already…’

I tune out distractedly as Stella continues her outpouring. Why the hell wouldn’t I have come tonight? I’m moving on, not awaiting sentence for defrauding the company.

‘So, how are you doing?’ Stella leans in conspiratorially, her tonged blonde ringlets tumbling forward into her face. ‘Really, I mean. Last week must have been tough.’

So much for Anya quashing the rumours. I’ll just have to deal with them myself.

‘Come on.’ I laugh. ‘You haven’t fallen for the nonsense that’s been circulating, have you?’

‘Oh, no. Obviously not.’ Stella gives a tinkling laugh that lands a bit hollow. ‘I was just… worried about you.’

‘Well thanks, I’m great.’ I pat Stella’s shoulder. ‘I’ve got a couple of interviews lined up already.’

‘Good for you, Liv! Seizing the day.’

‘Yes. I am.’ I eye my friend, suspiciously. ‘So, have there been any more announcements?’

Stella just about chokes on her champagne. ‘Oh, goodness. Sorry, Liv, just realised I forgot to… um… tell Steve what to feed the kids tonight. Be right back.’

I’m left alone, as Stella dashes outside in her bling – and clearly too high stilettos.

Scanning the room, I spot Tony at the bar, just along from me.

‘Tony, how are you?’ I greet him warmly. ‘Your big day is finally here.’

‘It is indeed, young Liv,’ Tony booms in his baritone voice, his plump, weather- beaten cheeks bright red from the alcohol. ‘Couldn’t have come faster. How are you, love? Are you doing all right?’

Please, not another one.

‘I’m great thanks.’ I make myself sound as self-assured as I possibly can. ‘Got a few interviews lined up.’

‘Well done, young Liv.’ Tony gives me a jovial and rather inappropriate slap on the back. ‘Those idiots don’t know talent when it smacks them in the face.’

He nods in the direction of another group; my heart sinks as I see both Sharon and Derek standing there. Sharon’s in her usual alpha-female flow – loud, dominant and vulgar. Derek hangs awkwardly by her side, surreptitiously checking something on his phone, while pretending to be as engrossed as everyone else.

‘As much as I tend to agree…’ I put my hand on Tony’s arm casually ‘…in this case, it was totally mutual.’

‘You can’t fool me.’ Tony gives me an overly dramatic your-secret-is-safe-with-me wink. ‘I’ve been around long enough to know a settlement agreement when I see one. Here, one for the road, eh?’ He thrusts a glass of champagne into my hand.

As he says this, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. Deciding some fresh air is urgently needed, I excuse myself and head out to the terrace of the Union Canal-side bar into the early June heatwave that’s provided a welcome respite from the previous weeks of rain. I take a seat at one of the tables closest to the edge, where two dabbling ducks are chattering and peeping away contentedly, creating hypnotic ripples in the glassy water. I pretend I’m looking something up on my phone while I assess the situation. What the hell is going on? First Stella, then Tony. And where are Anya, Tom and the others?

I sit for several minutes, slugging my champagne, listening to the ducks, all the time keeping up my charade of being engrossed in my phone. Eventually I hear a rabble behind me and turn to see Anya, Tom and a couple of other friends from the office approaching though the passageway from the bustle of Fountainbridge. The level of laughter and boisterousness indicates they’ve already had a few drinks.

‘Where have you lot been?’ I stand up and address them boorishly.

‘Liv!’ Anya bounces over to me and gives me a hug. ‘It’s so good to—’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s a line I haven’t heard too many times already this evening.’

‘Well, it is.’ Anya misses the sarcasm in my voice. ‘I’ve been missing you this last week.’

‘I’m sure you’ll get used to it.’ I smile at her, pleased that she’s genuinely missed me.

‘Liv, buddy.’ Tom gives me his signature bone-breaking handshake-come-awkward-hug. ‘How’ve you been?’

‘Great, thanks.’ I smile brightly at him, now realising that this is something I’ll just have to endure. ‘So, where have you all been?’

‘Tom suggested a quick one in Sally’s Bar, and that turned into three or four,’ says Anya, as I greet my other friends from work: Dom and Marta.

‘Guilty as charged.’ Tom holds his hands up in mock surrender.

Anya springs a little on the spot, giggling like a schoolgirl. I catch a look between them: clearly they’re totally enraptured with each other.

‘Right.’ I force a smile, but can’t help wondering, once again, why Anya didn’t text me and ask me to join them.

‘Let’s get some more drinks in,’ Tom declares. ‘My round.’

He bounds off into the bar, while the rest of us follow close behind.

Brushing away my feeling of being left out, I join in the energetic and innuendo-charged banter. It’s just like normal. Nothing’s changed. And why should it?

Once we have our drinks, we head back outside to join yet more colleagues. It’s a warm, still evening, adding to the already high spirits. Outdoor speakers pump out a funky summer beat, while ties are discarded, top buttons undone, and the females of the group kick off their high heels, revealing perfectly shellacked toes in a kaleidoscope of colours.

‘So, have there been any other updates on the new structure?’ I ask Anya and Tom. ‘I asked Stella before, but she went all weird and took off.’

I glance over at Stella, who’s chatting with Dom and Marta, having blatantly avoided me since our earlier interaction.

‘Oh, erm…’ Anya hesitates, and I see her exchange an uncomfortable look with Tom.

‘What is it?’ An uneasy feeling starts to stir in my stomach. ‘Anya?’

Anya looks like a cornered animal. She stares pleadingly at Tom, who steps in to rescue her.

‘There were some other updates last week,’ he says.

‘Like what?’ I probe.

‘Like… Liv, do you really want to hear this?’ Tom asks.

‘Of course.’ I look from Tom to Anya. ‘I’ve only just left. I’m still interested in what’s going on.’

Anya’s usual vibrancy has wilted like a dying flower; she edges closer to Tom’s side.

‘OK… sure.’ Tom looks a bit pained as he takes a long swig from his pint of craft beer. ‘They’ve only announced the senior roles so far. Sharon’s going to take on a new Executive Director role for our division.’

‘Sharon?’ I forget to hide my disgust.

‘Yes. And I think she’ll do a good job.’ Tom gives me a curious look. ‘She’s certainly got the experience. Don’t you think?’

‘Sure, yeah, of course.’ I silently curse myself for not being more circumspect. ‘What else?’

‘Derek’s going to be the Director of PR.’

It takes all my effort not to swear out loud. Derek? Derek – that walking communication-free zone who has no interest in people, or interactions of any kind – is going to be Director of Public Relations?

‘Interesting choices.’ I keep my voice neutral to stop my real feelings surfacing again. ‘What about senior management level?’

Anya lets out an involuntary peep of discomfort. I look at her quizzically.

‘Liv. Seriously.’ Tom regards me, clearly concerned. ‘Is that not enough?’

‘No. Tell me,’ I command.

I know full well that I’m not going to like this one bit.

‘OK, here goes.’ Tom takes a sharp intake of breath. ‘Apparently there were quite a few other “mutual” exits last week…’

I flinch as he says this. That’s my cover story well and truly blown.

‘That left a few vacant posts. There were two in our area.’

‘There were?’ My eyes bore into the back of Sharon’s head; what a lying cow.

I’m trying my best to stay calm, but I can feel the anger beginning to smoulder.

‘So, what roles, and who do you think will apply?’ I ask.

Tom looks at Anya, who’s starting to look more like a toddler clinging to its mother’s leg than Tom’s current love interest. He sighs loudly. I brace myself.

‘They didn’t open up the vacancies. They decided to appoint people from the Corporate Future Leaders Programme.’ Tom pauses for a moment. ‘I got one of the jobs and Stella got the other.’

My sparking anger is instantly extinguished by blunt shock. For a moment, I feel like I’m going to faint. Why am I only hearing this now? Anya should have told me, so I was prepared. Tom and Stella got the jobs, while I got the boot? No wonder Stella made a run for it when I asked her. She doesn’t even work in our department.

I was just as good as them. What did I do that was so wrong?

The unwelcome and all too familiar voice inside my head pipes up again.

‘You’ll no’ fit in, so don’t bother yer backside tryin’.’

It’s joined by Dylan’s voice.

‘When you gonna accept that this just isn’t you?’

I feel like I can’t breathe. A blanket of nausea engulfs me. The outdoor bar area suddenly feels really distant, and I realise that if I don’t get out of here fast, I’m going to humiliate myself in front of all my colleagues.

‘Liv, are you OK?’ Tom puts a concerned hand on my arm.

I can see Anya peering at me from behind him.

‘I’m… yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Too much champagne on an empty stomach. I’ll be right back.’

Without waiting for a response from Tom, I take off for the safety of the toilets, ignoring the collective murmur of ‘Is she OK?’ behind me.

Shortly after my rather inelegant bolt for the loos – and having had a very serious word with myself – I rejoin my friends, determined that not an ounce of how I felt only minutes before will resurface. Even though I’ve only been away for several minutes, I notice the temperature has dropped a couple of degrees and the light is just starting to fade.

‘How you doing?’ Tom’s big brown eyes search my face. ‘You didn’t look too good there. I knew that would be hard to hear.’

‘About the jobs? Not at all.’ I wave my hand dismissively. ‘I couldn’t give a donkey’s arse about that. Just shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.’

‘Are you sure?’ Tom asks. ‘You went a bit grey. Or maybe it was green—’

‘Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.’ I give him a big squeeze of a hug, forcing him to change the subject. ‘Well deserved. I’m so pleased for you.’

‘Thanks, Liv.’ Tom’s face breaks into a grin. ‘That’s big of you. I am pretty chuffed.’

‘So you should be. It’s a great opportunity.’ I smile at him, then look around. ‘Where’s Anya gone?’

‘She had to nip off to meet some old uni friends,’ says Tom. ‘She said to tell you she’ll be back by nine.’

I scrutinise Tom for a second. He seems perfectly genuine, but in my current state of hypersensitivity, I detect just the slightest hint of discomfort in his voice. He’s lying to me. Anya’s run away, just like Stella.

‘Sure, no problem.’ I look him straight in the eye, smiling. ‘I’ll catch her later then.’

We’re joined by some colleagues from the Business Development department – a welcome distraction from the growing awkwardness – and the evening starts to liven up even more. Although, in many ways, it’s just another work night out, I can’t shake the developing feeling of being an outsider. Eventually I decide I’ve had enough and make my excuses.

‘Aww, Liv, why are you leaving so early?’ Tom gives me his big puppy dog eyes, but I know he’s secretly relieved.

Anya hasn’t yet reappeared; I’d put money on it that she won’t until I’m gone. And who am I to stand in the path of true love? Anyway, she can’t avoid me forever. I’ll speak to her soon enough.

‘Yeah, sorry.’ I pretend I’m all disappointed. ‘I’ve got an interview tomorrow, so I really must go and do some prep.’

‘That’s great news!’ Tom seems genuinely excited for me. ‘Why didn’t you say before? Whereabouts?’

‘I’ll tell you when I get offered the job.’ I give him a little wink.

‘You sly dawg.’ Tom teases me. ‘Well, keep in touch. Good luck!’

I give him a hug, and diligently make my way round the rest of the group, noting that Stella disappears to the bar the moment she clocks that I’m saying my goodbyes.

As I walk towards Fountainbridge to catch a bus, a cloud of uncertainly hangs over me like an unwanted cloak in the developing dusk. A night of awkward beginnings, middles and ends. Keep in touch? Really? From six different people who I consider to be good friends. That’s something you say to a relative you meet once a year at a family event; someone from your past who you meet in the street and have no intention of ever contacting. It’s what you say to a colleague whom you know, despite your best intentions, you’ll probably never see again.

I’m a colleague. Is that all I am to them? Surely not. We’re all friends. Great friends. It’ll all settle down and we’ll be back to normal – I’ll just have different shop talk to share.

‘You’ll no’ fit in, so don’t bother yer backside tryin’.’

Please… shut… up.

By the time I arrive home outside my Bonnington apartment, I’m starting to shiver from the chill air that’s moved in from the Forth estuary. I let myself in and kick off my high heels, grab a glass of water and my iPad, and collapse on the sofa. For a while I just lie there, going over the evening’s events in my head. It really didn’t turn out how I’d hoped at all: being treated like an absent friend; Stella behaving like a paranoid lunatic; bumping into Sharon, whom I hadn’t expected to even be there; Tom’s news bombshell; and then Anya doing a runner.

The latter, in particular, has riled me. Anya’s my closest friend at work; she’s probably my closest friend full stop. Why the hell has she not had my back more over this? If it had been the other way around, I would have made damn sure she didn’t walk into the same situation without being pre-warned. But she’s only got one thing on her mind right now: Tom. That’s what men do; they mess with your head, even when things are good – which is precisely why I give them a wide berth these days.

I decide, as Anya’s allowed her brain to turn to mush, I need to make the first move and give her an in. She probably didn’t mean to not tell me. I retrieve my phone from my Dior handbag and tap out a text to her.

Hi Anya. Was disappointed I didn’t see much of you tonight. Don’t worry about not telling me about the work updates. I know you’re totally loved up and thinking of nothing else. Not that I understand it. :) When you good for a catch-up? X

I hit send, then unlock my iPad, navigate to the login page for the email account I’ve set up specifically for my job search, and type in my details.

Surely there must be something there by now. I applied for the first lot of jobs a week ago: both online and through recruitment agencies, and not a word from any of them yet. Why is it taking so long to get even an acknowledgement?

As my inbox loads, I see that I have three new emails. Result! I feel a wave of relief. I don’t like stringing my friends along, letting them think that I’ve made more progress than I actually have. That said, they haven’t been particularly forthcoming themselves. I click into the first response from a recruitment agency I submitted an application through.

Dear Ms Hamilton,

Thank you for taking the time to apply for the role of Senior Manager, Internal Communications. Unfortunately, after careful consideration, our client has decided not to take your application any further, as there are other candidates with more suitable skills and experience.

Best of luck with your ongoing job search.

Sorcha Nazim

Lead Recruitment Consultant

A rejection? What the hell? I expected at least an interview for that role. It might be a step up from what I’ve been doing at McArthur Cohen – more aligned to the level I was expecting to be promoted to. But still, it was clear from the advert it’s for a much smaller company, and I definitely met almost all of the criteria for the role. Flustered, I click onto the next email.

As I read through it, my jaw almost hits the floor. Another rejection? This is so not what I expected. I massage my forehead in a bid to get my head around these revelations. What’s going on? The last time I was job-hunting, I was snapped up so quickly. And the time before. Always for roles above my current post. Have things changed? Or is it because of the level I’m applying for?

I suddenly remember what Dylan said about his friend; about the job market and the sheer numbers of applicants companies are getting now. Could he actually have been right? I take a deep faltering breath and let out a cry of frustration: does this mean I’m going to have to apply for jobs at the level I’m currently at? I worked so hard; coming so close. Now I may have to take a sideways move that will set me back months, even a year or two, all because my face didn’t fit. It will be so embarrassing having people find out that I’ve floundered – probably just as some of them expected.

‘When you gonna accept that this just isn’t you?’

‘Shut. Up. Dylan,’ I hiss out loud, as my cursor hovers over the third email.

I almost can’t bear to open it, unsure that I’m in the frame of mind to deal with a hat-trick of rejections after my crappy night out. But I know I’m kidding myself. I click to open it and close my eyes for a second. When I open them, my eyes dance over the page, taking in just the key words.

Thank you, man upstairs! It’s an invite to an interview. That’s more like it. And this one’s a direct application: not through an agency, which is even better. It’s a company within a different industry to mine, but that could be a good thing: to add diversity to my CV.

I quickly log into the company’s recruitment portal via the link in the email and select my interview slot. There – first one scheduled. Maybe I won’t need to apply for jobs at my current level after all. It was probably just a slow start. Rejections will always come first – and there were always going to be some. From here on in, the only way is up.

Chapter 4

3 months later

‘Thank you, Liv. That’s all the questions we had for you. From your CV and what you’ve indicated today, you appear to have considerable experience. Obviously that level of expertise would be greatly welcomed here. However, do you think you would find it rewarding enough?’

Here we go again.

‘Absolutely.’ I plaster on a convincingly enthusiastic smile. ‘I love this kind of work. There’s nothing more rewarding than getting people on board and seeing an organisation really start to blossom.’

‘That’s great.’ Jan, the lead interviewer, gives an impressed nod. ‘Any questions before we finish up?’

‘When will you be making a decision?’

‘You’re our last interview,’ says Jan. ‘So, we hope to be back in touch by the end of the day. We need to move fast on this one.’

‘OK, thank you.’ I sit back so they know I’m finished.

A few hours later, while wandering aimlessly along Rose Street, unsure of what to do with myself, my phone starts to ring. I grab it from my handbag and dive into an alleyway to get some quiet.

‘Hello, Liv speaking.’

‘Liv, hello again. This is Jan from LPC Telecommunications. I’m calling, as you know, to follow up on your earlier interview.’

‘Of course.’ I ensure my tone is enthusiastic.

‘It’s been a tough process, Liv. There were some really strong candidates – yourself included…’

‘Thank you.’ I wait for Jan to continue.

‘After poring over this for the last couple of hours, John and I have come to a decision, and I’m afraid it’s not good news. It was down to you and one other candidate, and we just felt that the other person would be a better fit. We also wondered if the role would have been enough for you, given the experience you have.’

I rub my face, exhausted, disappointed, downhearted, but not surprised.

‘No problem at all,’ I hear myself say automatically. ‘I understand. Thanks anyway, for the opportunity.’

‘Sorry it wasn’t better news.’ Jan does sound genuinely apologetic. ‘We were very impressed by you. Bye, Liv.’

I say goodbye and end the call, then crouch down in the alleyway, my head in my hands, feeling sick with despair.

That’s it. That was the last glimmer of hope on the immediate horizon. There’s been nothing else suitable for a few weeks now. The job market has completely dried up. And even if it hadn’t, I almost can’t bear to keep going through this. Fifteen interviews and not a single offer.

I sit for several minutes on the cold pavement, unable to muster the motivation to move. It’s only when I attract a sympathetic glance from a passer-by that I eventually haul myself to my feet and drag myself out of the alleyway.

I trudge dejectedly along Rose Street and onto Princes Street, passing one brightly lit shopfront after another: windows bursting with colour and style, all trying to lure me inside; but I’m immune to them. It’s unseasonably cool for the beginning of September. The sky is heavy; dark clouds roll threateningly across the horizon, making Princes Street Gardens and the castle seem uncharacteristically uninviting, almost ominous. A chill wind picks up, causing me to shiver slightly, and within a few minutes, cold wet droplets begin to splatter me in the face.

Realising I don’t have an umbrella, I decide I need to find cover fast. I look around and spot a Costa just across the road on Hanover Street. Suddenly the rain is pouring down heavily, huge droplets bouncing off the pavements like tiny missiles, soaking me through in seconds. I rush across the road towards the doorway, earning myself a blast of the horn from a black cab driver as I do.

Once inside, I order a medium cappuccino, and slump into a seat at the back of the café, close to the toilets. It’s very quiet, but I can see that a few other soaked shoppers are following my lead.

I sit for quite a while, teaspoon in hand, playing miserably with the froth on my drink; uncomfortable in my wet clothes, listening to the now lashing rain and wind battering the windows. The weather matches my mood.

How have I got to this point? Just three and a bit months ago, I was unstoppable. My career was unstoppable. I was exactly where I wanted to be: my five-year plan on track. Now… now I’m unemployed with an ever-growing gap in my CV, which is making it more and more difficult to get a job. I can’t even seem to make a sideways move, let alone secure the step up I was after. I wasn’t prepared for this.

In my bag, my phone sounds the arrival of a new text message. Guessing who it’s from, I don’t even bother to look. I can’t face telling Dylan I’ve missed out on yet another job. He’s been on my back constantly to take some other kind of work and this won’t make it any better. It beeps again almost straight away.

‘Get lost, Dylan,’ I mutter.

As I continue to play with – rather than actually drink – my cappuccino, I don’t even notice that the café has filled up, until someone approaches me.

‘Liv? Is that you?’

I look up, and at first, I don’t recognise the person standing in front of me.

‘It is you, isn’t it?’

‘Err… yes…’

Confused and slightly on my guard, I take in the man towering over me. He’s probably just shy of his mid-thirties, very tall and slender, with a cleanly shaven face and thick, dark-framed glasses framing his forest green eyes. His short, dark brown hair has a hint of salt and pepper, and he’s wearing a black suit with a shiny tie, slightly awkward in his demeanour. Suddenly, it clicks.

‘Aaron?’

‘Correct.’ He gives me an awkward grin. ‘It’s been a while. Ten, maybe twelve, years?’

‘Something like that,’ I mumble.

Great. Of all the days to bump into my ex-boss from my university days. From a different time, when I was waiting tables, supervising the breakfast and dinner shifts in the restaurant of the Old Town Hotel. Ordinarily I’d be thrilled to bump into him, and to be able to share how I’ve progressed since then – in some part thanks to him. He played an important role in my life at that time. But not today. Today I can’t face speaking to anyone.

‘What are you up to these days?’ Aaron asks.

There it is. The question that, for the last three months, I have dreaded every time I meet someone new, or someone I haven’t seen for a while. What do you do? What are you up to these days? Translation: where have you got to in life; are you successful; and sometimes, are you as successful as me?

‘Not much, really.’ I try for evasive, remembering he’s a bit awkward socially, so that should be enough to put him off.

Aaron isn’t remotely fazed. ‘You were always on about wanting to work in PR and communications before,’ he says. ‘How did that work out?’

‘You have a good memory.’ I try again to evade the question.

‘I remember everything.’ Although he’s obviously joking, Aaron’s words hang in the air, almost ominously.

‘Err… right. Well, it’s worked out fine. I’ve been working in that area for nearly ten years now. Got a graduate role straight out of uni and went on from there.’

I hope that putting the focus on the past will deter any chat about the present, and help to wind up the conversation.

‘Well done you.’ Aaron plonks himself down on the chair opposite, as if answering with more than one sentence is an invitation to join me.

Company is definitely the last thing I want right now; I’m unsure what to do. Since he has failed to pick up on my reluctance to engage with him, I consider just being honest and asking him to leave me alone. But I can’t do that. It’s Aaron. The man who saved me from falling down the slippery slope back to Ridgemore estate all those years ago.

The now pounding thunder and lightning outside, torrential rain battering the shopfronts, and bins and other debris being blown down the street all make escape a non-option. We sit and look at each other mutely for a few moments. Then I have an idea.

‘Do you have the time?’ I ask Aaron.

He looks at his watch.

‘It’s five-forty.’

‘Already? He’s late! Again.’

‘Who’s late?’

‘Dylan. He’s always turning up way past the time we agree to meet.’

I look expectantly at Aaron, thinking he’ll make his excuses and go. For all he knows Dylan is my built-like-a-brick-shithouse boyfriend who doesn’t at all appreciate other people speaking to his woman.

‘Is that the same Dylan you just told to get lost?’

‘Um… maybe.’ I feel my cheeks flush, realising he heard me.

‘If he’s late,’ says Aaron, ‘then I’ll keep you company till he arrives. I don’t need to be in work for a bit and there’s no point in going anywhere in that weather.’

I look at Aaron in desperation. Is he kidding me? Now I’m going to be stuck here for hell knows how long, making crap chat and waiting for a friend who’s never going to arrive. Come on, Liv, you know how to get out of a situation like this. You managed this stuff all the time at work.

But you’re not that hotshot professional anymore, are you? You’re unemployed and unemployable.

The familiar voice goads me with new rhetoric. I shake my head, in a bid to banish it from my mind.

‘So, you were saying,’ Aaron prompts me, ‘PR and communications. Where do you work now?’

‘I… err… I’m in between jobs.’

There. That should put him off.

‘You mean, you’re unemployed?’ Aaron cocks his head to the side, as if to examine this odd species he’s stumbled across.

‘Yes.’ My voice is flat; I look at the floor. ‘I guess that’s what I mean.’

‘Liv. How? You were one of the best employees I ever had. So sharp. Such a good worker.’

‘Don’t know. I don’t really want to talk about it.’ I’m beside myself with humiliation, unable to even look Aaron in the eye.

‘That’s not an option.’ Aaron starts to get up, and for a moment, I optimistically think he might leave. ‘I’ll get us some refills and then you can tell me what’s been going on. Let’s see if I can help.’

‘But I don’t want—’

‘Liv. Don’t argue.’ Aaron silences me. ‘You were a good worker, but you were always so prickly.’

‘Dylan’s going to be here any—’

Aaron looks at me appraisingly. ‘Liv. I know you’re not meeting anyone. Do you think I’m that gullible?’

I’m shocked into silence. I’m also immediately transported back a decade to a time when I was hanging on by a shoestring financially, terrified I was going to have to pack in uni and go home. He may be blunt and awkward, but it was Aaron who helped me out of that hole. This is like déjà vu. And, much as I’d rather chew my own arm off than accept charity from him again, if he helped me then, maybe, by some miracle, he can help me again. It’s not like I have any other options.

While Aaron’s up at the counter, I have a bit of wobble at the idea of having to bare everything. I consider doing a runner – electrical storm or not. But before I know it, Aaron’s back with a tray of hot drinks. He puts it down on the table and places another cappuccino in front of me. I cast aside the cold one I haven’t touched and take a comforting sip of the hot drink. The bitterness of the coffee combined with the sweetness of the froth is surprisingly satisfying – and makes me realise I’m starving after having eaten nothing all day. Despite my clothes still being damp and my feet freezing, it has the instant effect of warming me through.

‘I got you a cake. Thought it might cheer you up.’ Aaron puts a plate beside me with a maple pecan brioche on it; my favourite, but he couldn’t possibly know that.

‘Err… thanks, Aaron. There was no need.’

‘I know there wasn’t.’ He offers me another crooked grin. ‘But it works with my daughter, so I thought I’d give it a try.’

‘How old is your daughter?’

‘She’s three.’

Great, so in his eyes, I’ve now regressed beyond even my uni years, and reached toddler status.

‘That’s lovely,’ I say automatically. ‘Where are you working now yourself?’

‘The Mayfield Hotel. I’m the General Manager there. Now, back to you.’

‘Wow, that’s an incredible hotel.’ I’m genuinely impressed. ‘Five star, isn’t it? Won UK luxury hotel of the year last year?’

‘Correct. On both counts. Liv, do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?’

‘I don’t know what you—’

‘You know exactly what I mean.’ Aaron takes his black thick-rimmed glasses off and wipes the condensation from them. ‘You’ve not changed a bit.’

‘Funny. Dylan says the opposite.’

‘So, he does exist, this Dylan?’

‘Of course, he exists.’ I look at Aaron like he’s mad.

‘That’s good. At least you’re not at the stage of creating an imaginary friend.’

It’s meant as a joke, but Aaron’s stiffness causes it to sound a little cutting. I flinch, feeling a little wounded.

‘So, come on, what’s happened?’ Aaron prompts me again.

I realise there’s no getting out of this, and if he can help me get my career back on track, I’m hardly in a position to refuse that.

‘OK, here goes…’

I fill Aaron in on the events of the last three and a bit months, feeling nothing but a crushing sense of humiliation. He listens intently, his face giving nothing away. To add to my discomfort, he doesn’t even put in the natural ‘poor yous’ and ‘I’m so sorry to hear thats’ which, although demeaning, at least show a sense of empathy and concern. He stays silent, prompting me only with a nod and facial cue each time I wilt in unbearable shame and misery.

Once I’m finished, he sits thoughtfully for a few minutes without saying anything. I play with the foam on my cappuccino awkwardly.

‘Right, first things first,’ Aaron announces eventually. ‘From what you’ve told me, you haven’t done anything wrong. Unfortunately, you do appear to have fallen victim to a ruthless corporate culture, political outmanoeuvring and a difficult job market…’

‘OK… if you put it that way, it doesn’t sound so bad.’ I laugh weakly.

He regards me quizzically, one eyebrow slightly raised. This has the effect of instantly wiping the sheepish smile off my face.

‘It is bad, Liv,’ Aaron continues. ‘And though I used the word victim, you can’t afford to act like one.’

‘Ouch.’ I screw up my face, then set it straight back to neutral when I see the look that earns me from Aaron.

‘I’m serious, Liv.’

‘I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just finding this all so difficult.’ I sit up straight and give Aaron my undivided attention.

‘So, what’s most important,’ says Aaron, ‘more so at this stage than rescuing your career, is keeping you afloat financially…’

I nod along obediently, then realise he’s expecting me to respond.

‘Oh, yeah, totally,’ I lie, when in fact I have no idea of my financial position. ‘I got a pay-out when I left.’

‘Good.’ He nods, sipping his americano. ‘Glad to hear you have a financial cushion. That means that you only have the career issue to deal with – for now. Just make sure you don’t let money problems creep up on you as well. You of all people know from experience how quickly that can spiral out of control.’

‘Of course.’ I wave my hand dismissively, but make a mental note to check my bank balance when I get home.

‘So, on the job front…’ Aaron eyes me, and it’s clear he’s not fully convinced by my bluff. ‘I can’t offer you anything in your field. But I could put a word in with Head Office, send across your CV to them. All our PR and communications roles are based there, and although I know there are no vacancies at the moment, something might come up. Staff turnover in the hotel industry is high.’

‘Wow, thanks, Aaron.’ It’s not a concrete lead, but the gesture and vote of confidence from him are so welcome at this stage. ‘I’d so appreciate that. Working for a luxury hotel brand would definitely be a great way of getting my CV back on track.’

‘It certainly would,’ he agrees. ‘I also wonder, to keep you in the black, as well as keeping a sense of routine and purpose, would you be interested in coming to work in the hotel temporarily? It would mean that you’d have a foot in the door and be making a name for yourself. Any role at Head Office that comes up would be advertised internally first, meaning you’d jump the queue so to speak – and be in early against the competition.’

‘Oh, right. Err… what did you have in mind?’ I know instantly that I’m not going to be filled with enthusiasm by what I’m about to hear.

‘I don’t have much by way of vacancies right now – there are plenty of casual workers around – but I do need an extra pair of hands in one of the bars.’

‘Bar work?’ I’m taken aback.

‘Yes,’ says Aaron. ‘It’s very busy and I’m about to lose a couple of part-time staff who are moving on. You could plug the gap for now?’

I take a moment to consider Aaron’s suggestion. It’s a kind offer and I can see some sense in what he’s saying, but this isn’t something I can do. I can’t afford to divert my energy away from my job hunt; even if it is only temporary. And would it just be that? It feels like it would be a big step backwards. What if taking him up on his offer inadvertently ended up throwing off my career plan? Long, unsociable hours wouldn’t mix well with trying to retain a sense of routine for the sake of interviews and job searching. I know this from experience, from the days of trying to juggle coursework on top of working thirty hours a week in the restaurant of the Old Town Hotel. I realise I need to play this very carefully. Aaron putting a good word in for me at their Head Office could be the key to my next positive career move, so I must avoid offending him.

‘Right… wow.’ I glug at my cappuccino, stalling for time. ‘Aaron, that’s quite an offer. Thank you. I think perhaps it’s best if I keep my focus on my job hunt for now. Anything else would be a distraction.’

‘You could just do a few nights a week.’ Aaron is eyeing me again. ‘That would still allow you plenty of time for your job hunt. Would keep days free for interviews as well.’

‘Yes, yes it would.’ I nod slowly, while trying to think of something to bolster my excuse. ‘But… I think Dylan said that there was some temping work going at his office if I needed some extra cash. Would probably be more suited to my skills, you know.’

‘Did he now?’ Aaron’s tone is deliberate as he takes his glasses off, and starts to polish them absent-mindedly. ‘Useful guy, this Dylan.’

I squirm a little in my seat.

‘That’s fine, Liv.’ Aaron puts his glasses back on and locks eyes with me. ‘Thought I’d make the offer. Just watch that stubborn pride of yours.’

‘It’s not that, honestly, it’s that Dylan—’

‘I know. You said.’ Aaron throws back the last of his coffee and gets up to leave. ‘Here’s my card. Send me your CV and I’ll forward it to Head Office.’

‘Great, I’ll do that.’ I take the business card from him. ‘Thanks again, Aaron.’

‘Nice to see you, Liv. And good luck with your temping.’ He gives me a knowing look and sweeps out of the café.

Chapter 5

‘You did what?’ Dylan aggressively stubs out his roll-up and stares at me in disbelief.

‘I politely declined his offer,’ I repeat.

‘Politely or not, what the bloody hell were you thinking, Squirt? The guy offers you a job and you turn him down? Now what’s he going to think of you?’

‘Don’t worry, I also told him I had another temporary option.’ I conveniently omit the fact that Aaron saw right through my fib.

‘But you don’t have another option.’ Dylan stares at me incredulously. ‘You don’t have any options, Liv.’

‘I don’t need you to remind me of that,’ I huff, as we make our way back inside my apartment from the balcony. ‘I’m perfectly aware of my situation.’

‘Are you though? Are you really? ’Cause from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re living in bloody la-la land.’

‘That’s not fair,’ I protest. ‘I’ve applied for loads of jobs. I’ve just been unlucky. Aaron even said so himself.’

‘Yeah, you have.’ Dylan helps himself to a beer from the fridge. ‘All the more reason to take an opportunity when it’s offered to you. When you gonna wake up?’

‘Dylan, I can’t take a bar job.’ I slump on the couch and put my hands on my head in frustration. ‘It’s such a step back.’

‘Will you listen to yourself?’ Dylan shakes his head as he sits down. ‘If you’re not careful you’re gonna turn into a right snob – that’s if you haven’t already.’

‘Hey, that’s harsh!’ I feel wounded, my usual resilience letting me down once again. ‘I just mean I don’t want to undo all the hard work I put in to building my career.’

‘Sorry,’ Dylan mutters. ‘Obviously I didn’t mean that. But you really do need to wake up. You told me your pay-out on leaving your job wasn’t up to much. How are you affording all this?’

‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’ I start to redden.

‘Have you even looked at your finances?’

‘Well, no.’ I screw up my nose. ‘But I’ll be all right.’

‘Are you serious? You have no idea at all.’ Dylan’s face is incredulous once again.

‘I was going to take a look in the next few days. Aaron made me realise I should probably do that.’

‘Do it now.’

‘What? No. I’m not doing it now. Let’s just have a chilled evening.’ I close my eyes and start to massage my temples to labour the point. ‘It’s been a long day.’

‘I don’t care. You need to do it now,’ Dylan persists.

‘Dylan, no. You can’t throw instructions around like that. I’m going to—’

‘I don’t believe you.’ He takes a frustrated swig from his beer. ‘You’re in total denial. If you don’t do it now, while I’m here, you won’t do it at all. And you’ll only discover the mess you’re in when it’s too late.’

‘You sound like Aaron.’ I sit up and survey Dylan in irritation. ‘You two are—’

‘What? Caring about you? Trying to look out for you? Someone’s got to. ’Cause you’re not doing a good job. Seriously. I’m not leaving till you’ve figured out where you’re at cash-flow-wise. If you don’t start now, I’ll take off my sweaty trainers and stick your face in them – just like I used to.’

‘Oh, Dylan, you are disgusting!’ I wail. ‘Fine! I’ll go and take a look if it will shut you up.’

‘Good decision.’ Dylan sits back on the couch, satisfied, and switches on Sky Sports. ‘I’ll be here when you’re done.’

Two hours later, I’m sitting at the large oak desk in my spare room, drowning in a sea of bills and credit card statements, my head in my hands once again.

This is so much worse than I thought. I realised I wouldn’t have an endless supply of cash to keep me going, but I thought it would last longer than this. I was still living on a salary for the first five weeks after leaving McArthur Cohen. So my pay-out has only actually been covering me financially for less than two months. I also thought I had way more savings, and I’ve completely overlooked a couple of credit cards, each with several hundred pounds on them. The true picture: I’m in the eye of a financial shitstorm, and the devastation is not far away.

‘How you getting on?’ Dylan appears at the door. ‘Football’s finished.’

‘Err… oh, fine. Yeah, it’s totally fine.’

I look up at him. He sees through me immediately.

‘What’s the damage?’ He sighs as he sits down on the dark blue sofa bed behind me. ‘And be honest. I don’t want any of your usual bullshit.’

I really don’t want to tell him. Saying the words out loud will make it all the more real, but I know I don’t have a choice.

‘Well… the summary is, if I keep spending at the rate I am currently, I have enough to cover this month and next, and then I’m out.’

Dylan lets out a low whistle. ‘That’s bad.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Think you might need to consider that Lidl gin after all.’

We look at each other and laugh weakly, then Dylan pats the sofa beside him.

‘Come and take me through it. And bring a pen and paper. I might not be a corporate hotshot like you, but I’m good at admin and I know my way around budget spreadsheets. Plus, I keep on top of my spending, unlike you.’

‘I didn’t need to keep on top of my spending with the job I had. My salary was…’ I trail off, realising I sound pathetic and irresponsible.

Plus, there’s no point in arguing: two heads are probably better than one to solve this most recent disaster. I obediently plonk myself down next to Dylan, laptop, notepad and pen in hand. He takes my laptop from me and I walk him through my financial expenditure and outgoings.

‘OK, Squirt.’ He says after a while. ‘There’s possibly a way to buy you a bit more time, but it’s gonna mean giving up some of your poncey shit, among other things.’

‘Fine.’ I wave my hand. ‘Name it. I’m too far up the creek to object.’

‘All right. For starters, there’s no way you need that much a month for new clothes – especially when you’re not even working just now. Zero that figure – just till you get a job. Go through that ridiculous wardrobe of yours and make the most of what you’ve already got. I could also sell some of your best designer labels on eBay if you want. You’d get a bit for them.’

‘Hmmm… we’ll see.’ I write a note about cutting out my clothing budget, and at the same time mentally cross the eBay idea off my list.

‘Next thing,’ says Dylan. ‘Cut your social budget by three-quarters. That’s another low priority for you right now. I can’t believe you’ve been spending that much while out of work.’

‘To be honest, I probably haven’t.’ I sigh, making another entry in my notepad. ‘Not in the last month or so. I haven’t been out much. It was just a ballpark figure.’

‘How come you haven’t been out?’ Dylan looks at me suddenly. ‘That’s not like you. And I’m willing to bet it’s not been out of a sense of financial responsibility.’

‘It’s nothing. Just forget it.’

‘Spit it out,’ he instructs me. ‘I hope Angina and the rest of the crew haven’t ditched you.’

‘It’s ANYA!’ I give him a frustrated look. ‘And no, they haven’t ditched me. They didn’t need to. It’s not been the same since I left. All they talk about is work stuff, and being out of work, I can’t join in the way I used to. Also, I… umm… kind of told them I had a fabulous new job.’

‘What? Why did you do that?’

I doodle on the notebook in front of me, too embarrassed to look up at him.

‘About six weeks ago, I just snapped. I was so fed up with my friends constantly asking if I had a job: trying to give me advice, like that’s the only thing in my world that matters. I was sick of hearing stories about other people who’d found themselves in my “situation”. It was totally humiliating. So, one night I just told them I had an amazing new job. They were all so impressed. It was great to feel validated. Like I was properly one of them again.’

‘OK, first—’ Dylan looks at me as if I’m crazy ‘—you don’t have to justify yourself to anyone. Especially not a bunch of poncey arseholes. Second, what you gonna do when they find out you lied? Where did you say your new job was?’

‘I didn’t.’ I shrug. ‘I said that I couldn’t say right now, because of political sensitivities in the company I was joining. I haven’t been out with them since. And Anya’s so preoccupied with Tom, I’ve barely heard from her. I figured it wouldn’t be long before a job came along that could dovetail nicely with my story…’

‘But it hasn’t worked out that way.’ Dylan finishes my sentence. ‘Funny that.’

‘I don’t need you to take the piss.’ I purse my lips.

‘You can hardly blame me.’ Dylan shakes his head. ‘The lengths you go to “fit in”. They don’t sound like particularly good friends to me. Not that I ever thought they were.’

‘They are,’ I protest. ‘They’re great friends. It’ll be fine. I’ve just got myself in a bit of a sticky position. Once I’m out of it and sorted with a new job, I’ll be able to get back to normal with them. I’ve created this problem myself.’

‘I can only half agree with that.’ Dylan shakes his head again and returns to the spreadsheet in front of him. ‘Now, mortgage, car payment, mobile contract, you can’t do anything about – they have to be paid. Changing utility supplier won’t save you much… Credit cards – are you on a zero per cent interest deal?’

‘No idea.’

‘I hope you are. No one’s gonna give you a new card right now, but write it down for the future.’

I sigh exasperatedly and make another note. ‘Maybe I should hire you as my accountant when I’m finally earning again.’

‘Might not be such a bad shout given the hole you’ve dug for yourself.’ He gives me a playful nudge. ‘You’ve not got a lot of savings, have you?’

‘Err… not as much as I thought.’ I redden. ‘Seems I’ve played a little harder than I realised.’

‘Not half.’ Dylan looks at the dwindling savings figures on the screen. ‘Liv, I’m sorry to say this, but for a smart girl, you’ve made a right arse of things. I’d have thought, given the upbringing you had – we both had – you’d have been more sensible with money. You were so desperate to leave the estate, and you managed it, reached the high life and all. But you’ve not even set yourself up an “insurance policy” in case things went south. That’s a totally basic error. You could have had about twenty-five grand put away by now, possibly more.’

It’s like a slap in the face as I realise he’s right. I’ve made a total mess of things; monthly salary frittered away on champagne and lavish meals, bonuses blown on exotic holidays. And what have I got left when I really need it? Nada.

‘Dylan, I’m screwed. I’m absolutely screwed. What am I going to do?’ I start to hyperventilate. ‘I’m an idiot.’

‘Ssshh, Squirt,’ he soothes while tapping away on Excel, doing some calculations. ‘You’re not totally stuffed yet. You have one final option.’

‘What?’ I look at him desperately.

‘You’re gonna to have to go suck up to Aaron, and beg for that bar job.’

I’m horrified. ‘I can’t do that!’

‘You can. And you need to.’ Dylan’s tone is soothing but firm. ‘I’ve worked it out. If you work in that bar full-time from next week, and stick to the other budget cuts I’ve suggested, you’ll stay afloat twice as long. It’s that or kiss your apartment, car, everything goodbye. Your choice.’

I take a deep shaky breath, realising he’s right. Another total humiliation; I may as well have a fluorescent sign over my head saying ‘loser’. I had it all – and worst of all, it’s mostly my own doing. Aaron’s offer is my only way out.

‘OK, fine,’ I say. ‘Let’s go to the hotel now. I’ve got some serious damage control to do. And an email’s not going to cut it.’

Dylan shakes his head in amusement. ‘How do you know he’ll even be in the hotel right now? It was yesterday you met him.’

‘I don’t. But he was always around when I worked for him before – bit of a workaholic.’ I shut down my laptop. ‘Oh, one more thing…’

‘What’s that?’

‘Can we stop at Lidl on the way home?’

‘That’s my girl!’ Giving me an affectionate thump on the back that leaves me slightly winded, Dylan leaps off the sofa bed. ‘Let’s go.’

Chapter 6

A short time later I’m standing huddled with Dylan under an umbrella in the drizzling rain, directly across the road from the Mayfield Hotel. Having taken a bus from my apartment to the hotel, which is situated on the fringes of the city centre, just into the south side, we’ve been swallowed whole by the Edinburgh rush hour. The passing commuters rush along the pavement on either side of us: keen to get home after a hard day at the office.

For a few moments, we just take in the hotel’s grand, red sandstone exterior, and row of regal white flag posts sporting the national colours of several countries, boasting the hotel brand’s global reach. Two impeccably dressed porters stand either side of the swanky hotel entrance, and off to the left the hotel chauffeur is standing outside a stretched black limousine, hands behind his back, obviously awaiting the arrival of some wealthy guests. Having stayed in a few luxury hotels over recent years, I’m partial to the beautiful surroundings and the feeling of indulgence and elegance that comes with being a guest.

What I’m not used to, is being on the other side of the bar. I cringe slightly as I imagine what that will feel like.

‘Wowsers.’ Dylan lets out a whistle beside me. ‘This place is bangin’. We going in?’

‘Yes… I guess we are.’ I glance at him, then look him up and down. ‘Actually, would you mind waiting here? Or in that sports bar?’ I point along the street.

‘Oh, I get it.’ Dylan looks down at his outfit. ‘Too scruffy for this type of establishment, am I?’

‘Actually, yes.’ I make no apology. ‘You’re wearing your manky trainers, as you called them earlier, and jeans with holes in them. And don’t even get me started on your T-shirt.’

‘It’s statement.’ He looks offended.

‘It’s making a statement all right. An obscene one.’

‘Fine,’ he grumbles and pushes up his nose with the tip of his finger. ‘I’ll just have to make sure I put on my coat tails when I come to visit you at your work.’

‘Ha ha.’ I put on a fake laugh. ‘Now away you go, before I change my mind about this.’

Dylan skulks off down the street as I take a deep breath and cross the road. The doormen greet me as I approach the entrance; one of them opens the door for me.

‘Evening, madam.’ He gives a little half-bow.

‘Evening.’ I smile politely, thinking miserably that that’s probably the first and last time that will happen here – it’ll be the staff entrance from now on, if I haven’t already burned my opportunity.

As I enter the hotel, I’m immediately aware of an enticing fragrance: a seductive blend of coffee, chocolate and cinnamon. As I breathe it in, almost hungrily, I become aware of my surroundings. Soft classical music plays at a volume that’s just enough to add to the atmosphere, without being intrusive. The immaculate black and white foyer is modern and minimalistic, with just a few abstract sculptures presented on tall narrow white columns peppered around the floor. It reminds me a little of a chessboard – a very high class one. But this certainly isn’t the game I want to be playing today. Reluctantly, I approach the long reception desk.

‘Good evening, ma’am.’ An attractive woman wearing what is obviously the hotel uniform greets me. ‘Welcome to the Mayfield Hotel. My name is Jiang. How may I help you?’

‘Hi.’ I force a smile in return. ‘I’m here to see Aaron, the General Manager.’

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘Err… no I don’t, but I met him yesterday, and I was hoping I could have a quick word.’

‘No problem, ma’am.’ The woman smiles politely. ‘I’ll see if he’s available. May I take your name?’

‘It’s Liv. Liv Hamilton.’

‘Thank you, Ms Hamilton. Just one moment, please.’ She lifts the phone and pushes a button that must be a direct dial to Aaron’s office.

There’s an immediate answer.

‘Mr Gardiner?’ the receptionist addresses him. ‘I have someone at reception asking to see you… a Ms Hamilton… Ms Liv Hamilton… no problem, thank you, sir, I’ll let her know.’

She hangs up the phone.

‘He’ll be down in a moment. He said he was expecting you.’ She smiles, assuming this is good news.

He was expecting me? My heart starts to pound. He knew this would happen. As if it isn’t humiliating enough, having to come and grovel for a job, he probably had a sweepstake running on how long it would take me. He’s certainly played a blinder of a first move. My face burning. I turn away from the receptionist and consider whether to do a runner. I’m like a rabbit caught. If I run for it, I’ll get it in the neck from Dylan, and if I stay, it’ll be Aaron making a meal of me.

Despite my desperation, I realise the better option is to stay and face the humiliation from Aaron. If I endure that, I have some hope of keeping a roof over my head.

‘Liv. Good to see you.’ Aaron suddenly sweeps into the reception area from nowhere, looking – in my opinion – just a little bit too smug. ‘Let’s go have a chat, shall we?’

Offering him an uncomfortable smile, I obediently follow Aaron up a large, sweeping staircase, aware of the receptionist’s eyes on us as we go. I glance back for a moment and offer her a brief smile, all too aware that I may be her colleague in just a few days’ time. She beams at me in return.

Aaron silently leads me down a corridor to a large office that has his name, along with ‘General Manager’, engraved on a metal plaque on the door. Opening the door, he ushers me inside and then closes it behind us.

‘Please take a seat.’ He gestures to a chair in front of his desk, and then retreats behind it to sit in his own.

I sit down gingerly.

‘So, what can I do for you, Liv?’ His tone is brisk; he bobs a little in his seat, his hands clasped together in anticipation.

Is he kidding? He knows damn well why I’m here.

‘I… err… assume you know why I’ve come to see you.’ I awkwardly pull my hair with my thumb and forefinger. ‘The receptionist said you were expecting me.’

‘I said that?’ He looks surprised, but I can see a slight glint in his eye.

He’s not going to give me an easy ride. And after the way I fobbed him off the day before, I can’t really blame him. I’m just going to have to suck it up and play the game.

‘OK, well… the reason I’m here is… after meeting you yesterday, I did some sums and realised that I’m not as comfortable financially as I originally thought. You know, it’s probably best if I think ahead.’

‘How long till you go under?’ Aaron appraises me knowingly, leaving a gaping hole in my line of pawns.

‘About two months.’ I look at the floor in embarrassment.

‘Can Dylan not help you out?’ Unapologetically, he goes straight for my queen.

‘No.’ I continue playing with my hair.

‘What about the temping job?’

‘You know fine well there was no temping job.’ I look up at him in frustration. ‘Please don’t make this any more humiliating for me than it needs to be.’

‘Why, Liv?’ He cocks his head to one side. ‘If I make it uncomfortable for you to come back to me, then maybe one day you’ll learn to take some help on first offer. It was exactly the same when you were a student.’

And that’s checkmate. I realise I can’t argue with his logic.

‘OK, fine. I hear you.’ I force myself to look him in the eye. ‘Aaron, I’m sorry I brushed you off yesterday. If it’s still available, I’d like to take the job in the bar. As close to full-time as possible. Though I’ll still need to be able to get to interviews as and when they come up.’

Aaron fixes his eyes on me. ‘Liv, don’t ever apologise to me. I don’t have a damaged ego that needs massaging. I just want you to learn to help yourself. There’s no shame in asking for support. You deserve another chance. You deserve to be successful. And I’m sure you will be again…’

‘Thanks,’ I mumble. ‘Here’s hoping.’

‘So, in the words of Sir Alan,’ Aaron continues, ‘you’re hired. You can start on Monday – the quieter part of the week – to ease you in gently.’

‘Thanks, Aaron.’ I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Really, you have no idea.’

‘I think I do. More than you realise.’

Surprised by his comment, I look at him expectantly, wondering if he’s about to share more, but the glimmer of compassion I just witnessed is already gone. It would be inappropriate to probe further.

‘Right, come on then.’ Aaron jumps out of his chair. ‘I’ll give you the grand tour.’

‘OK, great.’ He seems so enthusiastic, I almost forget this is a job I don’t actually want.

Aaron leads me round the hotel like I’m his little dog, striding a few steps ahead of me at all times. I try to keep up, but his legs are too long, leaving me to trot along behind him. We revisit reception where I’m properly introduced to Jiang, the receptionist I spoke to when I first arrived, as well as two of her colleagues. Aaron shows me a guest room and a suite, so I can get a feel for the hotel, as well as taking me on a tour of the plush leisure club, the two restaurants, into the kitchen – bursting with delicious foodie aromas – to meet the chefs, and briefly through housekeeping.

We then enter a traditional-style bar called The Library, which is decked out with huge comfy sofas and armchairs, elegant oak tables, and has a long mural on the back wall of shelves and shelves of books, making it look just like a library; it’s a beautifully peaceful room that actually smells a bit like a library (in a good way). However, to my disappointment, the average age of punter seems rather high, and it appears to be extremely lacking on the entertainment front. This could be one easy – but boring – job.

‘So, this is where I’ll be working then.’ I look around me, pretending to be pleased.

‘No, Liv. I can’t see you working in here, can you?’ He looks at me curiously.

‘Err… is that a trick question?’ I’m careful not to create any further problems for myself.

‘No, it’s not. We actually have three bars here. I’ve saved the one you’ll be working in for last.’

He summons me to follow him, walking me through a second bar that feels much more up my street. It’s small and intimate, oozing class, with a pianist plinging away, creating beautiful marshmallowy melodies at a white piano in the corner.

‘Ooh, a champagne bar,’ I coo. ‘How did I not know this was here?’

‘It’s for residents only, as is The Library,’ says Aaron. ‘We get some very exclusive guests in here, including some household names. They need somewhere private to enjoy their tipple, so we provided these restricted spaces for them. This is called The Hideaway.’

‘Good name.’ I nod my approval. ‘Who comes to stay here? Go on, I bet I know them. I’m well versed on all celebrities, A through Z.’

Aaron gives me a withering look. ‘This is probably the point where I should share the cardinal hotel rule with you, Liv. All staff in this hotel are expected to be discreet. We do not approach the guests other than to serve them, we certainly don’t ask for autographs or selfies, and in no circumstances is it acceptable to tip off the paparazzi about anything that goes on here. We only hire staff who understand and abide by that rule. I know I don’t need to be concerned about you for a second, do I?’

‘No. Definitely not.’ I feel stupid for my earlier comment.

‘Good.’ He gives me his best deranged-serial-killer look. ‘Let’s go take a look at where you’ll be working.’

I scuttle along behind him as we cross to the other side of the hotel and take a glass lift to the ground floor.

‘He we are.’ Aaron leads me out of the lift, across the foyer and through a set of doors into a huge modern-looking bar with a very modern, chic feel to it. It’s laid out like an auditorium, with a curved bar where a stage would be, and steps leading away on a very gentle gradient, branching off to individual ‘floors’ on either side. Each seating area is spacious, but with just a handful of tables, offering a feeling of privacy and exclusivity. The lighting is medium-level with purplish, strategically positioned LEDs, creating a moody, funky kind of atmosphere. Strip lighting on the steps adds to the cinematic feel, as does the beat of the bass-heavy music pumping out the surround sound speakers. At the bar, the bottles sit on white LED lighting, giving them an eerie, but enticing kaleidoscopic glow.

‘Wow!’ I’m speechless for a second. ‘This place is incredible. Is this where I’ll be working then?’

‘This is it.’ Aaron nods. ‘Our gin bar: Amethyst. It’s brand new, been open for just over a month. It’s the only bar that’s open to the public. We only recently took the decision to do that, and it’s very popular and busy already.’

‘I’m not surprised.’ I’m in awe, but also disappointed that this will be my place of work rather than my playground. ‘Gin is the in thing these days.’

‘Ah, Reyes. Good timing,’ Aaron calls across to a young woman who’s just entered the bar with a sack of ice. ‘Come and meet your new colleague.’

‘Hola, Mister Gardiner.’ She deposits the bag behind the bar and casually wanders round to join us.

She has silky, dark, shoulder-length hair, Mediterranean sun-kissed skin and pistachio green eyes: strikingly beautiful in a non-classic way.

‘And who is this?’ she asks in a thick Spanish accent, offering me a friendly wink.

‘This, Reyes, is an ex-employee of mine from several years ago.’ Aaron gestures towards me. ‘Meet Liv.’

‘Nice to meet you, Liv.’ Reyes offers me her hand, which I shake a bit too corporately, forgetting where I am. ‘You know he is slave diver, right?’

‘Yes, I guess I do.’ I smile, resisting the urge to correct her turn of phrase.

‘There’s nothing I do better.’ Aaron grins maniacally, as he towers over the two of us like a socially awkward pine tree.

Reyes and I simultaneously roll our eyes, then laugh.

‘When do you start?’ she asks me.

‘Monday, it seems.’ I look up at Aaron, who nods confirmation.

‘Fantastico! You will work with me. Great to have another chica on the team; I have been outnumbering recently.’ She smiles in such an open and friendly way, the dread of my first day, that’s already been steadily building up, erodes ever so slightly.

‘Reyes, how about you give Liv a quick tour of the bar, show her how things work, so it’s not totally alien when she comes in on Monday?’ Aaron suggests.

‘Sure,’ she says. ‘No problemo, Mister Gardiner.’

With Reyes’s accent being so strong, she pronounces it meester. It’s very endearing; I find myself warming to her immediately.

‘Come with me, Liv.’ She beckons me, similarly mispronouncing my name as Leev. ‘I can show you everything.’

‘Thanks, Aaron.’ I turn to him. ‘I really appreciate this. I owe you one – once again. If it weren’t for you, I’d be in it knee-deep.’

‘You’re welcome. And no, you don’t.’ His tone is a bit stiff, betraying his discomfort in dealing with my gratitude. ‘I’ll leave you here then. Reyes can sort you out with a uniform and give you the details for the Responsible Service of Alcohol online learning, which you must complete before you start on Monday. We’ll reimburse you for the cost through your pay. Come in for 4 p.m. on Monday and Clara can do your induction before your shift starts at 5 p.m.’

‘Clara?’

‘The Bars Manager.’

‘OK, sure. Bye then.’

‘I’ll check on you next week.’ Aaron nods at me and sweeps out of the bar.

I start to follow Reyes, who hangs back and links arms with me companionably. I’m a bit shocked at first, but I can see that this is just her nature; she’s treating me as she would anyone, so I try to relax and just go with it.

‘He is funny one, Mister Gardiner.’ She chats away casually. ‘He is very caring, it is clear, but he does not know how to show it.’

‘Yes.’ I nod agreement. ‘He’s certainly a bit difficult to read at times.’

‘We’re going to have so much fun, you and me.’ She casts me a slightly wicked sideways look as we head behind the bar and into the bottle store at the back.

Despite all my misgivings about this being a step down, and my misery that this not at all what I should be doing at this point in my life, I actually almost believe her.

‘You took your time.’ Dylan barely glances at me as I join him in the almost empty sports bar, his eyes glued to the football. ‘Good news then, I assume?’

‘If you consider working behind a bar till all hours, instead of continuing to nurture my hard-earned career good news, then yes, I suppose it is.’ I slump down in the seat next to him and exhale theatrically.

Dylan tears his eyes away from the screen, scrutinises my downtrodden face and then shouts across to the barman.

‘Gin and tonic for the lady, mate. Looks like she needs it quick.’

The middle-aged barman throws Dylan an I’m-not-your-bloody-servant look, which Dylan misses completely, having sneaked back to the football momentarily, before forcing himself to focus fully on me.

‘So, you got the job. That’s great.’ He squeezes my shoulder supportively. ‘It’s not forever, Squirt. Just to top you up till you do get your career back on track.’

The barman places my drink in front of me.

‘Thanks.’ I give him an appreciative and apologetic look, take a big slug of my gin and tonic, then turn to Dylan. ‘I know, but I can’t help feeling that my “career” is slipping further away.’

‘You can’t think that way,’ says Dylan. ‘You’re the most successful person I know. You’re the only one – other than me – who’s moved away from the estate. And you’ve really made something of yourself. One tiny setback isn’t a big deal. If I had the CV you have – gap or no gap – I’d be well proud. You’re gonna be all right. You just need to keep fighting on.’

‘I’ll keep trying, of course I will.’ I sigh. ‘Nothing will take away my drive and determination long-term – that’s hard-coded in me. But each rejection chips away that little bit more of my confidence.’

‘Aww, Squirt. I really wish I could help you.’ Dylan pulls me into a sideways hug that I don’t even have the energy to resist. ‘At least you have some more time to sort things out now.’

‘I know. I’m fine. It is what it is.’ I shrug. ‘I just need to keep going. I do have more time, as you say. That’s the main thing. I’ll keep applying for anything in my field that comes up…’

I trail off thoughtfully and we sit in companionable silence watching the players on the screen kick the ball around the pitch.

‘One good thing actually,’ I say eventually, ‘is that it looks like one of my bar colleagues is really nice. A bit over-friendly, perhaps, but she seems fun. Hopefully that’ll take the sting out of things.’

‘There you go.’ Dylan seems encouraged by this tiny morsel of optimism. ‘That’s a positive. Keep thinking that way and you’ll be fine.’

‘Yeah, you’re right. I need positivity.’ I sit up straight to affirm this. ‘Hey, you never know, maybe a job at Head Office will come up quickly and I’ll only be in the bar for a few weeks.’

‘Exactly. Maybe Aaron’s already working on that for you. So, is she hot, this new mate of yours?’

‘She’s not my mate. She’s a colleague.’ I give him a faux scathing look. ‘But, yes, she is – very beautiful actually. She’s Spanish. Probably a couple of years younger than me.’

‘Ding ding.’ Dylan’s eyes light up. ‘Might need to get my coat tails on sooner than I thought.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ I warn him. ‘The last thing I need is to lose another job because you’ve gotten drunk and disorderly, and been thrown out for perving on the bar staff.’

‘Hey.’ Dylan looks hurt. ‘I can scrub up when I need to.’

‘Well, you’ll definitely need to if you’re coming anywhere near that place – and I’m sorry but the earring will have to go. It’s proper high level – more so than the bars I’ve taken you to.’

‘You’ll fit right in then, won’t you?’ He gives me a huffy look. ‘You and your poncey arse.’

Chapter 7

Four days later, I’m standing miserably in front of the full-length mirror in the hotel’s dingy, rather stale-smelling staff changing rooms: nothing like the plush environment of the main hotel. I survey my bar uniform with four parts dismay, one part approval. The only saving grace – a slight release from mourning my previous beautifully tailored corporate wardrobe – is that I can’t help thinking my current outfit is a little bit stylish. Ankle-grazing black leggings and a chic, figure-enhancing purple tunic top with three-quarter-length sleeves; the bar name, Amethyst, emblazoned down the left side of the tunic, created from tiny white and purple diamanté stones and black stitching. On inspection, I’m surprised to see it’s actually made by a well-known, up-and-coming designer clothing label. At least they have damn good taste in this hotel.

It’s a short-lived boost, however. My mind creeps back to my impending shift and I’m flooded with dread. Thankful as I am to Aaron for saving my arse, and as lovely as Reyes may seem, this is not what I want – at all. I long for my shiny mahogany desk at McArthur Cohen, my comfortable, perfectly adjusted chair. I desperately miss the vibrant, buzzy cosmopolitan view from my window upon which I would gaze wistfully whenever I needed some additional inspiration. The tap-tap-tappity-tap of keyboards in the room, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee; being at meetings where we talked strategic concepts, discussed innovative ideas, reviewed progress, risks, issues, everything. I was at home there: climbing, achieving, and making it. It was my everything. How has it ended up like this?

The sense of loss for my old life swamps me, even more than when I was out of work. At least I was still then a communications and PR professional; one who was ‘between jobs’. Now I feel I’ve lost that identity altogether. It’s just temporary, Dylan keeps telling me, but the fear has already set in. What if that’s it? What if I can never get my foot back in the corporate door – slammed in my faced and some bastard has changed the locks? What if this is now it?

You’re not that hotshot professional anymore. You’re unemployed and barely employable.

The voice eats me up; goading and jeering at me, upsetting my breathing pattern. I suddenly feel completely overwhelmed and panicky as another wave of despair engulfs me.

Just as I’m deliberating whether to slip away and pretend this ‘bad dream’ never happened (while simultaneously beginning the countdown to my apartment being repossessed), the door to the changing rooms is flung open and Reyes bounds inside.

‘Hola, Liv! Welcome to hell!’ She laughs loudly. ‘I am kidding.’

She pronounces it keeding; with no idea how close her joke brings me to scarpering through the slowly closing door, like a terrified mouse. As if to seal my imprisonment, the faulty door closer causes it to suddenly slam shut. I flinch at the unexpected bang.

‘Hey, are you OK, Liv?’ Reyes darts forward towards me. ‘I was just joking. It is not hell. It is great. The staff areas are not as good, and the food in the canteen is terrible, yes, but this place, it has great people, great spirit. You will be happy here, I know this.’

I look at her with wide eyes, a fear she knows nothing of etched across my face. She simply takes me by the hand and leads me to one of the changing benches.

‘Please, sit down. You are white.’

‘I… err… I’m fine,’ I say finally. ‘Just feeling a bit queasy. Must be something I ate.’

I take some slow deep breaths to calm myself. Reyes sits quietly beside me while I recover. After a few minutes, I get to my feet.

‘OK, I think I’m ready to go.’

‘You are sure?’ Reyes peers at me. ‘You still do not look good. You could go home and start tomorrow instead?’

As appealing as delaying the inevitable sounds, I know I have to do this, or I’ll lose my nerve completely.

‘I’m fine, honestly.’ I give her an appreciative look. ‘Let’s do this.’

We get up and walk through to the bar area, which thankfully is empty.

‘So, you remember what I show you last week?’ Reyes queries.

‘Yes, I do, thanks,’ I confirm.

‘That’s good.’ Reyes starts to empty the glass washer and I pitch in to help her. ‘I am sorry to tell you this when you do not feel good, but I must warn you about the one bad thing here – so you can protect yourself.’

‘What’s that?’ I’m unsure if I can take anything more.

‘The beast.’ Reyes’s face is serious.

‘The what?’ I look at her, perplexed.

‘The beast,’ she repeats in a lower voice. ‘Amir, our other bar colleague, create that name.’

I start to wonder if I’ve wandered into a children’s fairy tale.

‘What’s the—’

I’m immediately cut off by a swoosh of air from the door to the bar suddenly opening and closing, and the instantaneous voluminous presence of a young woman in a suit. She’s a lot taller and younger than Reyes and me, with long legs, an athletic figure and cropped dark hair. Her facial features are attractive, but emphasised a little too sharply by her hairstyle. She also has an unfortunately pointy nose.

‘You must be Liv. I’m Clara, the Bars Manager.’ She sticks her hand out, almost aggressively, across the bar and I shake it, my habitual corporate style this time feeling far more fitting.

‘Hi, Clara. Nice to meet you.’ I smile at her politely, then glance across to Reyes who theatrically mouths ‘the beast’ at me, before quickly breaking into a fake smile as Clara’s eyes land on her.

‘I’ve prepared your induction.’ Clara’s demeanour is stiff and overly professional. ‘Follow me and we’ll get started.’

‘OK, sure.’ I make my way out from behind the bar to join Clara, who’s already ascending the steps two at a time towards the back of the bar.

I look round to give Reyes a little wave as I go and find her doing an impression of a fierce animal, her hands raised baring pretend claws, her face contorted in a vicious-looking, but silent, roar. I give her a desperate look and find myself having to stifle a laugh.

‘Right, here we are.’ Clara stops next to one of the trendy white bar tables with a stack of folders on it. ‘Take a seat and we’ll get started.’

I slowly sit down on the comfortable purple fabric chair, which is more armchair than bar seat.

‘So, Aaron tells me you’re going to be working full-time.’

‘That’s right.’ I nod.

‘I can’t say I’m happy about him just hiring into my area like that, without even consulting me,’ she continues. ‘But he seems to think you’re good, so I guess we’re stuck with each other.’

Caught off guard by the harshness of her words, I scrutinise Clara’s face, trying to work out if she’s joking. She’s not. I say nothing.

‘Bar experience-wise, you have how many years?’ She asks as she pores over my CV.

‘None. But I worked for Aaron as a restaurant supervisor when I was at university. He was the Food and Beverage Manager at the Old Town Hotel. It was years ago.’

When you were about ten, I think to myself.

‘Right.’ She screws up her face in disapproval. ‘Your experience is pretty out of date then. And almost irrelevant. Do you even know about the Responsible Service of Alcohol online learning? You can’t start work here without doing that first.’ She sits back in her seat smugly, thinking she’s caught me out.

‘Yes, I do. And I have.’ I pull the folded-up printed completion certificate out of my apron pocket and hand it to her.

She snatches it from me and examines it, then casts it aside. ‘You’ll certainly never have used a Waiter Pad.’

‘A what?’ I ask.

‘A Waiter Pad. An electronic device for taking drinks orders.’

‘I have an iPad,’ I offer. ‘I assume the technology is not that different. Not rocket science.’

Clara glances up from my CV, giving me a scathing look. ‘It’s not quite the same, Liv.’ Her voice is intentionally patronising. ‘You’ll need training to use it. In fact, you’ll need training in everything.’

She exhales loudly as she makes a note in her notepad. I’m stunned by her behaviour. This woman is a manager of people? She’s barely human herself. How the hell did she get that job acting like this?

‘I see you’ve been working in the corporate world till recently. At McArthur Cohen. That’s a prestigious name. Why did you leave?’ She eyes me suspiciously.

Who the hell does she think she is? My hackles start to rise. She’s not inducting me, she’s interviewing me. And from the looks of things, it seems she’s looking for a reason to not to keep me on. I’ve dealt with her type before. The key is to stay calm and let their derision wash over you. Their problem, not mine.

‘Mutual agreement.’ I decide to stick to my script. ‘There was a company restructure and I took the opportunity to go as I was looking for a move anyway. This is a temporary role for me to get some extra cash while I continue my job search.’

Clara’s face instantly clouds with annoyance. ‘Does Aaron know this? I’m sure he wouldn’t have agreed to take you on if he’d known you’re just going to skip off as soon as something better comes along.’

‘Actually, he does.’ I smile at her tightly. ‘And he didn’t agree to take me on, he offered me this temporary work.’

I can almost see the steam rising from Clara’s ears as she furiously makes another note in her notebook. ‘The beast’. Really rather apt. Well done, Amir, whoever you are.

‘Right, well.’ Clara sniffs. ‘Let’s get your departmental induction and hotel tour done. You can go on the formal company induction next week – bit of a waste if you’re only stopping by. Reyes can do your behind-the-bar training.’

‘I’ve already had the tour, so you can cross that one off.’ I’m keen to spend as little time with Clara as possible. ‘Aaron showed me around last week.’

A personal tour by Aaron is obviously the final insult for Clara. She snaps her notebook shut and, still fuming, starts to run me through essential departmental information. By the time she’s done, I’ve only heard, and taken in, a fraction of what she’s said. But I have developed, in my head, a full technicolour adaptation of how, given the chance, I would inflict the slowest and most painful death possible upon her. This beast needs to be slain.

‘She’s not just fierce,’ I say to Reyes as we’re stocking the bar fridges a little while later. ‘She’s vile. I can’t believe the way she spoke to me. And what is she, like twelve?’

‘She is twenty-two.’ Reyes laughs. ‘I know. It was a shock for me too. My husband and I come here to live for a couple of years to have different cultural experience – and it is very different experience working for Clara. I did think to leave and find other work, but the pay is good for a hotel and so are the tips. And also, the people, as I say. Everyone, except the beast.’

‘Why would Aaron hire someone as a manager who behaves like that?’ I’m still bewildered by this. ‘He’s awkward himself, a bit of a smug bastard at times, sure, but he’s not offensive, nor malicious. I didn’t think he’d accept behaviour like that.’

‘You think that the beast speaks to Aaron like us?’ Reyes hoots. ‘No way! She is clever. With Aaron she is like butter that would not spread.’

‘You mean melt.’ I giggle.

‘Huh?’ Reyes looks confused.

‘The saying is: she acts like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. You mean she’s all angelic with him, right?’

‘Ah, yes! That is it, exactly.’ Reyes grins broadly. ‘She is a real jacket and hype.’

‘You mean Jekyll and Hyde!’ My giggles turn into full-on laughter.

‘You are good at this.’ Reyes looks impressed.

Her naivety is adorable, making me laugh even more.

‘What’s so funny?’ A voice comes out of nowhere, causing the two of us to snap to attention, immediately silenced.

Thankfully, it’s not Clara. It’s a man wearing a similar outfit to her. And he’s absolutely gorgeous: broad and muscular, with mid-brown hair and the most amazing smouldering eyes and chiselled jawline.

‘Oh… err… sorry. It’s nothing. Nothing at all.’ I let out a loud involuntary snigger.

Mortified at my own behaviour, I turn away briefly to compose myself.

‘Didn’t sound like nothing. Come on, share the joke.’ He gives us a dazzling smile, displaying a row of perfect sparkling white teeth.

Although I realise his manner is nothing like Clara’s, I don’t know him. Since I can’t trust my unwanted hysteria not to return, I stay quiet and gaze around me, silent.

‘It is a chica thing, Josh. You do not understand.’ Reyes jumps in to save me. ‘This is Liv. She just started today.’

‘Hi, Liv.’ Josh shakes my hand firmly, but in a friendly manner. ‘Good to meet you. Welcome to the team.’

‘Thanks.’ I blush a little, feeling like an exhibition piece as his eyes linger on me just a little too long. ‘What department do you work in?’

‘I’m the Operations Manager. So, basically, all over.’ He sweeps his arm out to illustrate his point, giving me just the slightest teasing taste of the bulging bicep underneath his shirtsleeve.

‘Right. Great.’ I offer him my best supermodel pout to ensure that’s what he remembers, rather than the inelegant guffaw he witnessed when he first walked in. ‘I guess we’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other then.’

‘I certainly hope so.’ He raises an eyebrow at me then turns to Reyes. ‘Everything all right for this evening?’

‘Yes, all ready.’ Reyes nods confirmation. ‘We are about to start the basic training. Liv will do the easy drinks tonight and I train her on cocktails tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Sounds good. Thanks, Reyes.’ Josh gives her a wink and starts to walk out the bar. ‘Have a good evening, ladies.’

As soon as the door closes behind him, Reyes turns to me excitedly.

‘You like him! I can feel this.’

‘Who wouldn’t?’ I give her an incredulous look. ‘He’s incredible. I can’t remember the last time I came across a man that smoking hot. Don’t tell me you don’t see it – even if you are married.’

My eyes land on the huge diamond ring on her finger, which sparkles alluringly.

‘Wow, that’s some ring!’ I grab her hand. ‘That must be a carat, at least.’

‘You are correct.’ Reyes examines her ring adoringly. ‘What about you, Liv? You are not married?’

‘No way.’ I shake my head deliberately. ‘I don’t have time for men in my life.’

‘Not even a man like Josh?’ She gives me a wicked look. ‘With all his charming and his muscles.’

‘Definitely not. My rule is to enjoy looking, but not to touch. They never turn out to be as good as the fantasy anyway.’

‘Aww, Chica.’ Reyes offers me a sympathetic look. ‘I am thinking you have been hurt, yes?’

‘Who hasn’t?’ I screw up my nose, then properly consider her question. ‘It’s complicated. They just don’t seem to be able to understand or accept my level of ambition. I want to be a top communications and PR executive, to be running my own business.’

‘This will be good, I can see that.’ Reyes shrugs. ‘A big achieving. Lots of money…’

I’m relieved that she doesn’t question how I’m going to fulfil that particular life goal by working in a bar.

‘But there is more to life than work and money,’ she continues. ‘Travel, love, family and experiencing happiness – that is what I think important.’

‘I guess that must be where we differ then.’ I smile at her.

‘I think you are right. But we can still be amigas.’ She gives me a playful nudge. ‘And I can work on you.’

‘No chance.’ I shake my head. ‘I’m on a one-way path. Nothing will change that.’

As I say this, the creeping doubts over my ability to fulfil my dream start to intrude into my consciousness. I give my head a firm shake to scatter them and send them scurrying back to where they came from.

‘Nothing will change that,’ I repeat, more for my own benefit than for Reyes.

‘We will see.’ Reyes’s eyes glint mischievously, as she pulls out the bar training manual from a cupboard under the sink.

Chapter 8

A few hours later, the dimly lit bar is half full and the orders have been coming in steadily. A smooth funky beat pounds through the speakers, peppered with lively chat and sporadic peals of laughter from the punters. It may only be Monday, but the vibe almost rivals a Friday night party atmosphere. Reyes and I have been joined by Amir, who is doing table service, sending in orders via the Waiter Pad and delivering the trays of drinks we make up. After a series of abysmal attempts to pull pints, I have been relegated to spirits and mixers, and bottled drinks.

‘You are good, Chica?’ Reyes shouts over to me, as I’m making up two double Teasmith’s gins with Fever-Tree tonic and a Tanqueray No. 10 with slimline, to add to a handful of gin cocktails that Reyes has been mixing.

‘Yeah, fine,’ I call back, flustered. ‘Nearly done.’

Despite having by far the more complex part of the two orders we’re working on, Reyes has her drinks ready before me. Between faffing around trying to find the right glasses, and taking an inordinate amount of time locating the right gins from the array of bottles in the bar, I’ve completely failed the efficiency test.

‘Done.’ I breathlessly plonk the drinks on the waiting tray, which is instantly whipped away and delivered to the waiting tables by Amir. ‘What’s next?’

‘Next. You breathe,’ Reyes instructs me. ‘We have no more orders for now.’

I lean on the bar and let out an enormous sigh.

‘This is exhausting, Reyes. I’d totally forgotten how much energy is required for a job like this. It’s only been busy for a couple of hours and already I’m done. My feet are insanely painful!’

‘Aww, Chica. I am sorry. This is not busy at all. Wait till the weekend.’

‘That’s not what I need to hear – at all,’ I whine.

‘You go for your break now,’ says Reyes. ‘Have some resting time.’

‘Are you sure? I could actually do with a breather.’ I give her a grateful look. ‘Sorry, I’ll get better, I promise.’

‘It is fine. You go.’ Reyes blows me a little kiss. ‘I know you will be better. You just need time and some more training. Now, go!’

I head out of the bar to the staff area, to retrieve my phone from my locker. As I press the home button and the screen illuminates, I see I have a Messenger message from Dylan from an hour before.

How’s your first shift going?

I quickly tap out a response.

Awful. Horrible. Exhausting. Boss from hell. Hate you for making me do this!

He replies almost instantly.

Glad it’s going well.

Irritated by his response, I quickly compose and send another message.

What part of that made you think it’s going well?? I hate it!!

Annoyed, I shove my phone in my tunic pocket, leave the changing rooms and wander down the corridor; unsure of where to go or what to do. As I walk, I feel a buzz on my hip and pull out my phone again. Another message from Dylan.

You’re still there, so it’s going well. :) Still good for lunch tomorrow?

‘Arrghh, sod off, Dylan!’ I shout at my phone.

My words echo through the long, empty corridor.

‘You all right, Liv?’ A voice unexpectedly comes from behind me, causing me to jump.

My shock quickly turns to humiliation on realising that the voice belongs to Josh.

‘Oh… hi!’ I swivel round on the spot and beam at him, planting my previous pout back on my face. ‘Didn’t see you there… Have you been there long?’

‘Long enough.’ He chuckles. ‘Lovers’ tiff?’

‘What, that? No, not at all.’ My face is starting to burn. ‘Just, err… stupid voice recognition on my phone. Can’t seem to get a signal.’ I wave my phone around to emphasise my fib.

‘Interesting name for a device personal assistant.’ He eyes me curiously.

‘Hmmm…’ I pretend to be distracted by my phone signal to try and curb the conversation.

‘Are you on your break?’ Josh asks me.

‘Yes, actually.’ I look at him. ‘Is there anywhere I can sit for a bit?’

‘Yeah, there’s a staff canteen. Has no one shown you where it is?’

‘No, but that’s probably because Aaron showed me around the other day. I skipped the tour with Clara, so maybe I haven’t seen everything.’

‘You skipped the tour with Clara?’ His smouldering chestnut eyes are filled with amusement. ‘How did that go down?’

I regard him awkwardly, unsure. He’s given me a sense that he knows what a nightmare she is, but I’ve only just met this guy. What if it’s a test? I don’t know whether I can trust him.

‘It’s all right.’ He gives me a reassuring look. ‘I know she’s a mare. I’ve seen her in action, although she doesn’t actually know that.’

‘Right.’ I decide to opt for cautious sharing to keep him on side. ‘Well, yes, she wasn’t best pleased. In fact, she wasn’t best pleased that I’m here at all.’

‘Yeah, I heard you’re one of Aaron’s favourites from years ago.’ Josh’s lips curl up in a satisfied smile. ‘That won’t have gone down well.’

‘The words lead and balloon come to mind.’ I grimace.

‘Oh dear.’ Josh chuckles. ‘Well, just let me know if she’s making things difficult for you. I’ll sort her out.’

‘Thanks.’ I feel a wave of relief knowing that I have someone with some clout looking out for me; I couldn’t go to Aaron with something like that.

‘So, you hungry?’ Josh asks. ‘Want to get some food?’

For a moment, I wonder if he’s asking me out, then realise he means the staff canteen.

‘I could eat,’ I say. ‘Although I hear the food’s not up to much either.’

‘I bet Reyes told you that.’ Josh laughs, as we wander down the corridor together. ‘She’s a total food snob. Her husband’s family owns a two-Michelin-starred restaurant, among other successful ventures, in Spain. They’re totally loaded. I still can’t work out why she and her husband are over here slumming it like they are.’

‘I see.’ I nod slowly as recognition dawns. ‘She kept that quiet. Although, now the humungous diamond ring makes sense.’

We reach the end of the corridor and Josh leads me into a large room filled with white tables and black plastic chairs; a smattering of people sitting at them. The walls are bare and white, and the floor a nondescript grey linoleum: making the whole area look quite clinical. To the left is a self-service food area, with what looks like quite a range of hot and cold dishes on offer. In the far-right corner is the only saving grace to the room’s lack of character: a cluster of mismatched armchairs and sofas, a large wall-mounted TV blaring out the latest goings-on in EastEnders to a non-existent audience, and a pool table.

‘You any good at pool, Liv?’ Josh’s eyes follow my gaze.

‘I’ve played a bit.’ I shrug disinterestedly. ‘Not for a really long time though.’

‘Maybe we can have a game after?’

‘Sure, why not.’ Although I really don’t fancy it, I decide it’s best to humour him for now.

We approach the food counter where Josh hands me a plastic tray and we work our way along the offerings, helping ourselves. It’s no gourmet cuisine, but I’m far from disappointed, especially after Reyes made it sound so awful. There’s a salad bar with a wide array of cold meats, chicken, quiches and different types of salad, and a hot buffet bursting with delicious-smelling, steaming hot steak pie, macaroni cheese, roast chicken, a nice-looking fish dish and huge metal trays of potatoes, chips and vegetables. Although I’m starving, I opt only for a few bits and pieces from the salad bar, and a couple of chips, unsure of the etiquette of the place. I quickly realise I needn’t have bothered; when I turn round to ask Josh if he has a preference on where to sit, I see that his plate is piled mountainously with what looks like about three meals in one.

‘Is that all you’re having?’ He looks at me in astonishment. ‘This is all you’ll get till you go home late tonight.’

‘Err… yeah, I’m not that hungry.’ I silently kick myself for not taking more, now too embarrassed to return and fill my plate.

‘You women.’ Josh shakes his head. ‘All on bloody diets. It’s tragic.’

‘I’m not on a diet.’ I raise my eyebrows at him. ‘I’m just not hungry. And I object to the sweeping sexist comment.’

‘Ooh, she’s a feisty one.’ Josh grins. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean for it to come across that way.’

‘Apology accepted.’ I soften my tone, realising that I’d be best to keep my argumentative side under wraps, particularly when I’m going to need all the allies I can get against Clara.

We take a seat and start chatting over our food. I finish mine at least ten minutes ahead of Josh. He tells me about his job, how he worked his way up through the hotel, and about his beloved dog, Bruno, who his neighbour looks after while he’s at work. Josh asks me a whole load of questions about where I grew up and what I did before starting at the hotel – all of which I expertly parry. Instead I keep the conversation light and banterous, which isn’t difficult. I can tell Josh is one of life’s less serious types.

‘Game of pool?’ he asks, as he clears away both our plates.

‘Maybe just a quick one.’ I nod, deciding that, not only is bonding with Josh good for my survival in this place, he’s also immensely pleasant to talk to and look at. ‘I’ll need to get back to the bar soon.’

‘Great.’ He heads to the pool table, inserts a couple of coins into the machine and the balls come clattering out from inside the table.

Josh quickly sets them up in a triangle on the green felt table-top, expertly shifting the balls around to ensure they’re all in the correct position.

‘You can break.’ He hands me a cue and a cube of blue chalk.

As I chalk the top of the cue absent-mindedly, the action unexpectedly triggers a something in my mind, causing me to drift off momentarily…

‘Where the hell have you been, you nasty little waste of space? Put the pool cue down and get your arse home – NOW. What have I told you about hanging around with that little scrote?’

‘Don’t call her that, Mr Hamilton. I don’t care who you are. Liv’s done nothing wrong.’

‘Who asked you? I suggest you disappear – fast.’

‘Dylan, please go. You’re just making things worse.’

‘No way, Liv. He’s out of order. He’s dangerous. I’m not letting this happen again.’

‘Dylan, please! You’re just making this worse for me.’

‘Be a good idea to listen to the girl. Or Broken Arms won’t just be the name of the pub.’

‘Liv? Are you going to break? Won’t be a quick game if we have to wait all night for you to come up with a game plan.’

‘Oh. Josh. Sorry.’ I drag myself back to the present. ‘I… err… must be more tired than I thought.’

Feeling thrown by the unwelcome memory that has just surfaced – one I had buried deep within my consciousness a long time ago – I completely miss the white ball on my first attempt, and end up half-sprawled across the pool table. My second is not much better, as the white ball rattles off the side cushions without so much as grazing the red and yellow triangle of balls at the other end.

‘Two shots to you.’ I hand him the cue and slump away from the table, cheeks burning, trying to think of an excuse to cut the game short.

‘Wow, Liv,’ Josh teases me affectionately, completely oblivious to the raw turmoil in my mind. ‘From what you said, I thought either your skills would be passable, or that you had lulled me into a false sense of security. That was quite something.’

He approaches the table and proceeds to break the triangle with a bullet of a shot, sinking one of the red balls, then pots two further reds in swift succession.

‘Over to you.’ He grins, eyes twinkling as he hands the cue back to me.

His arrogance acts like some kind of spell-breaking potion. What a cocky sod. He may be hot, but much as his self-assurance is very attractive, I realise I can’t let this joker win. My energy is suddenly diverted from the scars of my childhood to a re-ignition of the hard drive and determination that helped me get out of the estate and to where I was just over three months ago.

‘All right, don’t go getting above yourself.’ I give him a warning look. ‘That was just bad luck.’

‘We’ll see.’ Josh drapes himself across the armchair confidently.

I step forward to the table, size up my best option, then lean down and take aim. It’s looking good, but as the pool cue moves through my fingers and makes contact with the white ball, I feel a slight shift to the left and I know I’ve fluffed the shot. The yellow ball simply ricochets off the cushions to the side of the pocket, and comes to a standstill two-thirds of the way down the table.

‘Nearly.’ Josh gets up smugly. ‘At least you hit something this time.’

I’m now fizzing inside: with frustration at myself; and with unwavering determination. I have to win this. Not just to wipe the smarmy look off Josh’s face. But also, to retaliate against the sickening memories that have just dared to infiltrate my conscious mind; to face up to all the crap that I’ve dealt with over the last few months – and tell it exactly where to go. Suddenly it’s not just a friendly game of pool, but a test of whether I still have the fight left in me. I watch, in frustration, as he pots a further two red balls with effortless ease, and self-righteously hands the cue back to me.

Eyeing the balls and angles on the table, I carefully plot my next moves. Taking great care, I line up my first shot, and follow through, the cue this time moving fluently through my fingers. A first yellow ball drops noisily into the pocket and I feel a surge of confidence. I follow up by sinking a further three balls, before I finally miss a shot.

Looking up from the table I see that the smug smile has disintegrated from Josh’s face. The easy banter between us has fallen away. Saying nothing, Josh takes his next shot and comes up empty-handed. The tension mounts as our natural competitiveness locks horns; both trying desperately to seal the win. Eventually, we’re both down to the black ball, and after several failed attempts on both our parts, I triumph – and score the win. I walk round the table to a dejected Josh and offer him a conciliatory handshake.

‘Good game.’ I’m trying hard not to behave in the way that he did previously, but it’s almost impossible not to let some pride leak through; particularly given the high stakes I had set for myself.

‘You got me.’ He holds his hands up in defeat, but he’s now smiling graciously. ‘It was just as I thought. You lulled me into a false sense of security.’

‘Not completely,’ I admit. ‘That false start was real. I haven’t played for years. But seems the rustiness wore off pretty quickly.’

‘I’ll say. Where did you learn to play like that?’

‘Spent a lot of time in the pub as a kid. Not drinking obviously. Just a community thing.’

‘Right. Well, you do realise, that I will kick your arse next time.’ Josh’s wounded pride is already on the mend. ‘Just didn’t know what I was dealing with. Best of three?’

‘Sure.’ I give him a wink. ‘If you want to subject yourself to that.’

Josh laughs and holds my gaze. ‘I like you, Liv. I’m glad you’ve come to work here. I hope we can spend a bit more time together.’

To my horror, I start to feel myself blush. ‘Err… well, yeah, I guess there will be plenty more work breaks to be passed at the pool table.’

‘I was thinking more like going for a drink – just you and me?’ He raises an eyebrow suggestively.

Now he is asking me out. For a moment I imagine what it would be like to kiss him and feel his muscular arms around me, before snapping myself back to reality. As hot as he is, I must stand by my rule. The last thing I need right now is another distraction preventing me from getting my life back on track.

‘I… umm… I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’ I chew on my lip awkwardly. ‘Us being colleagues and all. Plus, I need to focus on other things in my life right now.’

‘OK… no problem.’ He holds his hands up in defeat once more. ‘But I’ll be right here when you change your mind.’

He saunters out the door of the canteen, leaving me wondering: how it was me who won the game and knocked back his advances, yet somehow it feels like he got the upper hand? Shaking my head in amazement, I’m just putting the pool cue back, when Clara comes sweeping into the canteen.

‘Liv!’ she barks across the room.

A few people eating their meals look up in surprise.

‘Oh, hi, Clara.’ Having assumed this is just another of her strange behaviours, I miss the menace in her approach.

‘Liv Hamilton.’ She walks right up to me, her severe features creating an almost evil look. ‘You may have been hired by the top brass in this place, but you answer to me.’

‘Err… OK… sure.’ I’m perplexed by the ominous tone in her voice.

‘You get forty minutes for your meal break and not a minute more. I only briefed you on that a few hours ago and already you’ve taken advantage. This is your first strike – and it’s only day one.’

‘What? Clara, I’m sorry, I just… I must have lost track of time.’

I glance at my watch and see that I’m two minutes over my break time. She was obviously lying in wait, hoping I would break the rules. Obviously I need to be more careful. Another three minutes and I’d have been back at the bar. It’s hardly even relevant.

‘You can make the time up tomorrow by coming in early.’ She eyes me with disdain.

‘You are kidding.’ I’m so shocked, it just slips out.

‘Strike two, Liv.’ She surveys me coldly and I realise she means business; I can’t afford to lose this job.

‘OK, sorry. I’m really sorry.’ I say this as sincerely as I can. ‘I’ll make the time up and I’ll be on top of my timekeeping in the future.’

‘Make sure that you are.’ She stares me out, then stalks off across the canteen, letting the door slam behind her as she leaves.

I stand rooted to the spot, thrown by her viciousness and complete lack of humanity. OK, so I was late. I accept that. But I reckon she was banking on that happening. I glance around me self-consciously and see a few fellow employees offering me sympathetic looks. How have I gone from being a high-performing, credible professional who manages my own time and workload, to being publicly scolded like a toddler, by someone who probably wasn’t much more than a toddler herself when I entered the world of work? It’s almost unbearable.

With the force of an avalanche, the pride and strength I’d gained from my win against Josh collapses. Unable to bear the unwanted attention, I put my head down and hurry out of the canteen, back to the bar.

Chapter 9

It’s after 2 a.m. when I finally unlock the door to my apartment and slip inside. I kick off my shoes, trudge through to my bedroom and slump onto my king-size bed, exhausted. My back is aching, the pain in my heels and the balls of my feet is excruciating: a burning like I’ve never felt before. Drained, both physically and emotionally, I get under the crisp, clean duvet, still fully clothed, and just lie there, numb. I’m so done, I can’t even muster the energy to go to the bathroom and remove my make-up and brush my teeth.

The worst part of the night was my run-in with Clara, and I just couldn’t get the easy banter I’d had with Josh back after that. It was impossible to shake the feeling that I was being watched. I couldn’t laugh or have any chat with Reyes and Amir; anyway, it was the last thing I felt like doing. Clara has made herself abundantly clear: she doesn’t want me working there and she’ll do her very best to get rid of me. Miserably, I curl up into the foetal position and wait for the nightmares to come.

The next morning, I wake groggily to the sound of my phone pinging. Fighting the urge to drift over to sleep again, I reach into my handbag on the floor to retrieve it.

No great surprise. It’s Dylan – asking if we’re still meeting during his lunch break. I’m in mid-flow, cursing him for waking me so early after such a late night, when I clock the time on my phone: it’s 11.45 a.m.

‘Shit!’ I call out through my empty apartment, as I leap out of bed in shock. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’

I dial Dylan’s mobile and wait impatiently for him to answer.

‘Morning, you lazy dog,’ he greets me jovially as he picks up. ‘Fifteen more minutes and I’d be saying afternoon.’

‘Shut up, Dylan.’ I’m so not in the mood for one of his ribbings. ‘I had planned to spend this morning trying to save my career. I’m going to have to take a rain check, as I’m due in the hotel at 3.30 p.m. for training. If I don’t spend some time on my job hunt now, I won’t get a chance.’

‘Hey, chill,’ Dylan tries to soothe me. ‘Don’t put yourself under so much pressure. Give yourself a couple of days to settle in before hitting the job sites again.’

‘Settle in?’ Unable to control my rising stress and irritation, I begin to pace round my bedroom. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. Dylan, that place is a nightmare. The last thing I want to do is settle in. I have to get out of there – fast.’

‘Oh, come on,’ says Dylan. ‘I know it’s not what you’re used to. You need to give it a chance: it’s the only way you’re gonna keep a roof over your head. Seriously, you’re gonna turn into a right snob – and a skint one at that – if you’re not careful.’

My irritation boils over. ‘Two strikes, Dylan. I’ve had two bloody strikes already – on my first night!’

‘What?’ He’s understandably confused. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘My boss – the beast, as she’s affectionately known – has already given me two strikes. She hates me because Aaron brought me in and he didn’t consult her. Like that’s my fault? She’s determined to get rid of me. I got strike one for being a few minutes late back from my break, and the second because I couldn’t believe that she was serious when she told me to make up the time today. It’s worse than you could possibly imagine…’

I tail off breathlessly and sink to the floor.

‘Aww, Squirt.’ Dylan lets out a low whistle. ‘That’s bullshit. What you gonna do? You can’t let her do that. Maybe speak to Aaron?’

‘No way.’ I shake my head determinedly. ‘It’ll just make things worse for me. Apparently, she sucks up his arse. He won’t have a clue.’

‘But Aaron knows you. He trusts your judgement.’

‘He also knows I think this job is below me, Dylan. He’ll just think I’m being some kind of little princess – or snob!’

‘I don’t know what to say then.’ Dylan sounds genuinely troubled and concerned for me. ‘Guess you’re just gonna have to try and ride it out, make sure you’re squeaky and all. Don’t give her any excuse.’

‘That’s all I’ve come up with too.’ I sigh resignedly. ‘So, now that you know how bad it is, can I take that rain check?’

‘Yeah, course. Chin up. Hopefully things will get better for you. Talk soon.’

‘Thanks, Dylan.’ I cut the call and look around my room hopelessly for a few moments, before dragging myself to the shower.

An hour later, I’m feeling a bit fresher, and devouring a ham and cheese salad sandwich at my breakfast bar, while poring over job listings. Although there’s nothing that immediately fits my preferences, I’ve decided that anything is better than where I am right now. I apply for a handful of jobs (including temporary ones) that are slightly more junior than my position at McArthur Cohen, with a couple of them even being outside my area of direct experience and expertise.

By the time I’m on the bus, whizzing across North Bridge, looking out across Waverley Station to the Scott Monument and West Princes Street Gardens, I’ve cheered up a bit. At least I have some potential options on the horizon again. If I can limit my personal hell to a month or six weeks, then hopefully I can move on at the end of it with my sanity still intact.

On arriving in the bar, I’m greeted by an ever-cheery Reyes, who obviously doesn’t suffer the brunt of the beast in the way that I have so far – or just doesn’t care.

‘Hola, Chica. How are you today?’ She trots over and gives me a European-style greeting, kissing me on both cheeks.

‘Hi, Reyes. I’m fine thanks. You?’

‘I am good, like every single day. Even though the sun does not shine here, I am happy. But, I am worried for you, Liv.’

‘Err… why’s that?’ I’m immediately alert and nervous of an unanticipated third and final strike missile coming my way from Clara.

‘Because, Chica, you were not happy last night, yes?’ She fixes her emerald green eyes on mine.

‘Me? No, I’m just fine.’ I try, but fail, to hold her gaze. ‘Totally fine.’

‘I know that is not the truth, Liv. But I am not expecting that you tell me yet. We are only meeting a few days ago. I will not break your arm for this information, not yet anyway, but I hope you will learn that you can trust me.’

I blink at Reyes for a moment, mildly perplexed, then it clicks. ‘Oh, you mean you won’t twist my arm.’

‘That is what I say.’ Reyes gives a single assertive nod.

‘Right, sure.’ I offer her a kind smile. ‘Of course. But I’m fine, honestly. It’s just a bit of an adjustment working here.’

‘I understand,’ says Reyes. ‘I come from a different place too.’

I nod, thinking back to what Josh told me, unable to get my head around why Reyes would give up a cushy lifestyle for this.

‘How’s it going, sexy ladies?’ A voice suddenly cuts through the silence, causing us to jump.

‘Amir! You scare us,’ Reyes scolds him. ‘I did not know you are here.’

‘Been doing the stocktake for the last three hours.’ He jabs his thumb behind him, towards the steps that lead to the cellar from the bar storeroom.

‘You all good, Liv?’ He gives me a cheeky wink. ‘You’re looking particularly ravishing today.’

‘Yes, fine.’ I shrug and smile at him, already aware that he’s a bit of a smoothie.

‘Amir. Please!’ Reyes gives him another telling-off. ‘You are not Josh. You must stop with this… thing!’ She waves her hands in the air theatrically.

‘What thing?’ He grins innocently at her.

‘This… how do you say… flirting… yes, flirting. I see that you are picking this up from Josh and it does not work for you.’

Amir, rather than being offended, looks highly amused by Reyes’s comment. I watch as he plays on her fiery personality. At around five-foot six, he’s not much taller than me and Reyes, but he’s got more charisma than the two of us put together. And he loves nothing more than winding Reyes up, his broad Glasgow accent making him all the more entertaining.

‘Amir. No. I will not hear this.’ Reyes sticks her fingers in her ears. ‘You go too far. Too far!’

‘I think she fancies me,’ Amir whispers under his breath, causing me to have to hold back a snigger. ‘Right, I’m off for a break. See you in a bit.’

Amir wanders out of the bar, ignoring the stream of Spanish abuse following him.

‘Now, cocktail making.’ Reyes turns to me and suddenly claps her hands together with excitement. ‘This will be fun. Today I will teach you only the most popular drinks. It will take a while for you to learn everything. We will also try the beer again, yes?’ She gives me a sideways glance.

‘Sounds good.’ I pretend not to notice.

‘OK, empecemos!’

‘Empe-what?’ I give her a confused look.

‘Let’s get started.’ She gives me a mischievous wink. ‘You should learn Spanish, and then we can talk, and no one will understand.’

‘Hmmm… we’ll see.’ That idea does not fill me with enthusiasm right now. Learning a whole new language seems like an insurmountable task, especially with everything else I’m juggling.

Reyes and I spend a couple of hours working through a list of different gin cocktails, most of which, to my relief, are very simple. And they taste amazing – not that I’m able to have more than a snifter of each when checking I’ve got the balance of ingredients right. She makes sure I have a few attempts at the trickier ones, so I feel comfortable with them. Apart from a couple of early disastrous attempts, we gift the drinks we make to the smattering of willing guinea pigs in the bar.

Just as we’re clearing up from the training, Aaron strides into the bar.

‘How are you getting on, Liv?’

‘Fine, thanks, Aaron. I’ve just learned how to make a Negroni, a Tom Collins, a Bramble, an Aviation, a Singapore Sling, a French 75…’ I count them out on my fingers.

‘Very good.’ He nods awkwardly. ‘And colleagues? How are you getting on with everyone?’

‘Oh, err… great, yes.’ I’m smiling, while my insides contract. ‘Everyone’s really nice. I’m feeling very welcome.’

‘Very good,’ he repeats himself, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘Well, keep up the good work.’

‘Thanks. I will,’ I say to his back, as he’s already on his way out the door.

‘You are big fat liar, Chica.’ Reyes giggles when he has gone.

‘Sorry?’ I turn to her.

‘Everyone is not nice. Everyone else is nice, but the beast is not.’

‘Yeah, like I’m going to tell him that.’ I put my hands on my hips and give her an appraising look. ‘Would you?’

‘I am not his favourite, like you.’ She gives me a mischievous smile, and without thinking, I throw a bar towel at her – then look around me in terror in case Clara is lurking in one of the corners of the bar.

Chapter 10

For the next couple of weeks, I manage to keep my encounters and interactions with Clara to a minimum. Thankfully, she has two other bars to run as well, so she’s not breathing down our necks the whole time. That said, she does expertly materialise out of nowhere regularly, and when I least expect it, behaving in a manner not too dissimilar to the character of Regan MacNeil in The Exorcist.

As a rule of survival, I reply politely when she asks me a question, avoiding any additional unnecessary conversation. I keep the chat and banter with Reyes and Amir to a minimum, particularly when the bar is busy and Clara might ambush us. I also return from all my breaks five minutes early, and even buy a book about gin and swot up in between job-hunting, to make sure Clara can’t catch me out that way.

There’s no sign of Josh, who it turns out is on holiday and then a training course. So, I eat alone in the canteen. To my relief, my feet and back become less sore with each passing shift, which helps me to feel ever so slightly less miserable. But all the time, in the front of my mind – even though I couldn’t ask for better workmates in Reyes and Amir, and I am really enjoying getting to know them – is the desperate, almost unbearable need for this to come to an end.

Having to downgrade my brand of gin and cut out the champagne has been the least of my worries. With every passing day, every job rejection, every death stare from Clara, I’m painfully aware that if I don’t catch a break in my career soon, there may be no way back.

‘What is on your mind, Chica?’ Reyes asks me one Wednesday evening when the bar is uncharacteristically quiet. ‘You can tell me anything.’

‘It’s nothing.’ I let out an involuntary sigh.

‘You cannot fool me, Liv. I see you. I watch how you are. You are unhappy.’

‘It’s complicated, Reyes.’ I try to put her off. ‘Probably not a conversation for work.’

‘Then we will have it out of work.’ She smiles at me sympathetically. ‘We go for a drink on day off tomorrow, yes?’

I look at her and suddenly feel an overwhelming need to share. I’ve been holding everything in for so long. I’ve discussed my situation only with Dylan, whose natural sway towards a big-brother-style tough-love approach is effective, but not always easy to accept. I need some more caring support too.

‘OK, sure. Let’s do that.’

‘Did I hear you say you’re going out tomorrow night?’ Amir, who’s in the middle of changing one of the beer kegs, pops his head round the door of the storeroom.

‘Yes, but it is chicas only. No men allowed,’ Reyes reprimands him.

‘I can be one of the girls – if you let me borrow your clothes,’ he teases her. ‘Maybe one of your sexy little numbers. I’m about the right size.’

Reyes tuts at him noisily.

‘Just kidding.’ He reaches round the door and gives her a playful push. ‘I’m working anyway. Someone’s got to pick up the slack while you two go off gallivanting – and on a Thursday night as well. Who authorised that?’

‘Yeah, I’m surprised too,’ I say. ‘I wouldn’t have thought we’d both be given time off together on one of the busiest nights of the week.’

‘Just enjoy it,’ says Amir. ‘It won’t happen often. Anyway, I’m on with the lads tomorrow – Marcel and Piotr. Looking forward to an oestrogen-free zone.’

He gives me a wink and I shake my head at him, knowing full well he’s just trying to wind Reyes up. Thankfully, it appears that she hasn’t yet learned the English words for hormones, so another one-sided war doesn’t erupt.

‘You’d have been very welcome to join us,’ I say. ‘One day when we all have time off together.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ Amir rolls his eyes and then disappears back into the storeroom.

Just as we’re using the quiet time to get a few extra bar maintenance tasks done, there’s a loud commotion outside on the street. It’s getting dark outside, but I can see a large group of after-work drinkers making their way towards the revolving doors of the bar. They’ve obviously already been elsewhere, their boisterousness giving this away.

Reyes and I share a look that says, here we go. Having an easy night was obviously too much for us to expect.

The group enjoy much hilarity trying to navigate the revolving doors, which spit them out into the bar, two at a time, looking slightly dishevelled. I pay them little attention as I clear away the cleaning materials I’ve been using to polish the bar top. I’m now used to dealing with all kinds of punters. But on returning to the bar, I glance over to the group, who are now deliberating over where to sit, and stop short.

‘Oh. SHIT!’ I instinctively dive into the storeroom.

It’s not just any pack of well-oiled office workers, it’s my pack of well-oiled office workers. I peer round the door and see Anya bouncing up and down, chatting animatedly to Stella, Tom trying to engage a disinterested and glued-to-his-phone Derek in conversation, Sharon preaching her usual distasteful garbage to a flock of awestruck onlookers, and Dom and Marta are engaged in what can only be described as serious sexual tension, despite the fact they’re both married to other people and have kids.

‘What is wrong, Chica?’ Reyes enters the storeroom, regarding me quizzically. ‘This is fine. They are a bit loud, yes, but you are used to this now.’

I look at her helplessly. She has no idea. I can’t go out there and let them see me. It will be professional and social suicide. What are they even doing here? It’s completely the other side of town for them – they usually hang out in the most popular and exclusive West End and city centre haunts. I realise there’s only one thing for it if I’m to avoid total humiliation: I have to tell the truth.

‘Reyes, they’re my friends. Well some of them, anyway. They’re all ex-colleagues.’

‘So, that is good, no?’ She looks confused. ‘You can say hello and spend some time with them.’

‘Nooo. It’s not good.’ I start to shake with anxiety. ‘They don’t know I work here. I told them I had some amazing communications job – so that they wouldn’t think I was a loser. They can’t see me. They just can’t.’ My eyes are pleading.

‘But if they are your friends—’ Reyes is clearly still trying to understand ‘—why would they think this? They should be supporting you.’

I don’t have an answer for this.

‘What’s up?’ Amir looks from my terrified face to Reyes, as he comes up the steps from the cellar, having fitted the new beer keg.

‘Amir, why Liv’s friends are thinking she is loser for working here?’ Reyes asks.

‘If they were real friends, they wouldn’t.’ He gives me a searching look, then his eyes land on my ex-colleagues through the open storeroom door, and a flicker of comprehension crosses his face. ‘Ah, I see. Are these your old drinking buddies from when you worked in the corporate world?’

‘How did you know that?’ I’m stunned.

‘Educated guess.’ Amir shrugs. ‘Doesn’t take a genius to work out what type of company this lot are from. And it was even more obvious that you weren’t a bar worker by trade.’

‘Good detective skills.’ I sigh defeatedly, chewing on one of my perfectly (now self-manicured) nails.

‘Oh, Chica.’ Reyes puts her arm around me. ‘You should not feel like this. I am hating this for you.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Amir pats my arm. ‘Why don’t you find some more cleaning tasks to complete in here and we’ll deal with this lot. It’s still quiet enough, even with that lot in.’

‘Yes, this will work,’ Reyes agrees. ‘You stay back here.’

‘Thank you both so much. I really owe you for this.’ I’m flooded with temporary relief at this suggestion.

Reyes and Amir head out into the bar, leaving me alone, glad of the reprieve but still reeling. I pick up the list of bar maintenance and cleaning tasks, but the words swim in front of my face. What if they decide they like this place and it becomes a regular haunt for them? I won’t be able to hide every time. I’m so lost in panic and dismay, I fail to notice Clara’s swooping approach from behind.

‘Liv. What are you doing?’ she barks, as she towers over me menacingly.

With my blood pressure already soaring, Clara’s surprise entrance nearly finishes me off.

‘Oh… err… hi, Clara. I’m… umm… just doing bar maintenance, while it’s a bit quieter. Reyes and Amir suggested I do that.’

‘Did they?’ She peers at me with suspicion. ‘Well, it looks like you’ll be needed out front after all. Some more customers have just walked in.’

‘I… err… I’m sure they can manage.’ I’m on severely shaky ground, but my survival instincts are in such conflict, I’m willing to take the risk. ‘Some of the tasks on this list are really overdue. I can help the bar team get on top of things after being so busy recently.’

I’m hoping the ‘team’ reference will work, and I can see Clara mulling this over. Then, to my alarm, she looks out across the bar at my ex-colleagues. I can almost see the thoughts processing in her mind.

‘That group that just came in.’ She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Do you know which company they’re from?’

‘Err… who knows?’ I try to sound genuinely unsure, but it’s pointless; she’s on to me.

‘Yes, Reyes and Amir definitely can’t manage this by themselves.’ Clara’s mouth curls up slyly at the corners. ‘An opportunity for you to do some of the running – get some practice with the Waiter Pad after your training.’

What a bitch. Unfortunately, a smart bitch. She’s read the situation as easily as Amir did. This is her chance to either lose me for good for insubordination, or subject me to total humiliation.

‘Go on. Get their order in.’ She flicks her head towards my ex-colleagues.

I have less than two seconds to make my decision. Face the humiliation, or risk losing the roof over my head. My pride screams at me to avoid this interaction at all costs. But I realise I have no choice. It could be weeks before I find and start another job, even doing bar work. Weeks of no income. I can’t afford that. And I could never face Aaron again if I got fired.

Without saying a word, I put down the maintenance list and walk past Clara into the bar. Glancing to my left I see Reyes and Amir standing awkwardly, having clearly heard every word. Reyes mouths ‘sorry’, and I shake my head, communicating that an apology is not needed. Neither of them saw the beast coming, and even if they had, there was nothing they could have done.

I pick up the Waiter Pad, and try to manage my breathing, as I add the table details on the screen. Then I slowly approach my friends and ex-colleagues, as if I’m walking to the stake.

Chapter 11

‘Err… hi, guys. What can I get you?’ I murmur almost inaudibly as I reach the tables occupied by my friends and ex-colleagues.

At first, they barely register my presence, too lost in their conversations and hilarity. Then Anya glances up and does a double take.

‘Liv? What are you doing here?’ Her face drains as she takes in my bar uniform and the Waiter Pad in my hand, and for a long moment she appears too taken aback to speak. ‘Do you… work here?’

The rest of the group look up suddenly; dozens of eyes, nearly sending me scarpering back to the store cupboard. There’s a clatter as Derek finally catches up, in his surprise, dropping his precious phone. Most of my friends and ex-colleagues just look genuinely shocked. But as my eyes land on Sharon, I can tell this has made her night. I realise I need to say something, but what?

‘I… err… what can I say? You’ve rumbled me.’ I hold my hands up jovially, and aim for a light-hearted chuckle, but it reverberates around the group pathetically, causing a few people to wince in embarrassment.

‘But, Liv, I thought you had an amazing new job.’ Anya looks stricken. ‘This isn’t it… is it?’

I realise, caught out or not, I simply cannot bear to reveal the full truth. They just must not know that my career has bombed, and how much of a failure I actually am.

‘Oh… umm… of course not.’ I wave my hand flippantly. ‘This isn’t the job I told you about. Bit of a delay with my start date. Still working through their confidential restructure. They can’t bring me in until they’ve got it beyond the point where it may ruffle feathers.’

I ignore the looks being shared among the group.

‘Right…’ Anya still looks confused. ‘And you’re working here because…?’

‘Because I know the General Manager. We worked together years ago.’ I intentionally leave out the fact that I actually worked for him. ‘We recently bumped into each other, and he mentioned that he was tight staffing-wise. So, I offered to help out while waiting to start my new job.’

‘Oh right. I see.’ Anya seems happy enough with this explanation. ‘Well, that was good of you, offering to help him like that.’

‘What’s the new job, Liv?’ Tom asks.

‘It’s a senior manager role – in communications.’

‘Great stuff. Well done you!’ Tom stands up and makes a show of giving me a bone-breaking congratulatory handshake-come-hug, while Anya beams at him adoringly. ‘Where’s it at?’

‘Err…’ I draw a sharp intake of breath to try and emphasise the level of confidentiality involved. ‘Can’t really share that right now. I’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement. You guys will be the first to know, though.’

‘OK… sure.’ Tom is now looking perplexed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Sharon studying me curiously. She sits forward and puffs out her enormous bust.

‘A confidential restructure, you say?’ She fixes her gaze on me.

‘Err… yes.’ I shift a little on the spot.

‘And it’s a company in this city?’

‘Mmmm.’ I keep my reply non-committal, concerned about where she’s going with this.

‘That’s interesting…’ Sharon makes a show of racking her brain. ‘Because I’m very well connected – been around a long time, you know how it is – I don’t remember any contacts mentioning anything about a restructure as sensitive as that.’

‘That’s because it’s top secret.’ I nod affirmatively. ‘It would have huge implications for the share price, profits, everything, if it were to get out.’

‘Of course.’ Sharon recommences her hard deliberation. ‘See, the thing is, Liv. Nothing ever stays “top secret”. There’s always rumours, even information leaks. If by some miracle it has actually managed to stay off the rumour mill, I’m just wondering why they would tell you about something so sensitive; when you don’t even work for them yet. How do they know they can trust you?’

There’s a stifled snigger from someone I’m unable identify on glancing insecurely at my ex-colleagues. I feel the burn in my cheeks as the humiliation sets in, and I process the double meaning in Sharon’s message. She knows fine well that I’m making this up, and she’s enjoying this game of cat and mouse; letting me hang myself.

I look around the group, hoping to see at least a hint of disgust at Sharon’s behaviour. All I’m greeted with are faces of discomfort, pity or amusement. Even from Anya, who despite my gaze lingering on her in an appeal for some kind of support, refuses to make eye contact with me. My eyes shift towards the bar in desperation, hoping to find the sympathetic faces of Reyes and Amir. But instead of the encouragement I’m seeking, I make eye contact with a self-satisfied Clara, standing watching, her arms folded across her chest. She simply stares coldly at me for a couple of seconds, then sweeps out of the bar. This is just too much. I have to get away.

‘Well…’ I bluster. ‘Obviously, I’d love to fill you all in, but as I said, I can’t. I have more customers waiting. What can I get you?’

Sharon looks like a pig in shit as I race round the group, taking their drinks orders as fast as possible. Anya and Tom are barely able to make eye contact with me as they relay their orders; Stella looks like she might faint. As soon as I can, I excuse myself. Returning to the bar – where Reyes and Amir are nowhere to be seen – I bolt for the store cupboard. Once inside and out of sight, I slide down the wall in despair, head in my hands, my heart racing.

‘Why did that have to happen? Why?’ I murmur inconsolably.

‘Chica, I am so sorry.’ Reyes’s voice comes from inside the store cupboard.

I look up and see that she and Amir are standing just a few feet away. In my anguish, I didn’t even notice they were there.

‘Oh… sorry.’ Embarrassed, I stand up quickly and brush myself down.

Reyes gives Amir a little nod and he quietly leaves the room to make up the drinks order, giving my shoulder a little squeeze as he goes.

‘It is OK. Come. Sit down.’ Reyes pulls a chair from the corner, which I slump into gratefully. ‘We could not watch anymore. Not like Clara. She is the beast.’

My mind numb from what has just unfolded, I say nothing for a minute or so. I just sit silently, with Reyes holding my hand.

‘She really is a beast,’ I say eventually. ‘A nasty piece of work. And so is that bitch out there.’ I nod towards Sharon.

‘The loud one that is making strange noises when she laughs?’ Reyes asks.

‘That’s her,’ I confirm, realising I had never noticed that before.

‘She was your manager?’

‘She’s the director for the department. She has this following: people who want to be like her and be in her crowd. Even I did. Until she as good as fired me, and I met the real Sharon. She pretends to care about people, but she doesn’t care about anyone but herself and her career. Just like Clara, I suspect.’

‘She is devil in disguise.’ Reyes screws up her face angrily in a show of solidarity with my plight.

‘Yes. She is.’ I smile weakly at the fact that Reyes has used this particular turn of phrase correctly.

‘To me it feels like you are better to be away from this woman.’ Reyes squeezes my hand comfortingly.

‘I suppose. And I guess she’s part of the reason why I’ve avoided my friends for the last few months. That, and because I lied to them about having a new job.’

‘But, you can meet with your real friends without her, yes? Without the other colleagues?’

‘That’s not really how it works.’ I look at the floor miserably. ‘We all go out together in a big group. And it looks like she’s become a regular feature. Although… maybe I could speak with Anya… She’s pretty much my best friend…’

I pause thoughtfully, before continuing.

‘You know, you’re right. Friends should support each other, no matter what. Maybe if I can chat with Anya alone, I can arrange another way of catching up with my actual friends, without the others. Then I wouldn’t feel ashamed.’

‘Yes, Chica.’ Reyes nods vigorously. ‘This is what you must do.’

‘I’ll see if I can speak to her tonight.’

This thought perks me up enough to get me off my seat and working on some bits and pieces behind the bar, while Amir and Reyes serve my ex-colleagues and the handful of other customers. Keeping my distance, I watch Anya like a hawk.

An hour or so later, I see my opportunity. Anya skips off to the Ladies and I move down the corridor to the toilets. I hang around outside the door to the Ladies for about five minutes, all the time praying that Clara won’t reappear and sack me on the spot.

Eventually Anya emerges through the door, and on seeing me, stops short.

‘Oh, Liv. You OK?’ she asks.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ I’m unable to hide the urgency in my voice. ‘Listen, I just wanted a quick word. It’s been ages since we caught up, and I’ve really missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too.’ Anya’s words ring true, but something doesn’t seem right; she looks uncomfortable.

‘I was wondering if maybe we could meet up, just you and me, so I can chat to you about some stuff. And then maybe you, me, Tom and a few of the others could get together? You know, so we don’t lose touch. You guys are my best friends and I really miss you all.’

Instead of reacting warmly and affectionately to my sincere gesture of friendship, Anya now looks like a cornered animal; like I’ve just invited her to join some kind of crazy cult.

‘Oh… Liv. I’d love that. Really. Only I’d feel uncomfortable about making it some kind of exclusive group. And I’m really snowed just now. These nights out with the group are about all I can manage.’ She pauses for a second. ‘But you can totally join us on our next night out… that is, if you’re not working.’

I scrutinise Anya silently for a few moments. She couldn’t look any less at ease: anxiously playing with the rings on her fingers, eyes darting all over the place. She’s desperate to get away.

I’m beginning to doubt that Anya is my ‘best friend’. I’m suddenly seeing that she’s not a friend at all – no more than Tom, Stella or any of the others. Have I been fooling myself, thinking we had some kind of special connection and bond? Has it all been false: a façade based on not much more than a shared office, common expertise, and the politics that go with it? A hurt deeper than I knew possible slices through my consciousness. I realise I’m even more alone and hopeless than I had feared. I had been avoiding my so-called friends. But it had been on my terms, nothing more than self-preservation – and I’d expected to be able to pick things up again as soon as I’d sorted out my situation. How wrong have I been? I realise I need to wrap this up.

‘Right.’ I nod. ‘Of course. I understand. Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy your night.’

I don’t wait for an answer. I simply walk off and return to the bar, my misery having reached a new low. As I pick up some dirty glasses from the bar counter and put them in the glass washer, I look up and see Anya scuttling back to the group, and towards Tom, who listens to her intently. Fleeting glances flash from both of them in my direction. Tom then leans in confidentially to the rest of the group and they all finish their drinks quickly and get up to leave. As they file down the steps and out of the bar, they each nod politely, saying their goodbyes.

All, that is, apart from Anya, Tom and Stella, who avoid eye contact. Sharon is last down the steps, and as she passes me, she can’t help having one last dig.

‘Good luck with the new job, Liv.’ It’s clear she’s referring to my current predicament, rather than my fictitious communications role.

Her callousness is razor sharp. For the first time in decades, I feel tears start to prick at my eyes. I blink them back furiously.

‘Good. The second beast is gone.’ Reyes joins me behind the bar a few minutes later with a tray of empty glasses from another table. ‘Are you OK, Chica?’

‘You know what, Reyes?’ I sigh in defeat. ‘I honestly don’t know if I am. I can’t do this anymore. I’m losing myself, and I can’t bear it. I’m going to go and tell Aaron that I’m quitting.’

‘Liv, you can’t.’ Amir, who has just joined us, looks at me in alarm. ‘Don’t let those bastards win. Don’t let the beast win. They’re not worth it. You’re better than all of them – put together.’

‘He is correct. Please do not leave, Chica.’ Reyes pleads with me.

‘Sleep on it, at least.’ Amir squeezes my shoulder.

‘Sleep on what?’ a voice intrudes on our little triangle.

We turn to see Aaron standing behind us. He’s eyeing us curiously.

‘Aaron… good timing.’ I sigh again. ‘I need to talk to you about—’

‘The gin distillery visit next month.’ Amir cuts me off and gives me a warning look. ‘We were just discussing the visit Reyes and I are going on. We thought that it might be good for Liv to come too. Help her build up her knowledge. Because she’s not expecting to work here for long, she doesn’t want to waste the hotel’s money, but I said she should sleep on it before making a final decision. Right, Liv?’

Reyes gives my hand a little squeeze, urging me to play along. I can’t bear to let them down; not tonight anyway. I’ll discreetly hand in my notice tomorrow, when they’re not around.

‘Yeah, that was it.’ I try, and fail, to hold Aaron’s gaze. ‘Just don’t want you investing in me when I won’t be around for long.’

‘Really.’ Aaron’s eyes narrow as he scrutinises us one by one, obviously unconvinced.

‘Yes, Mister Gardiner.’ Reyes nods affirmatively. ‘This is true. We think this will be good for Liv also.’

Aaron watches us intently, but we stand firm, sticking to our story.

‘In that case, I agree,’ says Aaron. ‘Liv, you will join the gin distillery visit. And as you’re doing that, you may as well complete the formal hotel staff training programme. That will keep you out of trouble.’

I blanch. For a second, I wonder if Clara’s been reporting back to him, then I realise he’s just being his usual graceless self.

‘OK… thanks, Aaron.’ I’m unsure what to say. ‘That’s… great.’

‘What I actually came down to say to you motley crew…’ Aaron’s still regarding us with a thread of suspicion ‘…was that, as it’s quiet, you can all get off early. I’ll ask Clara and one of the staff from The Library bar to cover till close.’

I look at my watch and see that it’s only 10.30 p.m. The thought of an early night has never been more appealing.

‘Mister Gardiner,’ Reyes gushes, ‘this is very generous of you. Muchas gracias.’

Not knowing how to respond to this outpouring of gratitude, Aaron gives Reyes an awkward nod.

‘You can put your timesheets through for the usual time,’ he says over his shoulder, already on his way out the bar.

As soon as he’s gone, Reyes turns to me.

‘Now, Chica. We are going to solve this. Tonight. Amir, you are in?’

‘Sure am.’ Amir gives Reyes a knowing wink.

‘We go to the pub,’ Reyes commands.

‘What? No, Reyes.’ I protest. ‘I appreciate the gesture, but I’m so tired. I just want to curl up in bed, and forget about everything.’

‘Which is exactly why you must not do this.’ Reyes faces me straight on, grabbing me by the tops of my arms and shaking me slightly. ‘You must not forget. You must feel this pain; and then you must discard it. We will do this with alcohol, with talking and with laughter.’

‘I know she talks nonsense, generally.’ Amir earns himself a dirty look from Reyes. ‘But I have to agree with her. You need to deal with this, otherwise it’s going to destroy you. Plus, we need a chance to convince you to stay, before you sneak in here and resign tomorrow without either of us knowing.’

‘You’re good.’ I give Amir a look of resignation.

‘The very best.’ He gives me a wink.

‘Well, things can’t get much worse.’ I shrug. ‘I guess it can’t do any more harm to drown my sorrows: given that I have failed in my career, and now I have no friends either.’

‘This is not true, Chica,’ Reyes scolds me. ‘I tell you when you start, that we are amigas, yes?’

‘Umm… yes, but I thought you were just being nice.’

‘Nah, Liv.’ Amir shakes his head. ‘Reyes doesn’t pretend to be friends with anyone. She’s one straight-talking beeatch.’

‘I am this,’ Reyes agrees enthusiastically.

‘And you can add another friend to that list too.’ Amir pulls me in for a hug. ‘Truly. We’re the real deal. Not like those arseholes that were in here earlier.’

‘Thanks guys.’ I blink furiously as I feel my eyes start to sting again. ‘I think I believe you already. In all the time I’ve known that lot, I’ve never had a conversation like this with any one of them.’

‘So, forget them. They’re yesterday’s news.’ Amir grins at me. ‘Now let’s get out of here and get juiced up.’

Chapter 12

Half an hour later, we’ve decamped to a nearby pub, just off Mayfield Road – a low-key traditional-style Scottish drinking den. Although it couldn’t be more different from my usual haunts, it’s actually quite comforting and appealing tonight. It has rough stone walls, a huge open fireplace sporting a welcoming warm amber glow, and a small wooden bar that’s crammed, primarily, with malt whiskies.

The bar staff greet Reyes and Amir like old friends, adding to the homely feel of the place. From their chat, I can tell this is obviously the ‘local’ of the staff from the hotel. Reyes buys a round of drinks, and we take a seat at a wooden table near the fireplace.

‘How are you doing, Chica?’ she asks me, while taking a first sip from her pint.

‘I’m not sure how to even begin to answer that.’ I sigh, my head in my hands.

‘You have been hiding secrets, yes?’

I look up. At first, I’m unsure how to take Reyes’s question, my ego and sense of judgement now so battered I almost slip again into defensive mode. Thankfully, my logical faculties are still intact. I study Reyes and Amir’s concerned faces, and realise this is just a language thing: the true meaning of her words having been lost in translation.

‘Yes…’ I let out another monumental sigh. ‘I guess I have, to protect my pride and my dignity.’

‘Tell us about it, Liv,’ Amir encourages me. ‘I know that might be hard. You haven’t known us for very long. And judging by the company you’ve been keeping, I suspect trust is probably a bit alien to you just now. But please, trust us. We have no ulterior motives. We’re just concerned friends.’

Amir’s words flood over me like a warm, comfy blanket. I so badly want to share, after everything that’s gone on. His comments about trust are so accurate: I have had far too much faith in my ‘friends’ from McArthur Cohen. But I also held quite a lot of myself back, for fear of being judged, of not fitting in, of being rejected. Deep down, I probably sensed that it wasn’t real friendship, but I never allowed those thoughts to the surface. The way Anya could ‘forget’ to include me in things, the way Stella would evade me when things got uncomfortable, the way the group operated generally. None of it suggested true lifelong friendships, but I clung on, because it was a world I so badly wanted to be part of.

‘Liv?’ Amir prompts me.

‘Oh… err… sorry.’ I drag myself back to the present. ‘Was just distracted by something you said.’

‘I understand.’ Amir smiles at me sympathetically. ‘Obviously, you don’t have to tell us anything at all. But if you want to, we’re here, we’re listening and we have your back – one hundred per cent. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s absolutely fine. We can talk about what’s going on with Reyes’s make-up instead.’

‘What is with my make-up?’ Reyes’s hands fly up to her face in alarm; she starts rubbing outwards from her under-eyes with her index fingers. ‘It is my eyeliner, yes? It is OK now?’

‘See, that could be a fun conversation instead.’ Amir gives me a wink.

‘There’s nothing wrong with your make-up.’ I put Reyes out of her misery. ‘He’s just winding you up.’

Reyes turns on Amir in indignation.

‘Amir! What do I tell you? You are not funny. You are just a little man.’

‘Thanks for stating the obvious.’ Amir chuckles.

I glance from Amir to Reyes in amusement, able – for a brief moment – to forget my woes, and just be thoroughly entertained by how they spark off each other. It’s hard not to be drawn to their humour and warmth, and most of all, their openness. This creates an inner conflict for me. On one hand, my damaged ego is protesting: urging me to retreat into the emotionless robotic persona I’ve used to protect myself for so long. But, my overriding instinct – like I’ve never felt before – is to trust these two people, and to share my pain and shame.

‘How about I do you a deal,’ I say to Amir. ‘You stop tormenting Reyes, and I’ll tell you what’s been going on.’

‘Deal. No question.’ Amir’s attention is immediately fixed on me, the mischievous glint in his eye melting again into an empathetic and encouraging concern. ‘So, what’s been going on?’

‘Yes, Chica, please talk with us,’ says Reyes.

‘OK…’

I pause and take a deep breath, alongside a deep satisfying swig of my gin and tonic, which Amir has clearly ordered as a double to help me get through this. The sharpness of the liquid on my taste buds is like a catalyst for action. It’s time to talk.

‘So, as you’ve clearly figured out from the events of this evening,’ I say. ‘I was in quite a different job before. Just several months ago. I was doing really well. I had my whole career mapped out. I was unstoppable… or so I thought…’

I relay the whole story: the sudden loss of my job; the way Sharon treated me; the string of unsuccessful interviews; the story I fabricated about having an amazing new job; meeting Aaron and reluctantly taking on the bar job; even my financial woes. They simply listen quietly; respecting the silence when I falter and encouraging me when I manage to get going again. As I talk, I’m acutely aware of Dylan’s words…

‘If you’re not careful you’re gonna turn into a right snob.’

I search Reyes and Amir’s faces nervously, wondering if that’s what they’ll think of me. Now that they know the full story, will they consider me to be just like my ex-colleagues? I’ve told them that I loved that world I was part of; that I think bar work is below me – the job that they both do. Why wouldn’t they think I was a snob? I’m starting to wonder that myself.

I sit back, emotionally drained, and take another long swig of my drink. I’m relieved to have been able to talk openly to someone other than Dylan, but I’m anxious about the reaction I’ll get. The wait, although only seconds long, feels long and heavy.

Amir is the first to speak.

‘That’s one hell of a roller coaster you’ve been on in the last few months, Liv. I’m not surprised you feel the way you do. That’s enough to blow a bloody great hole in anyone’s confidence; though not everyone would be big enough to admit it.’

‘I am agreeing with Amir.’ Reyes nods decisively. ‘This is very difficult time for you. You do not have family to help you?’

‘No. I don’t have a relationship with my mum, and…’ I hesitate, realising that although I’m opening up, I definitely don’t want to go down this route. ‘I just… I feel like a total failure.’

‘Why do you feel this?’ Reyes asks.

‘Because I’ve failed. Simple as that.’ I look at her as if this is obvious. ‘I was basically sacked, I can’t get a new job, and my ex-colleagues think I’m a loser.’

‘No way are you a loser.’ Amir shakes his head in rejection of my statement. ‘Look at what you’ve achieved in your life. Way more than me, that’s for sure. You’ll get back on track. You just need to rebuild your confidence.’

‘How do I do that?’ I massage my temples wearily.

‘I know how you can do this.’ Reyes touches my arm. ‘You must care about more than work – and money. You must not let other people decide if you have success. You must create your success. Not just from work and money. Why do you think that only work and money are important?’

‘I… err… because…’ I stumble to reply.

‘You’ll no’ fit in, so don’t bother yer backside tryin’.’

I try to push the unwelcome inner criticism away, unwilling to share the depths of my inner dysfunction with my new friends.

‘I…err… guess… it must have been drilled into us in school.’

‘Then, this school is as useful as chocolate in a teapot.’ Reyes throws her arms up in frustration.

‘You mean: as useful as a chocolate teapot,’ Amir corrects her.

‘That is what I say, Amir.’ Reyes throws him a sideways look. ‘Why you always repeat me?’

I share an amused smile with Amir, who just shrugs, shaking his head.

‘Chica.’ Reyes takes my hands and looks me straight in the eye. ‘You must find something more in your life. You must live for more than work and money. And you must understand how important friends are. Real friends. You should not be alone with this.’

‘I’ve not been completely alone,’ I say. ‘There’s a guy I know; I went to school with him. He… well, he sort of hangs around. Does the tough-love approach. That’s quite hard to stomach sometimes, though.’

‘He is stalking you?’ Reyes looks at me with consternation.

‘If he is, I can have him dealt with.’ Amir sits up in his seat boldly.

‘Little man. Please.’ Reyes laughs loudly, causing me to choke on my drink in amusement. ‘I will be dealing with this stalker better than you.’

‘All right.’ Amir puts on a mock-offended tone. ‘Just one height-related joke per night please. You’ll give me a complex.’

‘No, sorry, you both misunderstand me.’ I put my hand up, trying to control my giggles. ‘He’s not an actual stalker. He’s just… someone from my past who never went away.’

Just as I say this, my phone starts to ring. Wondering who could possibly be calling me at 11.15 p.m., I pull my phone out of my handbag. As if he’s psychic – it’s Dylan. I consider ignoring the call, but then think better of it.

‘Dylan, hi. Everything OK?’

‘Where are you?’ he asks, in place of a greeting.

‘I’m in the pub with my workmates from the hotel. Why? Is everything all right?’

‘I came to your bar to see you, but some silly cow with a poker up her arse looked me up and down, and said you’d finished early.’

‘You met Clara then.’ I smile gravely.

‘She’s a right piece of work,’ Dylan complains. ‘You weren’t wrong there.’

‘Dylan, why are you still out at this time? Are you not working tomorrow?’

‘Got the day off. Long weekend for me. Ch-ching! Where are you? I’ll come join you?’

‘Err…’

I try to think of a reason to put him off. My workmates apparently think he’s a stalker; I’m not sure I want to bring these two worlds together at this moment – but what to say?

‘We’re in the Granby Tavern.’

‘Ah… returning to earth.’ Dylan sounds pleased. ‘That’s my girl. I’ll have you back in the Broken Arms before you know it.’

I’m left staring at the phone in disapproval, as he cuts the call without saying goodbye. I look at Reyes and Amir.

‘That was… my stalker. He’s coming to join us.’

‘Right.’ Amir looks perplexed. ‘So, not an unwelcome stalker. Is he actually someone you’re secretly in love with?’

‘Definitely not.’ I shake my head firmly.

‘Then he must be… a friend?’ Reyes looks as confused as Amir.

‘Well, yes… but maybe closer to an annoying big brother… dishes out a little too much tough love… oh, Dylan, that was quick. Hi.’ I’m caught off guard as Dylan suddenly appears at our table. ‘You look smart.’

I take in his suited and booted attire. It’s not a look I’ve seen on him before – his workplace not having a dress code and his preference being for hoodies and jeans. It suits him. He actually looks quite handsome.

‘Thanks. Pints, anyone?’ Dylan asks, before I can even introduce him.

‘We’re on Tennent’s – cheers, mate.’ Amir signals for himself and Reyes, earning a thumbs-up of approval from Dylan.

He looks at my glass. ‘Gin and tonic, Squirt?’

‘Yes. Please.’ I sigh, embarrassed at his use of my childhood nickname in front of my workmates.

Dylan, oblivious to his error, heads to the bar to order the drinks.

‘Squirt?’ Amir looks amused. ‘That’s cute.’

‘Is it?’ I give him a sarcastic look.

‘What is this… this squirt?’ Reyes asks. ‘I do not know this word.’

‘I think it means that Liv was small when she was young,’ Amir explains. ‘Probably smaller than me by the sounds of things. And that’s the affectionate nickname she unfortunately ended up with from her friends. Is that right, Liv?’

‘On the button.’ I grimace.

‘I think it’s cute.’ Amir gives me a little wink.

‘Here we are, folks.’ Dylan plonks the first two pints on the table. ‘Back in a sec.’

‘Seems a nice guy,’ Amir comments, as Dylan returns to the bar for the final two drinks.

‘He definitely means well.’ I shrug. ‘It just doesn’t always come across that way.’

‘Right, so who do we have here?’ Dylan asks.

Carelessly placing my drink in front of me, causing some of the contents to slop over the sides, Dylan takes a glug from his pint, pulls out a chair and sits down. In my unease with his behaviour, I forget the introductions.

‘Amir.’ Amir sticks out his hand, and he and Dylan share a blokey handshake. ‘Good to meet you, mate. And this is Reyes.’

‘Hola.’ Reyes gives him a little wave.

‘Great to meet you both.’ Dylan grins at them.

His eyes linger on Reyes. He obviously thinks she’s as hot as I described her, and she’s probably the reason for his sudden appearance – and choice of attire. I make a mental note to warn him that she’s very much taken, in case he doesn’t spot the huge rock on her finger.

‘Nice to see Liv hanging out with some decent people for a change,’ says Dylan. ‘Not like the twats she used to drink with.’

I grimace again, but Amir and Reyes simply nod in plain agreement.

‘We had the pleasure of meeting them earlier,’ says Amir. ‘When they dropped by the bar.’

‘What? Why were they in the bar?’ Dylan looks at me, confused. ‘You didn’t invite them there, did you?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ I say. ‘They turned up unexpectedly. Must have just wanted to try the place. They definitely had no idea I was working there.’

‘Balls.’ Dylan gives me a sympathetic look. ‘They know then?’

‘Yes, they know.’ I sigh. ‘And it seems that’s the end of those friendships. Anya was the biggest let-down. She was the one person I thought I had something really strong with.’

‘Sorry, Squirt.’ Dylan ruffles my hair, causing me to duck out of his reach in embarrassment. ‘But seriously, it’s probably the best thing. You needed rid of those poncey twats. All they cared about was themselves. They weren’t proper friends. Not like me – and Amir and Reyes here.’

Amir and Reyes both raise an eyebrow at me, causing me to redden. I give them a warning look. They simultaneously drink from their pints to cover up their amusement.

‘Well, I’m not exactly rejoicing the way my social and professional connections just bombed.’ I rub my forehead absently. ‘And you could put it a little more delicately, Dylan. But, you’re probably right that I’m better off without them. Now, let’s change the subject.’

For the next hour and a half, we chat away about nothing and everything. Despite my concerns about Dylan joining us, he seems to warm to Reyes and Amir in a way that he never did with my previous ‘friends’. As we talk, laugh, and tease each other, I have a comforting sense that I find difficult to place. It’s like being at home. But home was never a happy place for me. I begin to withdraw from the conversation; becoming more and more distracted, as I frustratedly try and fail to catch the thread of this memory. Suddenly it hits me.

It is home. But not the home I grew up in: with the shouting and swearing, and the treading on eggshells. Where day after day, my mum retreated further and further into herself – and the bottle. It’s from the home I made with Dylan. Where we played in the woods at the back of the estate, or had marathon pool competitions in the Broken Arms, on the days when my dad was in the nick for yet another drunken brawl. Home wasn’t a physical place: it was in the companionship and the laughter. It was in the rare moments when I was away from my actual physical home, and I could forget it even existed. This is where I am now. I’m not just away from that broken world of my childhood. I am also away from the falsities I had created in my life in order to fit in and feel validated in the corporate world. I’m home here – and this is where I want to be.

‘Guys, I’ve just had an epiphany,’ I announce.

Dylan, Reyes and Amir immediately cease their banter and regard me quizzically.

‘What does this mean… epi-ta-ny?’ Reyes asks.

‘I thought that was a date in January,’ says Dylan.

‘Epiphany,’ Amir corrects them both. ‘It’s a moment of clarity. Of realisation.’

‘Ah, muy bien.’ Reyes suddenly looks excited. ‘And what is your realisation, Chica?’

‘It’s that you’re right. You’re all right. I’ve been so obsessed with my corporate career that I’ve sacrificed things that are important. Like friendships. And fun. Real fun. I don’t know when I last had such a great time as here, just now! Or laughed so much. Which is strange, given I just experienced one of the worst nights of my life as well…’

I pause for a moment to ponder this thought.

‘I mean, the nights out I had before were enjoyable,’ I continue. ‘They were high-end and high-energy. They made me feel like I’d made it and I fitted in. But they were so… predictable. The same work-related chat. The same limited innuendo-charged banter. But this… this is amazing. All of us together. We just click. I can just be me. This is the kind of social life I want…’

I turn to Dylan, who has been strangely quiet, just watching me. ‘Dylan, I’m so sorry. You’ve been my one true friend all this time, but I’ve pushed you away, thinking I should have something different. You’ve been so patient… so understanding. I’m not sure I deserved that. Thank you. Thanks, all of you, for making me wake up.’

My three friends all now gape at me in surprise, and then Amir and Reyes look at Dylan to gauge his reaction to my apology.

‘No worries.’ He just shrugs easily. ‘You were never gonna get rid of me. No matter how hard you tried.’

I get up and give him a whopping great hug to make up for all my ungratefulness over the past ten or so years. He looks surprised, but gallantly says nothing, and just hugs me back.

‘Well… this is amazing.’ Amir grins. ‘What a turnaround in one night.’

‘Yes! Chica. You are living again!’ Reyes gives me a big hug.

‘Let’s toast this shit!’ Dylan holds up his pint, and we clink our glasses together in celebration.

‘This is a new start for me,’ I declare. ‘Sod them, sod the lot of them. I don’t need them. And I don’t need the corporate world. Maybe I’ll just stay working in the bar. Have a life that’s actually worth living. Well, I mean, I love gin. I even love learning about gin. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’m not quitting. I’m staying at the bar for good. I feel freer and happier already, just thinking about—’

‘Eh… Squirt…’ Dylan interrupts me. ‘I don’t mean to piss on your parade, but if you do that, you’ll be homeless in a matter of weeks. It’s great that you’ve finally woken up, and I’m really glad you’ve put those idiots behind you. But you still need a better-paying job, otherwise it’s back to the—’

‘OK, thanks, Dylan.’ I cut him off before he can reveal any more.

‘Would you really want to be stuck working for the beast indefinitely anyway?’ Amir offers.

‘Definitely not.’ I scratch my head in consternation, as the reality of my situation floods back in waves, pushing back the alcoholic haze that has clouded my judgement. ‘OK, not everything is solved. Obviously, I still want to find a job in my field. And I want my high-flying career. But at least I’ve realised who my real friends are, and I’m happy tonight!’

‘This is the spirit, Chica. To amigos!’ Reyes toasts me, and we all clink glasses again.

‘We’ll help you out of this hole.’ Dylan pulls me into a vice-like sideways hug that’s more of a headlock. ‘Because that’s what true friends do.’

Chapter 13

The next evening, although I’ve already shared my woes, Reyes and still I go for a drink as planned on our day off. She assures me it won’t be a big one. And that’s how it starts out – in an upmarket bar on George Street. But after a couple of hours and a handful of G&Ts, Reyes has other ideas.

‘OK. We go dancing now, Chica.’ Her eyes shine mischievously.

‘What. No.’ I wave my hands in a halting gesture. ‘I’ve got job-hunting to do in the morning. Plus…’ I wince a little ‘…I can’t actually afford to spend any more tonight.’

She cocks her head to one side. ‘Then I will buy these drinks. You need night out. I know good salsa club with great cocktails.’

‘Reyes, no. I can’t allow you to do that. All right, how about we go and I’ll just not drink. I don’t need to drink to enjoy a dance anyway.’

As I say this, I find myself wondering if there will be an entry fee, but I keep these further financial concerns to myself.

‘Muy bien,’ says Reyes. ‘Let us go then.’

We finish our drinks, then grab our stuff and head for the door. Once outside in the dry but gusty late evening, Reyes leads the way to Bar Latino, a basement club just five minutes away, in the West End. As we descend the steps, nodding a greeting at the door staff as we go, the hot and sexy salsa music drifts out from inside, making it almost impossible not to be drawn in by the rhythmical beat. Then on entering the club, which I’m pleased to note doesn’t charge for entry, we’re hit by a wall of humidity, a natural by-product of the passion-filled dancing inside.

We grab a table and make ourselves comfortable on the black leather-style tub chairs, then Reyes gets straight to her feet again.

‘I go to toilet. Back in a minute.’

As she disappears across the dance floor, I watch the people dancing with interest. There are couples getting up close and personal, and groups of friends connecting through their laughter and synchronised movement to the beat of the conga drums. My gaze then shifts to the tables surrounding the dance floor, which are filled with a similar demographic. Just as I’m watching a man being very unwillingly dragged onto the dance floor by his overenthusiastic other half, Reyes reappears and plonks a cocktail down on the table in front of me.

‘I said I wasn’t going to drink.’ I look up at her, half-shouting to be heard over the music. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

‘Why I cannot buy you drinks?’ Reyes shrugs dramatically. ‘What is this? It is British thing?’

‘Huh? No. It’s…’

‘It is Liv thing.’ Reyes finishes my sentence with her own version before I can come up with a plausible response. ‘It is this pride. You need to shake off this pride.’

Realising there’s no way I’m going to win this, I give in. ‘Thanks for the drink, Reyes. That was very kind of you.’

‘You are welcome, Chica.’ She points at her drink, which is the same as mine. ‘This is caipirinha. This is cocktail to drink when dancing salsa.’

‘I’d have thought that would be a mojito or a margarita.’

‘They are also good. But they are… common as the muck, I think you say?’

‘That’s just about right.’ I give her an amused smile.

‘Yes. So, caipirinha is very good and less common as the muck.’

‘Right. Well, I’d better enjoy it then. Cheers!’

We clink glasses and sit quietly for a moment as we sip at our drinks, watching the people dancing around us. The zingy sweet and sour flavour combination with the lime and the alcoholic heat is quite delicious, and quickly gets me back in the mood; forgetting my lack of disposable income and my job-hunting commitments the next day.

‘I am loving this place,’ says Reyes. ‘Everyone is happy here. It is happy place.’

‘Not everyone,’ I reply.

‘What do you mean?’

‘See that couple over there.’ I point to the man who was dragged up to dance. ‘There’s something going on between them.’

‘Something how?’ Reyes squints across at the couple.

‘I think they’re having an argument or something.’

‘I do not think this. I think he is just not liking the dancing and she want him to stay.’

I shake my head. ‘I think it’s more than that. Just watch.’

As we continue to spectate from the sidelines, the interaction between the couple starts to shift. What might have seemed like harmless discussion and cajoling to stay on the dance floor, rapidly develops into emotion-fuelled faces and dramatic gestures, followed by a full-scale argument. Minutes later, the woman appears to shout some kind of insult at the man and then runs off the dance floor toward the ladies toilets in tears.

‘Dios mio! You were right.’ Reyes turns to me, wide-eyed. ‘You are person-reading genius.’

I shrug. ‘Got an eye for body language. I do hope they’ll patch it up. Don’t like seeing people upset.’

‘I do not either,’ Reyes agrees. ‘But we must forget this sadness. It is time to dance. And to party.’

‘Good thinking.’

We grab our drinks and join the people on the dance floor. As we do, it becomes clear that Reyes knows some of them, and before long, we’re dancing the night away together as a group, the atmosphere filled with laughter, rhythm and energy. And Reyes continues to keep our drinks topped up, despite my protestations. For the first time in ages, I feel free and can forget my worries by just losing myself in the music.

After a couple of hours, I’m getting close to calling it a night, when a man with pompadour-styled dirty blonde hair and an athletic physique starts to dance near us. He’s quite easy on the eye, and it’s clear that Reyes has noticed this. She’s giving me a blatant I-know-you-say-you’re-not-dating-but-what-about-this-guy look.

I shake my head straight away to indicate I’m not interested and she gives me a pouty, disapproving look. The man, who has failed to read this interaction, then shimmies across to me.

‘Hey, there. I couldn’t help noticing you have really great rhythm. Is that something you can teach?’

‘Why, you think you need lessons?’ I throw back. ‘You look like you’re managing just fine.’

‘Thanks.’ The man fails to take the hint. ‘How about I buy you a drink instead?’

I chuckle at his forwardness. ‘No thanks. My friend and I are just heading home. Have a good one.’

I grab Reye’s hand and haul her off the dance floor, leaving the man looking a little forlorn, dancing away by himself.

‘Chica, what is this?’ she immediately starts to protest. ‘Why you not like this man? He is beautiful.’

‘He is beautiful,’ I agree. ‘But he’s also hit on about four other women in here tonight,’ I reply. ‘And that’s just the ones I noticed.’

‘What? How you see this?’

‘As I said, I just notice things. He succeeded with one of them, but there was obviously something that put her off, because she made her excuses after one drink. So, even if I was on the lookout for a man, it wouldn’t be him.’

‘You are good at this.’ Reyes gives me an impressed look. ‘It is talent.’

‘I’m not sure I’d call it that. Maybe if I could apply it to my own car crash of a life. It’s much harder to read situations for what they really are when emotions are thrown into the mix.’ I stifle a yawn. ‘Right, I’m going to have to call it a night or I’ll never get through my shift tomorrow. Are you staying with your friends?’

‘No. I come with you.’

We reach our table, grab our coats and head for the door. Once we’ve climbed the steps back up into the dark and windy night, and are about to go our separate ways, I turn to Reyes.

‘Thanks for tonight. I think I really needed that.’

‘This I do know.’ Reyes gives me a big squeezy hug. ‘You are having your talents, and I am having mine. Goodnight, Chica. Go and have dreaming of nice life.’

The next afternoon, I’m back behind the bar with Reyes, preparing for the Friday evening rush.

‘Are you still having the headache?’ she asks me.

‘Not as bad.’ I look up briefly from slicing the lemon and lime wedges. ‘Thanks for the painkillers.’

‘It was worth it though, yes? To have the headache?’

‘It certainly was.’ I smile at her. ‘Can’t remember the last time I had a night out like that. I’m guessing they party differently in Spain.’

‘This, I do know.’ Reyes nods firmly. ‘I am so happy that the fun chica has finally come out. I like this better.’

‘Me too.’ I laugh. ‘I definitely lost my sense of perspective – and humour – for a while there.’

‘In English, “a while” means ten years?’

‘Cheeky.’ I throw her a sideways glance, and my lips curl impishly. ‘It’s only been eight and a half.’

‘For a chica who does not want to have a man, you seem to know a lot about romance and dating.’ Reyes stops polishing the glass in her hand and looks at me curiously. ‘You have interesting view with the couple and the man in the bar last evening.’

‘I’m just fascinated by human behaviour.’ I shrug. ‘Studied it as part of my degree at university.’

‘Ah, OK. This is making sense. But you have a man in your life before?’

‘Yes, but not for a while. As I said to you before, it’s career first.’

‘And now?’ Reyes gives me a hopeful look. ‘Maybe now you have this perspective, you can have romancing with Josh?’

‘Not if I want to keep my apartment.’ I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘I’ve had three more job rejections in the last two weeks. It’s like they can smell my desperation. I need to stay focused. I got carried away the other night, OK, but my ambition hasn’t gone away. I still need the career, the fulfilment… the sense of achievement.’

‘I am seeing that I still have work to do with you, Chica.’ Reyes puts a hand on her hip. ‘You can have all this. And you can also have romancing. I will show you.’

I’m about to challenge Reyes’s thinking, when Amir bursts through the door to the bar from the main hotel, looking jubilant.

‘I have insane news!’ he announces.

‘What is it?’ I ask.

‘The beast has finally been slayed!’

‘The beast?’ Reyes’s face is one of confusion. ‘What do you mean, Amir? She is dead? We did not like her, yes, but we did not want this.’

‘She’s not dead. She’s gone!’ Amir whoops. ‘I’m not joking. Heard it straight from the beast’s mouth…’

He looks at us expectantly. Reyes, having missed the pun, just looks confused.

‘Very good.’ I groan obligingly, then immediately perk up. ‘So, tell us more. Has she resigned? That would be a shock. She loves throwing her weight around here.’

‘The way she tells it, it’s a transfer to another hotel, and a better job. She’s moving down south straight away. Was clearing out her locker when I saw her about half an hour ago.’

‘Oh, thank the amazing man in the sky!’ I clamp my hand over my mouth in shock. ‘I’m saved! She can’t sack me now.’

‘This is the best day!’ Reyes hoots. ‘We are free.’

‘Unless her replacement is worse,’ I say suddenly. ‘I don’t think I could cope with that.’

‘There’s no way he’ll be worse.’ Amir gives me a wink.

‘How do you know?’ I ask. ‘And how do you know it’s going to be a bloke?’

‘Yes, Amir,’ Reyes berates him. ‘You are sexist and a little man.’

‘Actually – now I’m the big man.’ Amir stands as tall as he can and puffs out his chest. ‘You’re looking at the new Amethyst Bar Manager.’

‘What?’ Reyes and I cry in unison.

‘Yes, ladies. Aaron just grabbed me for a chat. With immediate effect, I’m now officially your boss. Was supposed to let him tell you that though, so don’t let on I said.’

‘That’s amazing!’ I’m genuinely elated for him. ‘That’s a big jump, managing all the bars.’

‘Actually, it’s just this bar,’ Amir clarifies. ‘Aaron’s decided to have a manager in each bar instead of one managing all three, so it’s not as big a job, thankfully. I’ll still be around to annoy you ladies.’

‘Amir.’ At first, Reyes sounds like she’s about to tell him off. ‘I must offer you formal Spanish celebration. Felicitaciones! This is excellent news. Though I will say that if you will continue to annoy us, I will continue to call you little man. Even if you are the boss.’

‘Fine by me.’ Amir grins at us both.

‘Congratulations. Really.’ I give him a hug. ‘Brilliant news. Now I can do my work without the continuous fear of attack and dismissal.’

‘You have no worries with that.’ Amir pats my shoulder. ‘I’ll be the opposite to the beast.’

‘I know you will.’ I smile at him. ‘Oh, here comes Aaron… sshh.’

Reyes and I turn back to our tasks, and Amir disappears into the storeroom, as Aaron strides through the door to the bar.

‘Afternoon.’ His tone is as clipped as usual. ‘Quick update. Is Amir here?’

‘I’m here. Two secs.’ He shouts from the storeroom, then makes a loud show of finishing his imaginary task, before joining us behind the bar.

I stifle a giggle, hoping he’s a far better Bar Manager than he is an actor.

‘I know news travels fast in this hotel,’ says Aaron. ‘And I wanted you to know this first…’

Reyes and I offer appropriately curious faces.

‘As of yesterday, Clara is no longer your manager.’ Aaron sways back and forth on the spot as he talks. ‘She has accepted an immediate transfer to another hotel where they need cover following the sudden resignation of their own Bars Manager.’

‘Right.’ I put on a shocked face. ‘Well, that’s a shame we’re losing Clara.’

Reyes nods along theatrically in agreement.

Aaron eyes us, leaving me in no doubt that neither Reyes nor myself will be in line for the Oscars.

‘So, I saw this as an opportunity to offer some staff promotions,’ he continues. ‘There will now be one manager in each bar, rather than one person overseeing all three. As from today, Amir is your new Amethyst Bar Manager.’

‘Oh, yay!’ I clap my hands together in fake surprise and excitement. ‘What brilliant news. Well done, Amir.’

‘Yes, this is… fantastic.’ Reyes’s thick Spanish accent thankfully covers some of the blatant fabrication between us. ‘Congratulations, Amir.’

‘Thanks, ladies.’ Amir offers us both a wink. ‘Technically, you’re now my beeatches.’

Aaron clears his throat loudly. ‘Perhaps, Amir, your first learning focus can be to rein in the sexist behaviour.’ He wipes the smile straight off Amir’s face. ‘I’ll put you on the list for diversity training.’

Reyes and I suddenly lose control, dissolving into uncontrollable laughter.

Aaron simply looks baffled. ‘Right. Well, that was all. Have a good evening.’

He turns and strides back out of the bar, leaving the three of us falling about laughing, and sharing lopsided high fives.

As the evening draws in, the bar fills to capacity – which by Amethyst’s high-end standards means that all the tables are occupied, no one left standing. Reyes, Amir and I have a seamless production line running: serving what new (and proud-Dad-style) Bar Manager, Amir, claims are the finest gin cocktails on offer.

In addition to things running smoothly, we’re also enjoying our work far more than we had ever dared to with the beast around. Despite his promotion, Amir and Reyes’s constant friendly bickering continues, and as I run the drinks orders back and forth, I find myself relaxed and moving to the beat of the music. It’s a different world to the one I entered with Clara in charge.

‘That couple over there.’ I jab my thumb over my shoulder, as I deposit a tray of dirty glasses on the bar. ‘Affair. No question.’

‘How can you tell?’ Reyes is captivated.

‘She’s wearing a wedding ring. And she keeps playing with it absently. Clear sign of a guilty conscience.’

‘Maybe she is just stressed?’

‘Don’t think so.’ I shake my head. ‘They’re both on edge. He’s trying to come across as relaxed, but he keeps glancing at the door. He’s worried about being caught.’

‘Chica. Wow. You are correct.’ Reyes looks impressed. ‘I love your…’ She searches for the right word.

‘Theories?’ I suggest.

‘Yes. Exactly. You are always right. Give one more.’

I scan the room and spot a couple in their twenties making awkward small talk.

‘This one’s almost too easy. First date. But, he’s way more into her than she is to him.’

‘OK, I can believe that this is a first meeting. They are not… how do you say…?’

‘In sync?’ I offer. ‘Like not totally comfortable, as people who know each other well are?’

‘Yes, that is it.’ Reyes nods. ‘But, why do you think she is not liking him? She looks nervous too.’

‘Correction.’ I smile, enjoying this interaction immensely. ‘She’s not nervous. She’s anticipatory. She’s waiting for her rescue call and wondering why it’s not come through yet. Look at how she’s totally preoccupied: constantly checking her phone.’

As I say this, the woman grabs her phone and puts it to her ear. A few moments later she’s getting her things together, the man consoling her as she puts on a pretty convincing performance of concern over whatever fake emergency she’s concocted. As she rushes down the steps on her way out the bar, her face expresses pure relief. Sensing us watching, she looks over and immediately clocks that we’ve rumbled her. The relief turns to guilt, and she rushes towards the door, before disappearing into the night.

‘OK.’ Reyes turns to me in awe. ‘You are not good. You are incredible. You must do something with this talent.’

‘Like what?’ I laugh. ‘It’s hardly useful. It would be – if I could read the situations I end up in myself as well. Unfortunately, whenever my own emotions are involved, my radar goes faulty.’

‘It can just entertain us then, yes?’ Reyes squeezes my arm playfully.

‘Definitely.’

I duck into the store cupboard to grab some quick gulps from my water before heading back to clear more glasses. As I do, I enjoy my own little private boogie, my body shifting in time to the music. I’m completely lost in this moment when Josh unexpectedly appears behind me, causing me to spill water down my front.

‘Oh, hi.’ I surreptitiously brush the droplets from the front of my tunic, hoping he won’t notice. ‘Didn’t hear you come in there.’

‘You weren’t meant to.’ He flashes his stunningly white teeth at me. ‘Thought I’d surprise you.’

‘Right. Well, that you did.’

I drink in his holiday tan and the way his hair has lightened in places from the sun, making him look hotter than ever. He’s also wearing a new aftershave, no doubt picked up at duty free on his way home: a heady, citrusy scent that has me almost giddy with lust the moment it wafts into my nostrils. My stomach does an unwelcome flip, triggering some immediate risk-avoiding self-talk: Liv, this is not the time to start having a crush. Especially on someone at work.

‘Good holiday?’ I ask. ‘You certainly look like you enjoyed it. Where were you?’

‘Corfu.’ He runs his hand through his hair casually; my eyes involuntarily follow the movement. ‘It was roasting for the time of year. We weren’t expecting that, so we all got a bit burnt in the first few days.’

‘Lads’ holiday, was it?’

‘Yeah. Six of us. Wasn’t quite the party-hard holiday you’re imagining though. There were nights out, but not Ayia-Napa style. Not really our scene.’

‘Sounds fun.’ As I say this, an unexpected thought pops into my mind. Were there women? I bet there were women. Six guys away – how could there not be women?

I shake my head exaggeratedly to disperse this ridiculous speculation. Like I care.

‘You OK?’ Josh cocks his head to one side curiously.

‘Err… yeah. Course.’ I straighten up to accentuate my point.

‘There weren’t any women, by the way.’

‘What?’ Flustered at his ability to read me so easily, I turn away and start to rearrange the bottles on the shelf. ‘Why would that matter?’

‘It might. Or it might not.’ I can’t see him, but I can hear the satisfaction in his voice. ‘Thought I’d be upfront, you know, keep the lines of communication open… just in case.’

‘OK… thanks. I guess.’ I continue to tidy the shelf.

‘You’re welcome. Now, if I’m right, it must be about time for your break. Fancy getting your arse whipped at pool?’

Relieved at the change of subject, I dive right in.

‘Ha! You mean like last time?’ I turn to face him, hands on my hips.

‘You duped me; I’m ready for you now.’ Josh looks so sure of himself, I simply can’t resist the opportunity to wipe the smile off his face once more.

‘Hey, Amir?’ I call. ‘OK if I go for my break now?’

‘Sure,’ Amir replies. ‘We’re well on top of things here.’

‘And… that’s one each,’ Josh boasts, as he sinks the black ball in the top right pocket.

I grit my teeth in frustration. I so badly wanted to win again.

‘Good game.’ I shake his hand grudgingly. ‘You were lucky there.’

‘Luck had nothing to do with it.’ He oozes cockiness. ‘As I said, didn’t know what I was dealing with before.’

‘Well, I guess we’ll find out for sure when we play the decider.’

‘We sure will.’ He looks me straight in the eye. ‘Maybe we could do that on a proper date?’

‘Nice try, but my situation hasn’t changed.’ I smile sweetly, trying to act cool.

To my displeasure, my heart starts to pound a little.

‘Can’t blame a guy.’ He puts his hands up in defeat, then pauses and looks at me for a moment. ‘You do seem a bit happier than when I first met you. Is that because Clara’s gone?’

‘That, among other things,’ I reply.

‘I’m glad. At least you don’t need to worry about being late back from your break anymore.’

‘Yeah, totally… oh, shit… what time is it?’ I glance at my watch and see that I am late. ‘Woops. I’d better get back.’

‘I’ll chum you,’ says Josh. ‘Need to have a word with Amir anyway.’

We wander back to the bar, which is a bit quieter than when I left. Amir is heavily involved in some flirty banter with a couple of female customers, and hasn’t even noticed my tardiness. Reyes is using the break from orders to fill the glass washer.

‘Hola, Josh.’ Reyes stops what she’s doing and greets Josh with two European-style kisses. ‘You enjoyed your vacation?’

‘I did indeed… without any women whatsoever. It was strictly lads only.’ He gives her a little wink, this comment clearly being for my benefit.

‘I see…’ Reyes’s eyes fill with mischief, as I stand behind Josh, waving my arms in a gesture aimed at discouraging her from engaging any further in this discussion. ‘Not one single chica?’

‘Nope.’ Josh offers her an innocent face. ‘Not a single one. There’s only one woman I’m interested in, but she keeps knocking me back.’

‘Really.’ Reyes looks delighted by this interaction. ‘And why will this chica not go out with you, Josh?’

‘Says she has other things going on in her life. And she’s concerned that we work together.’ Josh puts on a mock sad face. ‘What do you think I should do?’

Reyes pauses thoughtfully. ‘I think that you should wait longer. This chica, I think she will change her mind.’ She gives Josh an encouraging look and then throws me a devilish smile.

‘You think?’ Josh’s eyes light up. ‘All right then, I’ll do that. See you later.’

He heads out of the bar without even saying goodbye to me. There’s a slight skip in his step, as if he’s already sealed the deal. I watch him go, mildly fuming, though more at myself because he’s got to me. He knows I like him, and Reyes certainly hasn’t helped discourage him. I’ll just have to stay firm, no matter how tempted I become.

‘Thanks for that.’ I direct an accusatory look at Reyes.

‘Chica, I do not know why you think I will help you.’ Reyes matches my gaze. ‘You need romance in your life. Josh is just the hombre to give you that.’

‘Hombre?’

‘It means “man” in Spanish. Spanish men are very special – and Josh is just like this. He will make your heart beat faster.’

‘That I can’t argue with,’ I admit. ‘He already does. The point is that I’m trying not to let him know that – because I need to focus on getting my career back on track – and you’re not helping.’

‘You will thank me, Chica. You will see.’

Realising I’m fighting a losing battle, I just shake my head in rejection of this statement.

‘What will Liv be thanking you for?’ Aaron’s voice suddenly cuts through the silence.

Focused on our friendly stand-off, neither Reyes or I have noticed his entrance and approach.

‘Hola, Mister Gardiner.’ Reyes beams at Aaron, completely unruffled. ‘I am telling Liv that she is needing love in her life.’

‘Reyes, please stop.’ I’m horrified that she has brought this up so matter-of-factly in front of Aaron.

‘Is that right?’ Aaron looks worryingly amused, causing my cheeks to immediately flame. ‘And do you have anyone in mind for her?’

‘Actually, yes.’ Reyes smiles cheekily. ‘But an amiga never tells.’

‘Bit late to be saying that, is it not?’ My tone is flat.

Aaron looks from Reyes to me and shakes his head witheringly. ‘I just came to check things are running smoothly. But thank you for the supplementary information. I’ll leave you both to it.’

Aaron turns and starts to stride out of the bar. I signal to Reyes that she’s in trouble the minute he’s gone. She simply sticks her tongue out in response. As I watch Aaron go, I suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to go after him.

‘Aaron, wait.’ I catch him just as he reaches the door to the main hotel.

‘Yes, Liv?’ He turns and looks at me expectantly.

‘I… err… I just wanted to say thank you. For bailing me out – again. I was dealing with some stuff before, and I didn’t properly appreciate what you’d done for me. I just want you to know that I do now. I really do. You’re kind of like… a guardian angel.’

Aaron looks at me for a moment, and I wonder if, for the first time ever, he’s going to respond in an equally meaningful way.

‘No problem, Liv. Now get back to work.’

I smile as he gives me an awkward nod and disappears through the door. Not exactly a man for heartfelt interactions, I remind myself, as I retreat.

Turning back to the bar, my eyes land on Reyes. ‘Right, you. I want a word.’

‘Is this word… romance?’ She flutters her eyelashes at me.

‘No. Actually it’s four words. Butt. The hell. Out.’

‘I am sorry, Chica. I do not understand this phrase.’

‘Don’t you pull that trick with me. You know exactly what I’m saying.’ My face is stony, but I’m struggling not to laugh.

‘Aww… Chica. I am so excited for your first date with Josh. It will not be long. I know this.’

Defeated, I resort to swiping her playfully with a glass cloth.

Chapter 14

‘So, where are you on the countdown to eviction now?’

It’s Monday and I’m having lunch with Dylan in a dingy pub just around the corner from his office near Haymarket Station.

‘Ah, great.’ I put my fork down on my plate. ‘Some nice, light-hearted chat over lunch. Just what I was hoping for.’

‘You expected that from me?’ Dylan gives me a sarcastic look.

‘You’re right. I should have known better.’

‘What’s the number then?’ he prompts me.

I sigh and place my cutlery in the six o’clock position on the plate, my appetite having suddenly scarpered.

‘I make it about twelve weeks. But that’s obviously when I’ve run out completely. I’ll have to start making arrangements well before then.’

‘I was thinking about that myself.’ Dylan gives me a pained look. ‘I even considered offering to move in with you and split the bills, but I’m tied into my lease for another eight months.’

‘Probably for the best.’ I laugh. ‘I appreciate the gesture, but I’m not sure I could live with your stinking trainers.’

‘I would have considered buying a new pair,’ Dylan huffs.

‘Thanks anyway.’ My face softens. ‘Honestly. That was sweet of you.’

‘So, what are you gonna do then?’

‘I don’t actually know.’ I exhale heavily. ‘I’ll probably have to sell up regardless. Unless something comes up in the next couple of weeks. Problem is, I checked with my mortgage provider and it’s borderline whether I’ll be in negative equity. I bought my apartment brand new three years ago, on a ninety per cent mortgage, and unfortunately it hasn’t held its value.’

‘Balls.’ Dylan stabs at his chips, his frustration at being unable to help me evident. ‘What size of hole are you looking at?’

‘Worst-case scenario: a couple of thousand – that I don’t have. Best case: I’ll break even or get a few hundred in equity.’

‘Aww… Squirt. This totally sucks. I’d lend you the money, but me ma needed a loan to pay off some debts, so my money is tied up there for now. Best I can offer is a week or so at mine – on the couch – but my flatmates will kick off if it’s any longer than that.’

‘It’s fine.’ I wave my hand at him. ‘I’ll just need to start looking at other options. On the money I’m bringing in, I’m not sure I’ll be able to afford anything more than a rented flat on the estate – possibly even a flat share. They’ll all love that – I’ll be the talk of the Broken Arms. Seeing me come crashing down. Back to the level I shouldn’t have aspired above in the first place.’

‘No one will be like that,’ says Dylan. ‘No one worth giving a shit about, anyway. Anyone who does will have me to deal with.’

There’s a short pause as a waiter clears our plates away.

‘It’s just so frustrating.’ My voice wobbles and I push my hands through my hair, suddenly succumbing to the stress of it all. ‘If I could even supplement the wage I’m on with something else, then I’d have a chance of keeping my apartment – as long as I budgeted hard in other ways.’

‘Like what?’ Dylan’s interest recovers.

‘That’s the problem. I’m keen to do something, but can’t think of anything. I’m a corporate monkey, not an entrepreneur. I don’t know where to start.’

‘No harm in throwing a few ideas around. Have you got a notepad and pen?’

‘Err… yeah. In my handbag.’ I reach down, dig them out and hand them to him. ‘So, where do we start?’

‘What are you good at?’ Dylan asks.

‘Not much. I have my professional skills, I guess. So… writing communications, managing client relationships, putting a good PR spin on things…’

‘OK, what else?’

‘What do you mean “what else”? That’s it. That’s all I have to offer.’

‘Widen your thinking,’ he encourages me. ‘Give me some off-the-wall stuff.’

‘What? Why? This is pointless, Dylan.’ Again, my voice breaks slightly. ‘I just need to accept that—’

‘Will you just do it!’ Dylan shakes his head at me in frustration. ‘You’re a bloody mare to work with, woman.’

‘OK, OK. Err… I’m good at… drinking champagne. And I know a lot about gin now…’

Dylan scribbles as I talk.

‘Oh, and I have a real talent for reading people – as long as I’m totally removed from the situation. I watch the couples in the bar and make observations about them – and I’m nearly always right. Reyes is well impressed.’

‘Ah, how is Reyes?’ Dylan’s eyes glaze over, leaving me in no doubt that he’s imagining her naked.

‘And you just gave me a mouthful for not focusing on this?’

‘Sorry, you’re right.’ Dylan gathers himself. ‘She is one sexy bit of stuff though.’

‘One married sexy bit of stuff,’ I remind him.

‘Yeah, I noticed that,’ he grumbles and taps the side of his head. ‘Can still enjoy her up here though. Anyway…’

‘Yes, anyway.’ I glare at him. ‘Did you get all that before mentally undressing my married friend?’

‘Sure did.’ He reads down the list. ‘Poncey corporate bollocks, champagne, gin, weird stalker shit.’

‘Doesn’t add up to much, does it?’ I sigh. ‘And don’t call me a stalker. It’s an art.’

‘You’re an idiot.’ Dylan shakes his head at me again, pulls out the piece of paper from the pad and screws it up into a ball. ‘Was worth a try.’

‘Wait a minute.’ A flicker of an idea suddenly flits through my mind. ‘Give me that piece of paper.’

He passes it to me and I flatten it out, reading the words, over and over.

‘I’m really enjoying working in the bar,’ I ponder. ‘But there’s an element of fulfilment that I just don’t get from it, that I got when I was working at McArthur Cohen. This job is not mentally stimulating; doesn’t challenge my mind…’

‘So?’ Dylan prompts me.

‘If I could choose to do anything from my old job again, it would be the writing. I loved nothing more than crafting and polishing the perfect article or communication piece. What if I tired some freelance writing again? But this time not in a professional context. On my observations of other people? Or I could write about gin. Or both? That could be fun! Although… I’ve no idea how I’d make any money from it. Who would pay money for that kind of stuff?’

‘Squirt, you’re a bloody genius!’ Dylan suddenly slams his hand on the table, making me jump.

‘I am?’

‘Yes. You are. Nobody needs to buy it. They just need to read it. Set up a blog online and write about exactly that. People love this shit. If you gain enough followers, you can make a killing from advertising revenue.’

‘What, really?’ I scratch my head. ‘I haven’t the first clue how to go about doing all that.’

‘Good thing I do.’ Dylan looks triumphant. ‘I knew being an admin donkey for a tech start-up would come in handy one day. I work with internet gurus, so I know how it works. A guy on my floor has his own blog and he makes a decent sum on the side.’

‘Really? So, you’ll help me?’

‘Damn sure. We’re gonna get you out of this hole. When’s your next day off?’

‘Tomorrow,’ I confirm. ‘But you’ll be working, surely? We could do it on the weekend, before my shift starts.’

‘No way.’ Dylan shakes his head decisively. ‘Time is ticking down. We can’t afford to lose nearly another week. I’ll get the day off. Start pulling your first blog post together and we’ll get you launched by the end of the day.’

I’m enthused, but overwhelmed by these ideas.

‘But, I don’t know what I’m going to write about yet.’ I suddenly feel panicked. ‘Maybe if we wait a few days, something will come to—’

‘Liv. Stop.’ Dylan silences me. ‘Your confidence is shot, so you’re stalling. I get that. But you just said you need challenge and fulfilment. What could give you more of that than setting up your own money-making operation in the space of a day? Just bloody do it!’

‘I suppose there’s no harm in giving it a try.’ I hesitate slightly. ‘It’s not like it’s going to land me in a worse position than I’m already in.’

‘That’s the spirit!’ Dylan thumps me on the back affectionately. ‘What a productive lunch. Now let’s get the bill.’

Chapter 15

I spend the next morning at my breakfast bar, tapping away at my laptop, trying to craft my very first blog post. At first, I struggle, my mind distracted by a persistent, nagging fear that I’ll fail. This triggers a frustrating and seemingly unbreakable cycle: writing a few sentences, reading and deleting them, then starting again. I curse my clumsy prose, and the loss of the flawless, uninterrupted focus my writing used to display.

While wrestling with my wavering self-belief, I realise that, until I left McArthur Cohen, this was a feeling I haven’t experienced significantly since my childhood. A time when my father muttered daily about how working hard at school was a waste of time; that no matter how hard I tried, I would amount to nothing; that ‘folk like us’ were set up to be nobodies and have nothing. His worldly-wise view was that life was unfair: we were the victims of inequality from a rigged system. This was justification for his violent outbursts, his drinking, every job he lost, every custodial sentence he was handed down.

He did so little to nurture and prepare me for the real world. But it had the opposite effect to what he assumed. I challenged his self-justification, for which he never forgave me. I fought his sense of inevitability. Instead of ignorantly and naively following him and my mum down the road to misery, I made a pact with myself: no matter what the consequences, I would not turn out like my parents. I put my trust in the belief that others had in me – like Dylan and my favourite teacher, Mrs Patterson. Their encouragement made me think I could achieve something. This cost me the last shred of familial bond, but I have never once regretted my decision.

After an hour of self-torture, and no progress on my first blog post, I decide I need a break. I slide off my bar stool, unlock the door to my balcony, and step outside. The cool, blowy air offers a welcome relief from the stifling suffocation of my own mind. For a few minutes, I just lean on the balcony railing, looking out across north-east Edinburgh, breathing the city air deep into my lungs. It’s far from countryside fresh, but it’s invigorating all the same.

As the calming rhythm of my breathing reaches every part of my body, I begin to relax. I bounce a little on the spot in a bid to get my blood – and my motivation – flowing. Thankfully, it has the desired effect. Encouraged by this, my mind begins to shift to lighter thoughts; curiously, a mantra an old university friend used to repeat to herself before exams randomly pops into my head: my only true barrier is myself.

As her words circle in my mind, and I make the connection with my own self-limiting behaviour, I feel the urge to articulate them – quietly.

‘My only true barrier is myself,’ I murmur.

My words, so delicate and fragile, barely even audible, are instantly whisked away by the whipping wind. Realising that it’s unlikely anyone will hear me, I raise my voice slightly.

‘My only true barrier is myself.’

I’ve never been one to buy into this particular brand of self-help, but I’m surprised by the effect chanting these six words aloud, in this specific setting, has on me. It’s like I’ve created a tiny spark within me, and I’m beginning to come alive. I take it up another notch.

‘My only true barrier is myself.’

A single flame bursts from the rising inner glow.

‘My only true barrier is myself.’

My voice is now close to a shout.

‘MY ONLY TRUE BARRIER IS MYSELF.’

The fire suddenly erupts within me. My mental torture melts and gives way to a surge of power, invigoration and determination. I can do this. I’ve overcome my fears before. I’ve proved how capable I am. McArthur Cohen and my ex-colleagues do not get to take me down. I have a talent for writing: that is the way forward. The only thing that’s getting in the way of that is me.

‘MY ONLY TRUE BARRIER IS MYSELF. MY ONLY TRUE BARRIER IS MYSELF. MY ONLY TRUE BARRIER IS MYSELF.’

I shout the words over and over, allowing them to gallop away into the whooshing and whirling sky. Eventually, a wave of calm and confidence envelops me, and I stop reciting my mantra. I’m ready to write. I enjoy the feelings of tranquillity and anticipation for a few moments longer, then turn to head back indoors.

‘Young lady.’ A faltering elderly male voice suddenly descends from above me. ‘That was quite inspired. Even I want to take over the world now.’

I look up to my right and see an old man sitting on a patio chair on his balcony, puffing on a pipe. Instead of feeling a burning humiliation from being overheard, my inner composure surprisingly holds.

‘I’m glad,’ I call up to him. ‘And you know what? You can if you want to.’

‘Think it’s a bit late for me.’ He chuckles. ‘But it’s definitely not too late for you. Go get ’em, my dear. Goodness, we need more people like you running our country.’

‘Thanks.’ I smile up at him. ‘Enjoy your pipe.’

Laughing to myself, I open the balcony door, and step indoors, and as I do, I hear a hammering on my front door. Glancing at my watch, I curse out loud as I realise that I’ve wasted the whole morning and Dylan’s already here. So much for realising the benefits of my motivational outpouring!

Dylan begins pounding my front door again, just as I open it.

‘Calm yourself,’ I greet him as his knocking fist almost connects with my face.

‘What you been doing, Squirt?’ he complains as he skulks past me, laptop bag slung over his shoulder. ‘I’ve been out here for ages. You got stomach trouble or something?’

‘No, I don’t.’ I eye him disapprovingly. ‘I was on the balcony. Don’t be so grumpy. Why don’t you just use the buzzer like normal people? It’s louder.’

He ignores my question. ‘You got your first blog post ready?’

‘Err… no. Not yet.’

‘What? Why not?’

‘Because… I had a telephone interview this morning.’ I’m reluctant to share my crisis of confidence. ‘Kind of came out of the blue.’

‘Oh? What’s the job?’ Dylan’s face perks up, leaving me feeling a bit guilty. ‘Did it go well?’

‘Not really.’ I wave my hand dismissively. ‘Crossed wires. Turns out it wasn’t what I thought.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘It’s fine. No biggie. You hungry?’ I gesture towards the fridge, a sure-fire way to distract him. ‘I’ve got a stocked fridge. How about you have something to eat and start setting up my blog site? I’ll see what I can come up with.’

An hour and a half later, I hop off my bar stool, and join Dylan on the couch.

‘I’m done. How are you getting on?’

‘Well done, you.’ Dylan looks impressed. ‘Let’s have a read then.’

We swap laptops and sit in silence for several minutes inspecting each other’s work. I finish first and sit quietly until Dylan’s done too; reading isn’t his biggest strength. After a short while, he sits back thoughtfully.

‘Well?’ I prompt him. ‘What do you think?’

His reaction throws me. My first instinct is that he thinks it’s rubbish but doesn’t know how to tell me. The nagging self-doubt from earlier starts to loom again.

‘Dylan?’ I try again.

‘I think…’ he says eventually. ‘I think it’s bloody amazing.’

‘You do?’

‘Yeah, I do. And that’s coming from someone who’s spent their whole life trying to avoid reading. It’s easy to read, which is high praise coming from me. It’s funny—’

‘You didn’t laugh,’ I jump in.

‘Not out loud. But that’s probably because I was having to concentrate.’

‘So, you like it?’ I smile tentatively.

‘I love it.’ Dylan looks me square in the face. ‘I can’t offer all the poncey review nonsense used by proper critics, but I can say it’s bloody ace. When you said you were going to write about gin and dating at the same time, I did wonder if it would work. But the way you’ve created a story out of the dating side, and then built in a tailored gin recommendation at the end – it’s genius! If we can get you a good following to start you off, I think this will really take off.’

‘Well… great!’ I feel a surge of enthusiasm. ‘I love the blog site you’ve designed for me too, by the way. It’s so professional-looking.’

‘Great stuff. I made a start last night to get us ahead of the game. Now, we need a name for your blog, then to upload the content, and we’ll get you published. Any thoughts on what you want to call it?’

‘Oh… err… I’ve no idea. You got any thoughts?’

Dylan scratches his head. ‘It needs to be something related to your blogging topic.’

We sit in thoughtful silence for a few minutes.

‘I’m struggling to come up with anything,’ I admit. ‘This seems the hardest bit!’

‘What about something related to gin?’ Dylan suggests. ‘Names of drinks, maybe?’

‘Yes. Gin cocktails. Good thinking!’ I take my laptop from him and do a Google search. ‘There must be something we can use, even just for inspiration.’ I click in and out of some websites. ‘OK… there’s one called an Aviation—’

‘Probably more suitable for a blog about flying,’ Dylan remarks.

‘There’s a Gimlet—’

‘Whoa! Sounds too much like gimp.’

‘Please shut up and listen,’ I instruct him. ‘You don’t need to comment on every single one.’

Dylan smirks like a teenage boy who’s been told off by his teacher.

‘There’s a Tom Collins,’ I continue. ‘Singapore Sling, Pink Gin, Negroni… ooh, I’ve got it! Gin Fizz. That’s perfect! It’s got the gin element; the fizz refers to the romance. And it’s my favourite cocktail!’

‘That’s the balls, Squirt!’ Dylan high-fives me. ‘Nice one. Gin Fizz, it is. Email me your blog post.’

I do as he’s asked while he completes the final touches on my blog site.

‘Nearly done,’ he commentates. ‘I’ve got quite a big Twitter following. I’ll put it out via that and ask some contacts to re-tweet it. I’ll also get my workmates to see how far they can push your traffic using their online marketing skills. They love a challenge. That way you can preserve your anonymity. I’m assuming this is something you don’t want Aaron to see?’

‘Oh, I never thought of that.’ I chew my lip anxiously. ‘Obviously not, because I’ll be writing about customers. I wouldn’t want to cause any damage to the hotel’s reputation.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Dylan reassures me as he continues to work on the web page in front of him. ‘Just make sure you don’t give away any personal details – about you or the people you write about – or clues to where you work and it’ll be fine.’

‘OK, great.’ I feel better on hearing this.

‘Right, that’s you ready to go,’ he announces. ‘Want to hit the button?’

‘No, I think you should.’ I give him a nudge. ‘You’re the one who’s really made this happen. Go for it.’

‘OK, here goes.’ Dylan hits the ‘publish’ button. ‘That’s you gone live. Congratulations. You’re now officially an online blogger.’

‘Dylan, thank you so much.’ I give him a huge hug. ‘Honestly. Even if this doesn’t take off, you’ve helped me rediscover my writing. Even if I didn’t have financial problems, it still wouldn’t be enough for me to just work in the bar. I love this stuff, and I should never have let myself forget that.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Dylan gives me a playful nudge. ‘At least I’m useful for something.’

‘Hey, you’re useful for a lot of things.’ I look him straight in the eye. ‘I hope this doesn’t come from the way I’ve treated you over the years.’

‘Nah. Don’t worry.’ He bats my words away. ‘It was definitely that rocket of an ex of mine who did it.’

‘Well, maybe we need to focus on your stuff as well,’ I suggest. ‘Reyes might not be available. But there are plenty of women who are, and any one of them would be lucky to have you.’

‘Aww… quit it.’ Dylan gives me an embarrassed shove.

‘I mean it,’ I persist. ‘How about I do something for you in return, and set you up with an amazing online dating profile?’

‘Sure, why not.’ He shrugs. ‘I had wondered about giving it a try. But who’d want to date a guy who can’t spell for shit?’

‘You’d be surprised.’ I raise an eyebrow at him. ‘You did just read my blog, right?’

Chapter 16

Several hours later, I’m dancing round my apartment, music blaring, getting myself glammed up for a night out with Reyes, for which she has insisted on paying. Despite feeling highly uncomfortable, and deploying several bulletproof (I thought) excuses, nothing would put Reyes off: ‘Chica, you come out with me, and I pay, and that is it. I hear no more!’

As I wing my way round my apartment, dabbing on make-up, styling my hair and gathering my outfit and accessories, I intermittently check the stats of my new blog page. Refreshing the data for the third time in an hour, I’m stunned to see that my subscriber list has jumped from eighty-three to two hundred and one. Two hundred subscribers in a matter of hours.

‘Wowsers!’ I do a little shimmy to the music. ‘Dylan, you may just be my second guardian angel.’

Grabbing my phone, I tap out a text to him.

Two hundred! I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s obviously working. :) xx

He replies almost instantly.

One of the few perks of my job. I have contacts. Remember there’s gonna be an initial spike and then it’ll tail off. Most important thing is to publish regular posts.

I tap out another message.

Don’t worry, I will! I’m loving this. Thank you so much, Dylan. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Speak tomorrow. xx

I put my phone in my handbag, not expecting a reply, but it pings again.

Took you long enough to realise. :P

‘Cheeky sod.’ I smile, replace my phone in my bag, and then return to my beautifying.

Just over an hour later I enter Salt, an edgy bar in the Cowgate, a nightspot I’ve not been well acquainted with since my student days. It’s dark inside, with individual booths sporting vintage memorabilia that have been adapted and arranged in a very alluring way. Low, modish music pumps out of the speakers creating a chilled-out atmosphere. It’s not the kind of place I would ever have noticed, never mind frequented, but I actually quite like its funky charm. I look around for Reyes, but not seeing her, I take a seat in one of the empty booths.

‘Hi there.’ A young male barman wearing skinny distressed jeans and a statement T-shirt approaches me. ‘I assume you’re meeting someone, but would you like a drink while you wait?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ I smile at him and quickly scan the drinks menu, before remembering that Reyes is paying. ‘Actually… can I just have a tap water for now?’

‘Sure. Coming right up.’ He disappears, returning a couple of minutes later with my water.

For the next ten minutes, I mess around with my phone to pass the time as I wait for Reyes. I scroll through my Twitter and Instagram newsfeeds while I wait, paying them little real attention, until I scroll past a Twitter share and do a double take. It’s my blog. Someone I know has retweeted the link.

Delighted, I click into it and start to read through my piece, smiling to myself as I do. I indulge in the words, sentences, paragraphs, chuckling guiltily at my own wit, and can’t help feeling a swell of pride. I did this. Despite all the crushing setbacks of the last few months, I managed it. It’s out there for all to see.

‘You look pleased with yourself,’ a male voice prompts me.

Assuming it’s the barman, I don’t even look up. ‘Actually, I kind of am.’

‘Willing to share?’

He slides into the seat opposite, causing me to glance up in confusion. Instead of finding myself face to face with the barman, I’m looking at Josh. An off-the-scale smoking-hot Josh. Instead of his usual immaculate hotel uniform, he’s wearing a very six-pack-enhancing fitted T-shirt with jeans – and that same dizzyingly, enticing aftershave. Caught by surprise, it takes a moment to catch my breath, and I force a little cough to cover this up.

‘Josh? What are you doing here?’ I laugh casually. ‘What a coincidence.’

‘It’s actually not a coincidence.’ He grins broadly.

‘What? What do you mean?’ My surprise turns to suspicion.

‘Well, we figured it was the only way I’d get you out on a date any time soon.’

‘Who’s we? Wait a minute.’ I stare at him in amazement. ‘You and Reyes set this up?’

‘Actually, it was her idea.’ He shrugs easily. ‘Seemed like a sound enough plan, so I went along with it.’

‘I’ll kill her!’ I grab my phone, and tap out a murderous message, then jab at the send button.

Not knowing what else to do, I stare at my phone uncomfortably. Thankfully, Reyes replies almost straight away, having clearly been waiting for this.

Sorry Chica. You leave me without choice. Enjoy romancing with Josh. x

I stare at her message in disbelief. She set me up? What do I do now? If I leave, it will make things really awkward at work. And if I stay, I’ll have given in. I tentatively look up at Josh, who looks highly entertained. And immensely pleased with himself. What an arrogant sod. But, unfortunately a smoking-hot, totally ripped and utterly charming arrogant sod. Realising there’s no way I can up and leave, I decide I’ll stay for one or two drinks to be polite, then make up an excuse about having an early start.

‘So, what you having?’ Josh cocks his head to one side, his smouldering eyes already burning a hole in my willpower.

Almost completely powerless to his charm, I’m melting by the moment, and it’s clear that I’m on to a loser. There’s no way I’m getting out of here within the hour. My hormones simply won’t allow it.

‘Gin and tonic.’ I sigh resignedly, and sit back in my seat.

‘Coming right up. Don’t go running off.’ He gives me a super sexy wink and heads for the bar.

‘Couldn’t, even if I tried,’ I mutter under my breath, while checking out his perfectly pert backside.

‘That sounds like a total mare.’ Josh sits forward in his seat and looks me straight in the eye. ‘Seems they totally did one over on you.’

‘Oh, they did.’ I nod theatrically. ‘Didn’t see it coming at all. I thought I was in for a promotion and wham, I was clearing my desk, just like that.’

It’s three hours later. Not only have I not left, I’m practically sitting on Josh’s lap. I’ve also sunk way more alcohol than I would on a usual night out. I can’t decide whether it’s a result of nerves, or subconsciously concocting an excuse for the morning after. I’m certainly well marinated. The upside is that Josh and I are getting on like a storm. The downside is that, with my inhibitions and better judgement drowned in gin, I’ve shared way more than I ever intended to: the current topic of conversation being the rather unpleasant shafting I got from McArthur Cohen.

‘Total mare.’ Josh looks quite perplexed by my tale. ‘I knew companies could be ruthless, but I’ve never met anyone who’s been on the receiving end. Closest comparison I have is watching that film about the financial collapse in the US.’

‘Mmm…’ I stare at Josh lustfully, having temporarily lost focus on the conversation, my roving mind now speculating just how solid those biceps actually are.

What was I thinking, rejecting his advances? He’s the epitome of male perfection. I can totally focus on my career and date him at the same time. Why the hell not? Call it stress relief.

‘Have you seen it?’ Josh prompts me, his left eyebrow raised as he eyes me curiously.

‘Have I seen what?’ I murmur as I breathe in the scent of his aftershave greedily, then come to. ‘Oh… umm… you mean Margin Call?’

‘Yeah, that’s it. Was brutal, watching the guys packing their whole careers into a single box – and that was just an adaptation of what really happened.’

‘Well, I’ve experienced it in real life. It’s just as bad as you might imagine.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ he says. ‘I remember the girls in my class were completely outraged at that scene at the start when the guy is escorted out of the building.’

I shake my head momentarily, wondering if I’ve heard right.

‘Sorry… did you just say… your class? Did you go to uni late?’

‘I didn’t go to university,’ Josh confirms. ‘It was in a business studies class though. We watched it at school.’

I choke on my gin, feeling suddenly quite sober. ‘At school?’

‘Yeah, I was in my final year when the film came out. Class of two thousand and thirteen.’ He looks wistful. ‘Good times.’

‘You left school in two thousand and thirteen?’ Alarm bells start clanging in my already fuzzy mind. ‘Josh, how old are you?’

‘Twenty-three.’ He grins. ‘I look older though, apparently. Can never decide if that’s a good thing.’

‘You’re not joking.’ I feel the colour drain from my face, all lustful thoughts having trickled away with it, causing me to shift away from him slightly. ‘So that means you were born in… nineteen-ninety-six?’

‘Ninety-five,’ he corrects me. ‘Why, how old are you?’

‘I’m… err… thirty-one. So, eighty-seven.’

‘No way!’ Josh’s face fills with surprise. ‘I thought you were about twenty-seven.’

‘I’m always told I look younger,’ I mutter.

I suddenly feel a little bit sick – and not from the alcohol. Having finally decided that Josh is worth a shot, the opportunity has been cruelly snatched away from me. I feel like a kid who’s just had their candy stolen.

‘Hey, what’s age, anyway?’ Josh shrugs casually. ‘I figured you were older than me. Liked the idea of dating an older woman, actually.’

‘But, nearly ten years older?’ I cringe as I say the words out loud.

‘Why not? Women my age are so… image-obsessed. You’re not like that. You’re real. You’re fun. And you’re very attractive, if I’m allowed to say so.’

I laugh at the irony of it all. If Josh had met me six months ago in a different context, he might have found me just as unappealing as the women he’s described. It’s not my age that’s got him interested.

He’s scrutinising me with his smouldering eyes, still close enough that wafts of his aftershave keep teasing me, trying to draw me back in.

‘You’re allowed to say so,’ I confirm. ‘But, I think I might just be a bit too old for you, Josh.’

‘Nonsense.’ He runs a hand through his sexy sun-kissed hair, causing me to sigh involuntarily at the injustice of it all. ‘We might be from different decades, but we’re both millennials. And we like each other, right? Unless I’ve got this all wrong?’

He uses both hands to gesture from himself to me, and back again, his eyes simultaneously sending out the ‘lost-puppy-dog’ and ‘come-to-bed’ signals that only he could pull off. The way he does it, his facial expression, it’s almost explosive, triggering a new wave of lust to come crashing through my consciousness. My stomach doesn’t just flip, it launches into multiple somersaults, topped off with a demi-plié, and I realise I’m done for.

He may have been in primary school when I went to university, but just one look, one sparkling smile is all it seems to take. And the more of them I’m subjected to, the weaker I become.

‘Oh hell!’ I make a show of finally caving. ‘No, you haven’t got it wrong, you sexy bugger.’

‘I knew it!’ Josh pumps the air with his fist in a gesture of victory.

‘Although keep doing that and I might change my mind.’ I raise my eyebrows at him in warning.

I laugh as he comically hides his arm beneath the table, and before I realise what’s happening, he’s holding my hand. His touch is warm and tender. I look down in surprise and then up at his face. He smiles at me coyly and gives my hand a little squeeze, as if seeking permission. My pulse quickens as I realise he’s about to kiss me. I smile back shyly, giving him the go-ahead, and before I know it his other hand is on the back of my neck, his face moving towards mine. I close my eyes and as his lips meet mine, fireworks erupt in my already well-churned stomach. We cling to each other together hungrily in our passionate embrace, the bar and all the other punters having faded into non-existence.

After several minutes, we pull apart, slightly breathless, and look at each other almost guiltily – as if what we’ve just experienced is too good not to be wrong. Then in an instant, Josh makes it all better: he simply holds out his arm, and I instinctively slot in underneath as he pulls me into a reassuring embrace.

As I snuggle into him, my mind whirls with a million conflicting thoughts. He’s amazing, and gorgeous, and sexy. But so young. How can this end well? I already like him so much. At least, I think I do.

Still lucid enough to realise the alcohol may be playing a part in all this, I decide I’ll assess the situation again tomorrow. And I’ll also sort Reyes out for getting me in this mess in the first place. But, in the meantime, one night of fun isn’t going to do any harm – surely.

Chapter 17

‘You are in so much trouble, lady!’

I march across to the bar, where Reyes is arranging fresh flowers in the two huge ceramic vases that sit either end of the bar.

‘Chica!’ Reyes looks up in delight. ‘You are here, finally. Tell me everything!’

‘Uh-uh.’ I shake my head deliberately. ‘You’re not getting away with this. You put me in an impossible situation last night. What were you thinking?’

‘I think you are needing romancing with Josh.’ Reyes shrugs as if this is obvious, then breaks into a twinkling smile. ‘And did you have romancing?’

‘I… what… well, yes,’ I stammer. ‘But that’s not the point. The point is that I didn’t want to.’

‘You didn’t want romancing, but you had romancing?’ Reyes looks at me in alarm. ‘I do not mean for this, if Josh make you—’

‘No.’ I cut her off. ‘Nothing like that. He was a perfect gentleman. A perfect sexy gentleman. As much as a twenty-three-year-old can be, that is…’

I lose my train of thought as memories from the previous evening – both amazing and terrifying – flood my mind.

‘Aww, Chica. You are in love.’ Reyes’s eyes return to glinting mischievously.

‘I’m not in bloody love.’ I snap back to the present. ‘It’s lust, at best. He’s twenty-three, Reyes. Twenty-three!’

‘And?’ Reyes looks unfazed by this news. ‘So, you are older. This is good. You can teach him. You can be his puma.’

‘His what?’

‘You know.’ Reyes searches for the explanation. ‘The older woman who takes a young hombre.’

‘The word you’re looking for is cougar,’ I say flatly.

‘Yes! This is it.’

‘Thanks, Reyes. Thanks so much.’ I stare at her deadpan. ‘I was struggling enough with the age gap before you decided to throw in that grenade. That’s not a complimentary label.’

I enter the store cupboard and slump on to one of the chairs, my hangover suddenly feeling ten times worse.

‘But, this is not bad thing.’ Reyes follows me and settles into the seat beside me. ‘To be cougar is to be powerful. You are in charge. A strong, powerful chica, who has a man who devotes to her.’

‘That’s definitely not the definition I’m familiar with,’ I mutter. ‘It’s more sad, desperate, over-the-hill woman seeks weak, much younger man to play out early mid-life crisis.’

‘You are not over this hill.’ Reyes swipes her hand through the air, causing me to instinctively duck. ‘You are only thirty-one. This world is still your oyster sauce.’

‘Oyster,’ I correct her. ‘It’s just oyster.’

‘Chica, why you do this? You are just like Amir.’ Reyes eyes me in a sort of affectionate-cum-menacing way. ‘This is what I say. Oyster sauce.’

I shake my head resignedly.

‘So, what I am saying,’ Reyes continues, ‘is that you are still young and beautiful. It not important that Josh is younger. The only person seeing this problem is you. You don’t have to marriage him. Just enjoy romancing him and see where this is going. You must grab this. Or else you will become old cougar like you describe. And you will only be having yourself to blame. Sí?’

I sit thoughtfully for a few moments.

‘I guess there’s some logic in that,’ I eventually admit. ‘Though I suggest you lose the word cougar from your vocabulary.’

‘Exactly. And I will do this.’ Reyes is triumphant. ‘Now, I am sorry that I trick you. I break the chica rules. But I am not sorry that my plan is working.’

‘Apology accepted.’ I smile at her affectionately, unable to stay even remotely annoyed with my adorable firecracker of a friend.

As I start to relax, the memories from the evening before come flooding back.

‘So, do you want to hear the details then?’ I ask.

‘Every single one.’ Reyes dives into the seat beside me, wide-eyed.

A couple of hours later, as I’m clearing empty glasses from the tables of some early evening customers, the phone in the store cupboard rings. Reyes pads through to answer it, then returns a few moments later.

‘It is Mister Gardiner. You go to his office. He want to talk to you about your communication expertises.’

‘Oh, right… sure,’ I reply. ‘Guess I’d better go then.’

I leave the bar and quickly make my way through the hotel, jangling with anticipation. Could this be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for? A vacancy at Head Office? That would be amazing. It could be the lucky break I’ve been waiting for; perhaps meaning I can wave goodbye to my career and money worries.

Fuelled by this optimism, I reach Aaron’s office and knock assertively on his door.

‘Come in,’ he calls in response.

I open the door and stride inside to find Aaron leaning on his desk, poring over something on his computer. His hands are semi clasped, with just his index fingers extended, tapping out his thought process.

‘Reyes said you wanted to see me?’ I prompt him.

‘That’s right,’ he says, without looking up. ‘Take a seat.’

I obediently sit down on the chair at the other side of his desk, and lean forward to signal my eagerness to get down to business. Aaron either doesn’t notice this, or he ignores it, and continues to stare at the screen for a minute or so longer, before fixing his gaze on me.

‘Something has come up that requires your skill set.’

‘What’s that?’ I try to act nonchalant, but I’m willing him to get to the point. ‘Reyes said it was communications-related?’

‘It is.’ He nods stiffly, his gaze shifting back to his computer screen momentarily, before he locks it back on me.

My almost non-existent patience finally erodes. ‘Has a vacancy come up at Head Office?’

Aaron shakes his head. ‘No, Liv. It’s me who needs your skill set.’

‘OK…’ I digest this, wondering what it means. ‘Are you looking for a communications person for the hotel? Have you been granted some budget or something?’

‘Again, no.’ Aaron eyes me almost curiously, causing me to shift slightly in my seat. ‘I said I’d let you know straight away if anything came up.’

‘Of course.’ I can feel my cheeks flaming under his scrutiny. I’m acutely aware of the crushing disappointment written on my face.

‘I’ve been asked to do an article for a well-known Scottish magazine; a piece on my career. They’re doing a feature on inspirational Scottish leaders in different professions and apparently they see me as some kind of role model.’

‘Right… wow. An acknowledgment of your hard work. That’s exciting… isn’t it?’ I take in his less than enthused demeanour.

‘I don’t do what I do for praise, Liv.’ Aaron cocks his head to the left, as if trying to ascertain the reason for my previous statement. ‘I do it because it matters to me; because helping people learn and grow is important.’

‘Which is exactly why you’ve been recognised in this way,’ I try again.

My disappointment at this not being the opportunity I was hoping for is immediately forgotten as I tune in to Aaron’s discomfort. I’ve seen this before. True leaders never want the spotlight. They show people the way, and their reward is seeing them blossom and succeed. They are a rarer breed than the type of leader Sharon is: driven by power, money and an oversized ego. The type who’d elbow anyone out the way for a shot on the podium. Aaron is clearly struggling with the attention. It’s not in his nature to sell himself publicly the way the magazine wants. This is my chance to repay some of the favours he’s so selflessly paid me.

‘So, what do you need from me?’ I ask. ‘What kind of article is it?’

He grimaces, glancing back at the PC screen again. ‘That’s the problem. They didn’t give me much of a brief. Just asked me to write something about how I got to where I am in my career, and that shows who I am as a leader. They said they’ll reshape it for the article.’

‘OK.’ I smile at him. ‘We can work with that. What have you written so far?’

Aaron swivels his PC screen round so I can see what’s there. I quickly read through the three lengthy paragraphs he’s composed, and it doesn’t take long to identify the problem. It’s glaringly obvious. I just have to make sure I’m diplomatic in my feedback to him.

‘The good news is that you write well…’ I pause, as I consider how to frame the more constructive elements of my feedback.

‘Do not dance around me, Liv.’ Aaron removes his glasses and leans back in his seat. ‘I’m not someone who needs the niceties.’

‘Right, of course.’ I ditch the dialogue that’s forming in my head. ‘As I said – and I mean this – you write well. This…’ I wave my hand towards the screen. ‘It’s a great promotional piece for the hotel. But where are you in it? The reader will want to know where you’ve come from, the challenges you’ve overcome in your career, how you’ve honed your leadership style. They need to see your success and just a smidgen of your vulnerability, so they can identify with you.’

‘I thought you might say something like that.’ Aaron rubs his chin reflectively. ‘That kind of… fluff… it doesn’t come easily to me.’

I laugh, then put my hand to my mouth in apology. ‘It’s not “fluff”, Aaron. It’s important. You’re the reason the staff in this hotel are happy, why they give great service and why they stay here. Which is ultimately why the customers give great ratings on TripAdvisor and why they keep coming back. You’ve created a working environment where people can see a career and a future, not just a way of paying the bills. And although you’re not the… how do I put this… the touchy-feely kind, the people I’ve spoken to here are in no doubt of your support. That’s what you need to get across in this article – along with a bit about who you are outside of work, any work you do in the community, how you fit being a dad into the picture, that kind of thing.’

I stop talking and look at Aaron, who’s grinning at me in his almost unsettling way.

‘What?’ I ask, bemused.

‘I assumed you’d be good at this stuff, but I’ve never seen you in action. Very impressive. Exactly the angle I need. Now, if you could repeat all that, a bit more slowly, I’ll take some notes.’

He puts his glasses back on, sits forward and pulls the screen back round to face him. Then he starts to type as a try my best to relay back what I’ve just said. Once I’m done, Aaron thanks me, almost absently, still totally immersed in the notes he’s just created, and it’s clear my job is done. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten I’m there.

‘Right, well, I’ll get back to work then.’ I get to my feet uncertainly. ‘Err… if you want me to read it through once you’ve written it, I’d be more than happy to.’

Aaron finally tears himself away from his computer screen. ‘This is excellent. I know exactly what to do with it now. It won’t need a read-through; I just wanted to get the content right. Thanks for your help on this, Liv.’

‘No problem at all.’ I smile warmly at him, but he’s already retreated behind the computer screen again, now typing furiously. ‘OK, see you then.’

There’s no response from Aaron as I leave his office, closing the door behind me, and I can’t help chuckling to myself as I return to the bar. He’s the ultimate paradox, Aaron. To the untrained eye, he comes across as cold, abrupt and almost socially inept. But under the surface is a man who cares; seeing others succeed is what makes him tick. I just hope he does himself justice in this article.

It’s after one in the morning by the time the last gaggle of customers leave, and we’re completing the shutdown of the bar. It’s been a fairly busy evening, and with it being Amir’s day off, we’ve had little time to chat since I filled a riveted Reyes in on my date with Josh.

‘I do not see Josh tonight,’ Reyes comments, as she starts to cash up the till. ‘Is he here?’

‘He’s on a day off today.’ I look up briefly from the table I’m wiping down. ‘Cheeky sod only shared that information once we were several hours in, and the idea of no hangover was a distant memory.’

‘He has cheek.’ Reyes laughs, nodding agreement. ‘But also charm. His charming is what is…’

‘Irresistible?’ I offer.

‘Exactly this,’ Reyes confirms. ‘This makes me think why you stay with this story that you wake up alone in your own apartment this morning.’

‘It’s because I did!’ I lob the cloth at her playfully and she ducks behind the till. ‘It happened just as I said. We had a brilliant night. Great chat, far too much alcohol, a lot of drunken kissing. But I went home alone. As did Josh. He was a perfect gentleman.’

‘This is even better than I think.’ Reyes’s eyes twinkle excitedly. ‘Josh is respectful charmer.’

‘He is,’ I agree. ‘If he had tried anything more, I think it would have spoiled things between us. That us done?’

‘Nearly.’ Reyes nods. ‘But first I must finish the cashing up.’

‘Want me to get your stuff from the locker room?’ I ask.

‘Please, Chica.’ She hands me her locker key. ‘I see you back here in five minutes.’

I wander out of the bar, into the main hotel, then through the staff corridor to the changing rooms. I remove our coats and bags from our lockers, and then I rummage in my bag and pull out my phone. My stomach does a full-on break dance as I see I have a text from Josh.

Hey beautiful. How’s your shift been? I’ve been thinking about you all day. x

He’s been thinking about me all day? Is that for real? Or just a charming line I’m supposed to naively fall for? As I’ve just perfectly demonstrated. Surely not. I let out a little peep of excitement.

Embarrassed, I look around me, expecting the mortifying presence of someone who has just witnessed my ridiculous teenage behaviour. I tentatively check the toilet cubicles and the showers, but I’m definitely alone. I sink onto the wooden changing bench, and for a few moments, just allow my senses to go into overdrive.

I think about Josh’s tender touch; the way he took control, but also made me feel completely at ease. His soft lips gently caressing my face, then planting firm, but sensual kisses on my mouth. His breath tickling my neck as he pulled my body close to him, locking me into the most exquisite embrace. He is so damn hot. And really sweet and caring. I felt so safe in his arms. Oh, I am a goner. There’s no point in fighting it.

Suddenly, the door to the locker room flies open, startling me, as a member of the night team enters. Like a teenage boy caught poring over the women’s underwear pages of an online store, I jump to my feet guiltily, grab Reyes’s and my things, and scurry out into the corridor.

As I hurry back to the bar, I tap out a reply to Josh, making absolutely sure I don’t share an ounce of my adolescent excitement.

Hi you. Shift was all right. Could have done without the hangover. Lucky you having time to think about something other than work. ;) xx

Pleased with my flirty and slightly provocative response, I shove my phone back in my bag just as I enter the bar.

‘Were you getting lost?’ Reyes looks as me quizzically as I join her in the storeroom behind the bar.

‘Sort of.’ I smile and feel my cheeks start to heat up. ‘I got a text from Josh. Was just replying.’

‘Ah, this is excellent news!’ Reyes claps her hands together in glee. ‘I am so happy I trick you. Romancing is essential for living. Like alcohol. We need both to survive.’

As she says this, a thought pops into my mind.

‘Oh, I totally forgot to tell you!’

‘You forget to tell me what?’ Reyes asks.

‘About my new blog. Dylan helped me set it up so I can try and make some extra money. It’s a secret though. You can’t tell anyone. It’s just a bit of fun – writing about dating and gin. I’m using this place as a source of inspiration.’

‘Chica! You are using your talents? I am so happy for hearing this. Show me. I tell no one.’

I pull my phone out of my bag – noting that Josh hasn’t yet responded – navigate to my blog page and hand the phone to Reyes. She sits down on one of the seats, immediately engrossed.

What do you get when you cross gin and dating?

This is not a riddle. Although you’d be forgiven for suggesting ‘a love of alcohol’ or ‘bad judgement’ – particularly if your romantic encounters are as excruciating as some of those I witness.

I work in a bar, where gin and dating have become a huge part of my life – other people dating, not me – and I’ve found a curious and exciting link between the two: They fascinate me, and I can write about them together. So here goes…

Yesterday, while concocting a deliciously classic Singapore Sling – made with gin, cherry liqueur, Cointreau, Benedictine, grenadine, pineapple juice, fresh lime juice, and a dash of Angostura bitters – I happened to glance at the revolving door, and spotted a terrified-looking man (boy? – although he passed the ID check) skulking into the bar, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He was short, with hair from the nineties (curtains, I think they called them), bad skin and facial hair a fifteen-year-old boy could easily compete with. He seemed so tortured, it made me wonder why he’d even put himself through such discomfort. He would have looked less out of place at a toddler’s birthday party.

All became clear when his date showed up. There’s bombshells and then there’s this woman: tall, oozing elegance, a body any girl would sell her granny for, mountainous cleavage, and with a mane of blonde hair and big pouty lips. It was like heaven had thrown up, and this was what it produced.

Of course, you must see the issue straight away. How can she be meeting him? Did he use a different photo online and now he’s hoping she won’t notice?

Riveted, I could only half-focus on the next order – luckily a simple Pink Gin, a drink with a real bitter kick, best made with Plymouth Gin and a dash of Angostura bitters – as the introductions commenced. She’d recognised him, so my fake photo theory was out the window.

What followed was even more confounding. Once he’d packed away a few G&Ts he was on a roll. The conversation was flowing, intellectual, with endless humorous banter – and she was hooked. Having expected this to be the shortest date in history, I had to throw the two of them out at closing time. And that was difficult, because it almost involved having to surgically remove her tongue from this throat.

The most baffling experience, but proof that opposites really can attract. It’s so refreshing to see that it’s not always the hot beefcakes who win the Bond girl.

This week’s gin recommendation, inspired by these two lovebirds, is another unlikely pairing: try a garnish of tomato and basil with your next Friday G&T. It might sound like a salad gone wrong, but then you probably didn’t think my alternative Romeo and Juliet would work out either.

Looking forward to your verdicts!

As Reyes gradually scrolls down the post, I hold my breath in anticipation, awaiting her appraisal of my work. Dylan may have enjoyed it, but Reyes is more representative of my target market. She finishes reading and then looks up at me.

‘You really write this?’

‘I did it yesterday.’ I nod. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think that you are genius. This is amazing.’ Reyes is wide-eyed. ‘I am finding this funny and interesting. I know about gin, yes, but if I do not, I am wanting to try these drinks.’

‘You really like it?’ I ask.

‘I do not just like it. I am loving it!’ Reyes jumps up and gives me a huge hug. ‘Felicitaciones, Chica. You will be big success.’

‘Oh, I’m so glad.’ I beam with relieved pride. ‘I was quite pleased with it, but you never really know.’

‘You have any commenting by your readers?’

‘You know.’ I rub my forehead. ‘With all the distraction with my impromptu date last night, I never thought to check that. Check for me?’

Still holding my phone, Reyes scrolls further down my blog page, then gasps.

‘Chica! You have many comments already. And…’ She’s silent for a few moments as she scans down them. ‘They are liking your post. Look.’

She hands me the phone.

‘Seriously?’ I spend a minute or so scrolling through the twenty or so comments myself. ‘Oh, wow. Some of them have even tried my tomato and basil recommendation.’

‘You must answer,’ says Reyes. ‘If you want following, you must talk with them.’

‘You’re absolutely right.’ I continue to scroll up and down my page in amazement. ‘I wonder how many subscribers I have now.’

I quickly log into my blog admin page and navigate to the subscriber stats.

‘Bloody hell!’ I clamp my hand over my mouth. ‘I’ve got nearly a thousand subscribers. After one post? That’s crazy!’

‘This is amazing! How so many?’ Reyes asks.

‘Dylan, again. As well as setting me up with my site, he’s using his contacts at work and his Twitter following to help me get subscribers. Yesterday, someone I know actually retweeted the link to it, so then I did too! It was great – meant I could share it, without compromising my anonymity.’

‘He is good man.’ Reyes looks very impressed. ‘He has romancing in his life, Dylan?’

‘Unfortunately, not.’ I shake my head. ‘His ex really messed him up. I’ve just helped him set up an online dating profile on LoveMatch though, so fingers crossed.’

‘That is nice. A good man like Dylan needs to find love with good chica.’

‘Totally agree. Right, shall we head off?’

We pick up our stuff, head out of the storeroom, and across the bar. As we’re nearing the door to the main hotel, Aaron comes striding through it.

‘Evening.’ He nods awkwardly as he greets us. ‘Just checking all was well with the close-down.’

‘Everything is fine, Mister Gardiner,’ Reyes confirms. ‘I have completed the cash-up and will sign in the keys just now.’

‘Good.’ He smiles woodenly at Reyes and then turns to me, arms behind his back as he towers over me. ‘All well with you, Liv?’

‘Yes, great.’ I smile at him genuinely. ‘Everything is great. Thanks to you, guardian angel.’

‘Gardeen angel?’ Reyes looks confused. ‘What is this?’

‘Guardian angel.’ I emphasis the word to help Reyes understand. ‘It means he’s looking out for me. He helped me once before, when I was at university.’

‘Ah, OK.’ Reyes nods her understanding. ‘Yes, Mister Gardiner, you are good hombre. You are good to Liv, and you are good hotel manager. The best I know.’

Clearly uncomfortable with this level of positive personal attention, Aaron stiffens slightly. ‘Right, well, I’m not sure I would put it quite like that.’ He clears his throat. ‘But I’m glad I could be of assistance. Glad all is well. Have a good night.’

With that, he disappears straight back out the door. Reyes and I look at each other and stifle a giggle.

‘That didn’t go down so well. I think he prefers to be the one in control.’ I bite my bottom lip, feeling a little guilty for making Aaron uncomfortable. ‘Oh well, he’s just going to have to get used to it. ’Cause, like it or not, I’m not going to stop being grateful.’

‘I agree.’ Reyes nods firmly. ‘A good man needs to know he is good man. Do you know if he has romancing in his life?’

‘Don’t even go there.’ I give her a warning look. ‘Aaron’s married with a kid.’

Reyes and I wander through the staff corridor and out into the dark night. It’s cool, but calm and refreshing after a long night in a hot bar. We chat lightly for a few minutes longer, then say our goodbyes and head in opposite directions.

As I walk along Newington Road towards the bus stop, I pull out my phone and see that Josh has replied. Letting out another involuntarily peep of delight at his flirty text, I immediately put my phone away again. He may have me hooked, but I can still pretend I’m not: by making him wait for a response. There’s no way I’m letting him hold all the power.

Chapter 18

The next morning, I wake groggily around ten. Feeling more tired than usual, I pull the duvet up to my chin, making the most of the cosy warmth. I decide I’ll just relax and enjoy the comfort of my bed for a while longer.

As I’m enjoying the indulgent feeling of not having to be anywhere, I allow myself to drift through the memories of the evening before last: my night with Josh still providing just as much enjoyment as it did at the time. Unfortunately, after reliving it couple of times – his scent, the lingering taste of gin on his lips, his firm but tender touch – my mind loses focus and wanders to less welcome thoughts, and soon I’m immersed in a full-scale assessment of my current predicament.

Where am I really? Failing in a career that possibly wasn’t right for me in the first place? Was it more the allure of the corporate world, that promise of prosperity and security? After a childhood of hardship: opening an empty fridge day after day, being teased for being so scrawny in faded, tatty clothes. I wasn’t the only kid from a deprived background, but probably the least nurtured and looked after. I remember the tutting of the other parents: the whispers of why social services hadn’t put me in foster care. They thought I didn’t hear, but I did. I wanted to put that existence behind me, to never have to go to bed cold and hungry again. What’s actually wrong with that?

I feel an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. Have I lost sight of why I made the choices I made? Allowing materialism to take over from my survival instincts so I could fit in. Living a false life in a way, with no real friendships. A tiny cog in a huge machine, where my projects could be halted and discarded like trash. I had a good, steady income that meant my kitchen cupboards were never bare, I could afford to have the heating on, and I had a secure roof over my head. I forgot how important that was.

Now I can count on two hands the number of weeks I have left before I’m homeless. Have I really tried hard enough to get my career back on track?

I lie there, torturing and berating myself for being such a failure and for taking things for granted – something I had promised myself I would never do. My irrational inner voice chides me cruelly and relentlessly until it’s interrupted by the alarm on my phone, set only to stop me sleeping till midday – which I might easily do after a long shift.

I pick up my phone to silence it and see I have a text from Dylan.

Hey Squirt. Hope you don’t mind, but I logged into your admin page to check your subscribers. You’ve just topped 2k! It’s moved faster than I expected. This is it. You’re gonna make money on this, but you need to be on it. Get another post done fast!

I stare at his message in disbelief. Two thousand subscribers? Since last night? How did that even happen?

It’s the kick up the backside I need. The rational part of my mind swoops in and grabs back control. I have done everything I can to save my career. I’ve applied for over thirty jobs. I’ve been to a mind-numbing number of interviews. I could never have stopped McArthur Cohen ditching me in the first place. They were responsible for that – not me. But now I have an opportunity, I’m going to damn well make it work.

I tap out a quick-fire response to Dylan to let him know I am indeed ‘on it’, then jump out of bed and head straight for the shower, my determination having returned with a vengeance.

Two hours later, I’m parked at my breakfast bar, tapping away furiously at my laptop. I’ve decided that, if I’m going to make this a success, I need a pipeline of content for my posts. In addition to having written the first draft of my next one, I’ve also got a list of ideas for others, based on the encounters I’ve witnessed in the bar.

Deciding I need a break, I get up and check my phone, and discover I have a text message from Josh – in response to the one I eventually sent just before going to bed.

Morning, beautiful. Will I be seeing you at work today? Wondered if you were up for that decider game of pool tonight? So we can get the competition out the way and just focus on us. :)

I smile at his message. Well timed, Josh. Had he sent me that while I was lost in my turmoil, I would probably have fobbed him off. Instead, I decide that his suggestion will do me a lot of good in two ways. The chance to kick his arse at pool will further fuel my determination; I’ll also benefit from the adolescent hormonal boost I get when I’m around him. I might even get some inspiration for my writing too.

As long as I stay focused on my blog and keeping a roof over my head, there’s no reason why I can’t enjoy a little bit of extra-curricular fun on the side (and Reyes would kill me if I ditched him anyway). Although I’ll wait a while before I let him know I’m in. I need to stay in charge, and I definitely don’t have time for lots of pointless messaging back and forth – no matter how much his texts turn me into a love-struck giggly schoolgirl. How is it that I can even be reduced to that?

As I’m pondering this thought, I remember what Reyes said the night before. I haven’t read or answered any of the comments on my site yet. I immediately hop back onto the bar stool and log into my admin page. Scrolling down the comments, I see that there are a few more than when I looked the evening before. I start straight away:

Tess89: Loving your choice of subject matter. Like reading a boozy romcom. Delicious!

MissGinFizz: Thanks, Tess89! Certainly sounds like your taste. More to come very soon…

TotalGinAddict: Great story! Tried your salad-gone-wrong. Great way to get one of my five-a-day. LOL. Thanks for the recommendation.

MissGinFizz: Love your username, TotalGinAddict. Seems like you’re the perfect audience for this. Thanks for subscribing. Hope you’ll stick around for more top tips.

SarahMcJ: Loved the underdog theme in this! I was rooting for the lad the whole way through. More please!! :)

MissGinFizz: I was too, SarahMcJ. Definitely more on the way. Stay tuned!

I plough my way through one comment after the next until I reach the final one:

GrahamLeeton: Simply inspired. You lit up the page with engaging, witty prose and had me hooked to the end. Obviously a very talented writer. Looking forward to the next.

MissGinFizz: Wow, thanks, GrahamLeeton! That is high praise indeed – talks to my mind and my soul. Hope I can continue to impress you.

As I hit submit on this last response, I climb off the bar stool and do a big stretch, feeling quite pleased with my efforts. Definitely a productive start to my day. Deciding I’ll finish and publish my second post the next day – once I’ve had some distance and can edit it with fresh eyes – I lean over and log out of my admin page, shut down my laptop. I then grab my phone from the breakfast bar and send a reply to Josh.

Game on. I hope you’re looking forward to getting your arse whipped. Enjoy your ego while you still have one. ;) xx

He replies within seconds.

We’ll see. I’m more than ready for you. Your mind games definitely won’t work this time.

‘Just you wait, pal,’ I mutter, then head to my bedroom to get myself and my inner-pool-shark ready for work.

Arriving at the hotel a short while later, I feel a flutter in my stomach as I realise Josh is here, somewhere in the building. I have no idea when he’ll just suddenly appear. I enter the changing rooms, take off my jacket, and hang it and my handbag in my locker. As I do, I miss the door opening quietly behind me, and nearly die of fright as a pair of arms slip round my waist from behind.

‘What the…’ I spin round and find myself face to face with Josh. ‘Josh, you idiot! I nearly knocked you out there. I had no idea who it was.’

‘Why, who else are you seeing in this place?’ He grins, wrapping his arms back around my waist, causing me to melt into a little puddle. ‘How are you, beautiful? I saw you arriving.’

‘I’m good.’ I try to wrestle out of his grip, paranoid that someone’s going to walk into the changing rooms and see us. ‘Looking forward to destroying you at pool.’

‘Is that right?’ His eyes are fixed on mine, his tone characteristically sexy and smooth. ‘So, do I not get a kiss? I’ve been waiting for this for two days.’

‘What if someone comes in?’ My eyes dart towards the door anxiously, my hangover from Clara still clearly having an effect.

‘So, what?’ He shrugs casually. ‘It’s not against the rules.’

‘It’s not?’ I’m surprised at this.

‘No. There’s no rules against the staff dating each other, as long as they keep it out of working hours.’ He glances down at his wrist. ‘And by my watch, I make it six minutes till our shifts start.’

I lean over and check his watch.

‘So it is.’ I finally start to relax. ‘Well in that case, I’m great. How are you?’

Instead of answering, he pulls me in for a long sensual kiss, his strong hands gripping me just at my lower back. It has the effect of enhancing the intimacy between us yet keeping to the same level of personal respect as the other night. We quickly become so completely lost in each other that neither of us notices the door to the changing room opening once more.

‘Hola, lovers!’ Reyes’s jubilant voice blasts through our passionate embrace, causing us to pull apart suddenly. ‘Do not stop romancing for me. I am very happy to see you together.’

Josh grins like a naughty teenager, while I bite my bottom lip apprehensively, my face flushed with embarrassment.

‘Well, I guess I’d better get to work.’ Josh taps his watch. ‘Time’s up. See you at break time?’

‘Can’t wait.’ I give him my best competitive smile.

‘Chica. Wow.’ Reyes walks across the room towards me once Josh has gone. ‘You are in love.’

‘What makes you say that?’ I ask.

‘You are kissing like this, and saying you cannot wait to see Josh. This is so much love.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you.’ I raise an eyebrow at her. ‘I meant I can’t wait to beat him at pool later. We’re playing our decider game tonight.’

‘I see.’ Reyes looks mildly disappointed, then perks up. ‘So, you are competing tonight. For all chicas, I am hoping that you will win.’

‘Me too,’ I say. ‘Otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it.’

‘Ready?’

It’s three and a half hours later, and Josh has just swung by to announce that it’s game time.

‘I’m ready.’ I plonk a Negroni and a Tom Collins on a tray for a waiting Amir, and make my way out from behind the bar.

‘Buena suerte! Good luck!’ Reyes calls from the other end of the bar. ‘Do not let the chicas down.’

‘Thanks, I don’t intend to,’ I call back, as I head towards the door to the main hotel with Josh.

As soon as we’re in the staff corridor at the back of the hotel, Josh steals a little kiss and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. While it feels wonderful, and in any other place I’d be more than happy with this attention, I’m still uncomfortable with the idea of being seen by other staff. Particularly by Aaron, whose reaction I couldn’t even begin to anticipate. With these thoughts circling my mind, I walk close to Josh so that if anyone comes, I can hide the fact we’re holding hands.

‘How’s your shift been so far?’ he asks me.

‘Good.’ I smile up at him. ‘Every shift has been good since Clara left.’

‘I bet.’ He chuckles. ‘It might seem a bit selfish, but I’m so glad she’s gone. On top of her being a pain in the arse, it would have made it much harder to snare you with her evil eye on you all the time.’

‘I think I would have been too scared to even look at you, for fear of getting the sack.’

‘Well, thankfully you don’t have to worry about that now.’ He squeezes my hand reassuringly. ‘Amir is much more chilled out.’

‘He really is.’ I nod agreement. ‘Don’t think I could have a better boss.’

We reach the staff canteen, and wait in a small queue, before filling our plates, and finding a seat at the back of the room near the pool table. We chat easily while we eat, the banter flowing steadily, the chemistry crackling between us through flirty exchanges. We seize any opportunity for the slightest bit of physical contact, Josh being far less discreet than me.

Once we’ve finished our food, Josh sets up the pool table. As he does, I give myself a silent pep talk. I can do this. I can beat him. I’ve done it before.

‘Challenger breaks.’ He hands me the cue.

I chalk it well and make my way to the end of the table. Taking a deep breath, I lean over and line up my shot, all too aware that my break will set up the game, putting me either at an advantage or a disadvantage. I must not mess this up.

Letting the pool cue run smoothly through my fingers, I test my angle several times. Once I’m satisfied that my aim is razor sharp, I focus my gaze on the target, ready to take my shot. Everything is perfectly set up. However, just as I’m about to follow through, I glance up at Josh involuntarily. He’s standing at the other end of the table, his face etched with concentration, making him look even hotter than usual. Momentarily distracted by this sight, I switch into autopilot, and before I know it, the white ball is careering towards the triangle of red and yellow balls.

‘Oh, shit!’ I cry out instinctively, as I despondently watch the balls rattle around the other end of the table.

It’s not a terrible shot, but nothing goes in the pockets, meaning Josh has the upper hand.

‘Oops.’ He cringes a little on my behalf, as he takes the cue from me. ‘What happened there?’

‘Hand slipped,’ I mutter, unable to look him in the face, and furious at myself for allowing my emotions to hijack me like that.

Josh sizes up the options on the table and – fully calm, composed and self-assured – sinks three red balls in a row. Watching him expertly work his way round the table, the bottom falls out my stomach. How on earth will I gain back that ground?

I breathe a sigh of relief when he misses on his fourth attempt, but Josh simply shrugs and hands the cue back to me. He’s trying to keep a poker face, but I can tell that he’s pleased that he’s ahead.

I step back up to the table and weigh up my options. Come on, Liv. Do not let him win, and if you do, at least don’t let it be because you were too busy lusting over him, you idiot. Focus. How you perform in the next ten minutes is a symbol of your ability to get yourself out of the bloody great sinkhole you’ve fallen into in your life.

As the determination not to fail floods my body, my focus returns. I quickly and confidently pot two yellow balls, before missing a third. It still leaves me behind, but not by much.

We continue to take our shots, passing the cue back and forth, neither of us saying a word. We’re committed to one thing only: we both desperately want the win.

Eventually it’s down to the black ball. We take it in turns with carefully calculated shots: aiming for our designated pockets, while tactically trying to create a difficult shot for the other if we miss. As my turn comes round once again, I see I have a good opportunity to take the win. It’s not the most straightforward shot, but I know I have a good success rate with this angle. Taking my time, I line up the cue and do a few practice run-throughs. Then, when I’m ready, I follow through with exactly the right speed and precision.

I hold my breath as I watch the white ball make its way down the table; this is no longer just about beating Josh. It’s the metaphorical summing-up of where I’m headed next in my life. And it’s like someone has hit the slow-motion button.

As the white makes contact with the black, my body floods with relief. My trained eye can instinctively see that I’ve slammed it.

‘Yesss!’ I throw my hands up in the air triumphantly as the black ball disappears from sight.

But my celebration is premature. The white ball, having ricocheted off the cushion, courses back down the table and to my horror, vanishes into the pocket right in front of me, my win cruelly snatched away.

‘Nooo!’ I fall to my knees, hands clutching my head in dismay. ‘No. No. Nooo!’

Why did that have to happen? I had won. I was on my way up.

‘Bad luck.’ Josh appears above me, grinning, and helps me to my feet. ‘If it’s any consolation, I don’t feel like a winner. It’s a bit of a non-event really.’

I stare at him mutely, a thousand jumbled thoughts coursing through my mind.

‘Hey.’ He laughs. ‘It’s just a game. You played well. That was just pure bad luck. Don’t take it so hard.’

‘Sure.’ I drag myself away from the torment circling in my mind and force a smile. ‘I know that. Just a game.’

‘I say we call it a draw.’ Josh drapes his arm around me casually. ‘Or we could void it and have a rematch?’

‘No.’ I shrug him off. ‘Don’t go soft on me now. The rules clearly state that you won – fair and square.’

‘OK, well don’t say I didn’t offer,’ Josh teases me, oblivious to my inner torture and the significance of the loss for me. ‘Guess we’d better get back.’

As we wander back through the staff corridor together, Josh chats away merrily, dissecting every moment of our game like an overenthusiastic football commentator. I nod along, pretending to listen attentively, but my mind is elsewhere. Is it a sign?

I didn’t lose because I didn’t try hard or play well, it simply came down to bad luck. Just like everything that’s happened in recent months with my career. That doesn’t seem like a coincidence. Sure, I’ve set up my blog. I might be getting great feedback from my existing subscribers. But I’m yet to make any money. What if it doesn’t take off? What if I fall victim to bad luck there too?

‘Liv? Did you hear me?’

‘Oh… err… sorry, Josh.’ I give my head a little shake to bring my focus back to him. ‘I missed that. What did you say?’

‘I was asking if you wanted to catch a drink at a late-night bar after work. I’ll be finishing about the same time as you tonight.’

‘A drink… I don’t think so, Josh. I’m really tired today.’

‘You’re not still upset about the game, are you?’ He jabs me playfully in the ribs.

I look at him, momentarily irritated. He hasn’t the slightest clue. He’s just oozing charm as usual, but not even attempting to tap into how I’m feeling. But then, how could he? He’s not a mind reader. He couldn’t possibly have known about how big a challenge I set myself there. And he has no idea about my past. We still barely know each other. That’s just not fair, Liv.

‘It’s not that.’ I reach out and take his hand. ‘I just felt a bit more tired than usual this morning and it’s catching up with me again. How about tomorrow instead? I’m off, and you said earlier you’d only be working till six. We can have a proper evening out together.’

‘Great thinking.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘Although I’d have liked to do both. I’ll probably see you later when I’m doing my rounds, but as I won’t be able to speak to you properly, I’ll give you your goodnight kiss now.’

He pulls me towards him and kisses me gently but firmly on the lips, then lets me go. ‘See you later, Liv.’

‘See you.’ I smile shyly at him, now tingling all over, all doubting thoughts completely forgotten.

Chapter 19

Picture the scene. Early evening. Low lighting. A smooth funky beat. The smug, indulgent feeling from having found a peaceful haven for an intimate drink on a Thursday evening – away from the parched, alcohol-seeking packs of workers.

She is stunning. He is super-hot – and irresistibly charming. Two beautiful people have found each other, and to them nothing else exists right now. They are each other’s worlds.

Delivering two perfectly prepared French 75s to their table (a divine combination of gin, champagne, lemon juice and simple syrup – a drink of perfect elegance to match their own), my presence is barely noticed.

I watch in awe, totally beguiled, as I mix drinks for another table. Even the consistently satisfying scent of the Pear Drop Fizz I’m mixing (a fruity combination of pear-infused gin, cava and simple syrup, garnished with a cinnamon stick), barely impacts as I’m gripped by this Hollywood-esque scene before me. Are they famous? Or just ludicrously rich? They drip with style – the highest-end designer pieces on display like Christmas tree baubles. They look perfect, they act perfect, they move perfectly together. Their interactions, totally in tune, are fit for the big screen.

But it’s almost too perfect. As I continue to scrutinise them like they’re lab rats, something doesn’t seem quite right. He is attentive, far beyond normal confines. She is almost theatrical in her show of self-elegance and irresistibility. Like she’s teasing him, keeping herself just out of reach. He’s trying to connect with her on an emotional level she’s refusing to accept.

Just as I’m becoming consumed with frustration at not knowing what’s really going on, I’m rewarded with the plot twist. In walks another woman, equally dazzling in her appearance and demeanour. He looks up, freezes. Now it’s a very different movie. The cheating rat has been caught. And there’s no doubt about it: he’s been set up. I’m almost reaching for the popcorn as the scumbag is outed, despite his best – but hopeless – efforts to explain things away.

The story ends with a predictable but satisfying finale, with not just one, but both untouched drinks thrown in his face, and two victorious women marching away together, arms linked in a clear display of unity. All that is left is a rather wet and sticky shamefaced idiot, and a mess that, in this case, I don’t mind cleaning up one bit. My only reflection is the ironic thought that, although with them in spirit, I can’t help thinking it’s such a waste of my lovingly made drinks.

This week’s recommendation is an easy one. It’s got to be the gin twist – made from gin (obviously!), lemon juice, sugar and hot water. Not just because of the unexpected developments of this tale, but also for its warm and satisfying character – a lot like the feeling of sweet revenge. And like cheating scumbags, it’s a drink that has been around for a very long time.

Looking forward to your verdicts!

‘It’s another stonker, Squirt.’ Dylan hands my laptop back to me, picks up his roll-up cigarette and takes a long drag from it, before exhaling with smoke rings. ‘Nice one, getting it out so quickly.’

It’s 5.30 p.m. the next day, and we’re sitting on my balcony, despite the bleak, dense sea fog that’s crept in from the Forth Estuary. The air is close and damp; tiny microscopic droplets of water seem to just hang there like unwelcome insects. After reviewing the draft version of my second post that morning, it’s now finished and published on my blog site.

‘Thanks.’ I’m immensely pleased with this feedback from him. ‘It’s not got as much humour in it as the last one, but I think that’s OK. It’s still telling a story.’

‘It made me laugh.’ Dylan shrugs. ‘I think it’s great. How are your stats doing?’

‘I’ve reached three and a half thousand subscribers with this new one already.’ I puff myself up proudly. ‘Can’t believe it.’

‘I can,’ says Dylan. ‘My contacts are good. And so is your writing. You’ve created a great “bus-home-from-work” read. Chuck those out twice a week and you should build and keep a decent following.’

‘How long will it be till I start making money from it, though? I’m really conscious of time.’

As I say this, my stomach churns uncomfortably, my symbolic loss at pool the evening before still fresh in my mind. I’m not just looking for financial reassurance, I’m looking for reassurance that my whole blogging project will actually succeed.

‘I know.’ Dylan throws me a protective big-brother-style look. ‘Me too. It’ll take a bit of time. And there’s no guarantees on how much you’ll earn from it. You’re probably gonna have to top up your income some other way – hopefully just for a few months – while your blog takes off. The money you make should grow, but it’ll start pretty small.’

‘Not what I needed to hear.’ I chew my lip anxiously. ‘The tips at the bar are way better than I expected, so that’s a help, but how am I going to come up with yet another way to earn extra cash?’

‘You don’t need to.’ Dylan gives me a pointed look. ‘There’s some easy cash to be made, here in your apartment.’

‘What do you mean… oh, right. My designer gear.’ I grudgingly mull this over for a few moments. ‘You know what, I’ll do it. I bought that stuff when I was living a different life. I’m not so attached to it anymore, and I barely have a social life.’

‘That’s my girl.’ Dylan takes a puff of his roll-up. ‘You’ll make a tidy sum with that stuff – you have enough of it. Look it out and I’ll get it on eBay. Hopefully that’ll plug your shortfall until your blog starts to make you some decent money .’

‘And you think it will?’ I seek his reassurance once more.

‘It’s a gamble.’ Dylan stares out into the pea-soup fog soberly. ‘Always was. But what other option do you have? Depends how quickly your subscription rate rises – so far, it’s looking pretty good – and how many of your readers use the links on your site. I’ve already set up the pay-per-click advertising, but that won’t earn that much in itself. Now that you’ve done a couple of posts and have a bit of a following, I think we should sign you up to do some affiliate advertising too.’

‘What’s that?’ I ask.

‘You add hyperlinks to words in your posts. When your readers click on them, they’re redirected to other sites where they can buy stuff. The sellers pay you a commission if your reader buys from them.’

‘I see.’ I scratch my head, trying to make sense of what Dylan is saying. ‘But how could I do that with my site?’

‘What are the possible links to your blog?’ Dylan asks. ‘For example, you could do affiliate advertising with a specialist drinks provider. If people click through and buy gin, or other ingredients for their cocktails, you get a commission.’

‘Right… I get it.’ I perk up. ‘So, what about… maybe… a retailer of romcoms – like books or movies? Because I tell stories, don’t I? About dating.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Or… how about… online dating sites?’

‘Now you’re talking.’ Dylan stubs out his roll-up. ‘They have potential. You’d earn a decent commission if your readers signed up with them.’

‘Great. Let’s do that then.’ I’m encouraged by this. ‘By the way, how’s your own online dating going?’

‘Found it a bit weird at first,’ says Dylan. ‘But I started chatting to someone yesterday on it, so we’ll see how that pans out.’

‘That’s exciting. What’s she like?’

‘Hot.’ He grins wickedly, putting on a pervy-old-man face. ‘That’s enough for me.’

‘Euch!’ I screw up my own face in disgust. ‘I’m glad I’m not her. Well, good luck. And thanks, Dylan, for all your help. Really.’

‘Always a pleasure, Squirt.’ He slaps me on the shoulder affectionately. ‘Now, are you gonna feed me or what?’

‘Yeah, of course.’ We get up and head inside to the kitchen, glad to get into the warmth. ‘I’m not eating though. I’m going out. But I’ll make you a sandwich.’

‘Oh yeah? Is that with loverboy?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes.’ I redden as I take cheese and ham from the fridge. ‘He’s taking me for dinner. At a really nice restaurant.’

‘Best way to get a girl in the sack.’ Dylan chuckles. ‘He must make decent money then. His pocket money probably wouldn’t cover that.’

‘He won’t be getting me in the sack. I guarantee that.’ I tut at Dylan’s chauvinistic behaviour. ‘And what on earth are you talking about pocket money for?’

‘You know, because he’s still a child – gets pocket money from his parents.’ Dylan grins at me, enjoying his own humour.

‘Oh… see you…’ I point the knife I’m using to butter the bread at him, then put it down as I realise what I’m doing. ‘Just drop that. Unless you want to be responsible for me dumping the guy. I’ve had enough of an issue with our ages, without you throwing in more grenades.’

‘Hey, chill.’ Dylan holds up his hands in surrender. ‘I was just kidding. You know that. I’m well happy that you’ve met someone. About bloody time.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Really. What does it matter how old he is? As long as he’s in big-boy pants, what’s the issue?’

‘Dylan!’ I wail.

‘Aww, sorry.’ He laughs guiltily. ‘I couldn’t resist. I’m done now, I promise. I’ll go set up those advertising affiliations for you.’

‘Probably a good idea.’ I eyeball him as he legs it to the other side of the room and disappears behind my laptop.

A couple of hours later, I’m slipping into a chair at The Gatehouse, an upmarket restaurant in Duddingston Village, near Arthur’s Seat. Opposite me is Josh, looking heart-stoppingly handsome in fitted jeans, a shirt and a tweed dinner jacket.

‘You look incredible.’ He grins proudly across the table.

‘Ditto.’ I raise an eyebrow in what I hope is a sultry way.

It appears to have the desired effect, as Josh’s expression shifts to one of hungry lust.

‘So…’ He clears his throat, trying to compose himself. ‘Have you been here before?’

‘A few times,’ I say without thinking. ‘I’m pretty well versed in Edinburgh’s best restaurants.’

‘Right.’ He gives a low whistle. ‘Used to the high life then. Better take note of that.’

I silently kick myself for letting my materialistic side show through. That’s not who I am anymore, not who I ever really was. From Josh’s reaction, it’s clear that this isn’t his regular type of place. He’s done this to impress me, which is really sweet.

‘What kind of places do you usually eat at?’ I ask.

‘I don’t eat out that much.’ He shrugs. ‘But when I do, it’s normally Italian, a steakhouse, that kind of thing. I just prefer a more relaxed atmosphere.’

‘I get that.’ I think back to all the pretentious places I used to eat in with my work crowd.

‘I’m guessing you got your taste for the finer things in life growing up.’ Josh grins across the table at me.

‘What?’ I’m thrown by this assumption. ‘No. Nothing like that. I didn’t… when I was growing up… I was…’

I tail off, suddenly feeling like a cornered animal, unsure where to go with this. I don’t want Josh to think I’m some kind of pretentious snob with a spoiled upbringing. But I can’t bear the shame of him knowing how I really grew up.

Thankfully, he’s already moved on to a new topic of conversation.

‘So, what do you think of Aaron?’ He pours us each a glass of water from the carafe on our table.

‘Aaron?’ I try to hide my relief. ‘I think he’s great. A bit awkward obviously, but he’s bailed me out of a hole more than once now. I owe him a lot.’

‘Oh, how so?’

I realise I’ve inadvertently strayed back into dangerous territory.

‘Actually, maybe I’m over-egging it.’ I wave my hand dismissively. ‘What about you, what do you think of him?’

‘I think he’s a great guy too.’ Josh nods in agreement with himself. ‘A bit difficult to chat to, but he’s a brilliant boss. Really into helping people get on.’

Before I can assert my own agreement, an immaculately dressed waiter appears at our table, with freshly baked bread rolls and sea-salted butter presented on a dark grey slate. He takes our order, and we dive straight into tearing and buttering our rolls. I take my first bite of the delectable warm, crusty-on-the-outside, soft-and-fluffy-on-the-inside bread roll with creamy, salty butter. Like it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted in my life, it triggers an unwelcome pang of longing for my former life. I quickly and forcefully shut this down.

‘Yes, Aaron’s definitely one for helping people.’ I revive the thread of our conversation. ‘It’s good there are people like that in life, what with the gap between the rich and the poor continuing to grow. It’s not exactly opportunities for all.’

‘Mmm, totally.’ Josh nods in agreement, but doesn’t elaborate.

‘And don’t get me started on the rates of child poverty and food bank usage. In this country. It almost makes me want to emigrate.’

‘Agreed.’ He puts on a disapproving face, while chewing on his bread roll. ‘Shameful stuff.’

I wait to see if Josh will say anything further, but once it’s clear he’s not going to engage with my political dialogue, I steer the conversation onto a lighter subject.

We chat away easily over dinner, mostly talking about the hotel and sharing flirty banter, seizing any opportunity for physical contact. The chemistry between us is so intense that we barely pay any attention to our extortionately priced food. Every time Josh’s hand or leg touches mine, it’s like a bolt of electricity; I’m so hypnotised by him that I’m completely powerless to his charm offensive.

At the end of our meal, once Josh has settled the bill, he excuses himself to visit the gents, and I finally snap out of my trance. I realise I’ve drunk too much again, and I need to be careful. The way this evening is going, Dylan’s prediction will be absolutely right. And it’s just too soon for that.

‘Ready to go?’ Josh asks as he returns.

‘Yes, sure.’ I get up from my seat.

As we leave the restaurant hand-in-hand, thanking the staff as we go, I’m aware of quite a few women in the room watching enviously. It doesn’t surprise me at all; I’d probably do the same. There are hot men, and then there’s Josh. I’m not sure how I feel about this. It’s nice to have something (or in this case someone) everyone else wants, but that means there’s plenty of competition waiting to steal him away.

We step outside into the cool, misty night and instinctively turn to each other. The silhouette of Arthur’s Seat, just visible in the background, provides the perfect backdrop to our intimate moment.

‘Thanks for dinner,’ I say. ‘I really enjoyed your company.’

‘Ditto.’ He gives me the same sexy raised-eyebrow look I delivered when I first arrived.

As we stand there gazing at each other, our breath coming out in little bursting clouds as we exhale, I’m oblivious to the chill in the air. I feel my heart quicken as he takes my hand, pulling me towards him and then slips his arms around my waist. I close my eyes, allowing my other senses to take over, and just let myself melt into an amazing embrace.

‘You’re incredible,’ he whispers in my ear as he continues to kiss me, a faint fruity whiff of the Malbec from the restaurant on his breath. ‘Come back to mine? I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t try anything – have too much respect for you for that, and I’m not that kind of guy anyway. I just want some time with you all to myself.’

I know this is the point at which I should politely decline and say goodnight, to make absolutely sure I don’t deviate from my longstanding three-date rule. Especially as Josh is a colleague and more senior than me. But I don’t want to. I want to be alone with Josh as much as he does with me.

‘You come to mine,’ I murmur in response, pulling him in closer. ‘Then I can kick you out if you break your promise.’

‘Deal.’ Josh breaks away from me just long enough to hail a taxi.

Chapter 20

‘Morning, beautiful.’

I open my eyes blearily to see a dishevelled, but still insanely gorgeous Josh standing above me holding a tray. My head is pounding from my repeat offence of consuming far too much booze the night before.

‘Oh… err… morning.’ I suddenly feel shy, despite us having explored so much of each other the night before. ‘You’ve… made breakfast?’

‘I have.’ He proudly places the tray on the bedside table. ‘Scrambled eggs on toast, tea and orange juice. You like scrambled eggs, right?’

I rub my eyes and sit up quickly, trying to force myself to come round quicker. As I do, my head feels like there’s an enormous bell clanging within it. I wince from the pulsing pain.

‘Oww…’ I clutch my head protectively. ‘Yes, I do. Thank you. You’ve obviously been up for a while.’

‘Only about an hour.’ He shrugs. ‘Thought you might need something for your hangover.’

‘I most certainly do.’ I give him a sheepish look.

He passes me the tray and sits down on the side of the bed. I take a gulp of orange juice, a welcome refreshing treat for my parched mouth, and then start to eat my eggs. As I do, I become self-conscious and immediately stop.

‘Aren’t you having any?’ I ask.

‘Yeah, I am.’ He grins at me, then reaches over and tucks my hair behind my ear to stop it falling in my food. ‘I just like looking at you.’

‘Well, stop it,’ I command. ‘You’re making me uncomfortable. Go and get your food.’

Josh squeezes my nose affectionately, then gets up and pads along the hallway to get his own breakfast.

Once we’ve eaten, and I’ve gotten past my morning-after-the-night-before shyness, we snuggle up in bed again, me nestled into Josh, while he strokes my arm affectionately.

‘Thank you for keeping your promise last night,’ I murmur.

‘Of course,’ he replies gently. ‘Always.’

An hour or so later, when Josh has gone home to get ready for work, I log on to my admin page on my blog site to check my stats, and also to reply to the comments on my latest post. Though I can’t really face doing anything resembling work, it will at least distract me from how awful I feel.

It’s a good decision: I’m delighted to see that there’s been another jump in my subscriber levels, most likely from people sharing my latest piece, and I’m now edging towards to four and a half thousand. Feeling the need to share this news I tap out a text to Dylan that simply says ‘Approaching 4.5K!’ and hit send.

Next, I work my way through the comments in response to my second post. There are quite a lot more this time.

Magpie556: Full of the cold this week so tried the gin twist to see if it would help (like a gin version of a hot toddy). Still feel like crap today, but it was seriously tasty!

MissGinFizz: Glad you enjoyed it, Magpie556, even if it didn’t make you feel better. I can’t help wondering about your username. You don’t own 556 magpies, do you!?

AK1987: Ha! Love what these two women did. Cheating scumbags should all get this treatment. Wish I’d done the same with my ex when he ‘forgot’ he was in a relationship.

MissGinFizz: Sorry to hear you’ve had a similar experience, AK1987. Hopefully you’ll meet someone more deserving of you, if you haven’t already.

FinnBear: Wish I could pull two hot birds at once. Can’t help but salute this guy. LOL.

MissGinFizz: I can see by the response you’ve had from other readers on the site that your comment hasn’t gone down well, FinnBear. Each to their own I say, but if you’re having trouble ‘pulling’, then perhaps you might want to review your approach – and whom you choose to idolise.

SexySeventySeven: French 75 is my fave cocktail ever! Love your blog, MissGinFizz.

MissGinFizz: It’s one of my favourites too, SexySeventySeven. Try swapping the simple syrup for elderflower cordial for a slightly different flavour and experience. It’s delicious!

About two-thirds of the way through answering the comments, I come across a familiar username:

GrahamLeeton: Another captivating piece. You may have reduced the humour in this one and gone for more mystery, but it flowed perfectly and drew me in just as effectively as your last. You tell a great story in 500 words.

MissGinFizz: Well hello again, GrahamLeeton! Great to have your comments once more. You’re the only person on here who comments on my writing rather than what I write about. Are you a writer yourself?

I quickly move on to the next comments, responding to one after the next until I’m done. Just as I’m about to log off and shut down my laptop, I instinctively seek out the comment from the subscriber who goes by the name GrahamLeeton again. My mind wanders off into a daydream where he’s some hotshot magazine editor who becomes so enchanted by my blog that he simply has to have me work with him.

As I’m rereading his comment, I’m surprised to note that he’s already replied to my response.

GrahamLeeton: Let’s just say I have a keen interest in literature of all kinds. And I know talent when I see it.

I blink at the screen. What on earth does that mean? Whether he’s in the publishing industry or not, he’s certainly caught my attention. Impulsively, I tap out another response.

MissGinFizz: That’s very cryptic. Means you could be a million copy best-selling author, or you work in a bookshop…

I click the ‘post’ button, and my comment appears at the bottom of the emerging thread. I read it back, chuckling to myself as I do. This is actually quite fun. I wait a few minutes, but there’s no response. Mildly disappointed, I’m about to log out of my blog site, when another comment appears. It’s him again.

GrahamLeeton: Would you be disappointed if the bookshop option was right?

I cock my head to the side, contemplating his question. It’s a good one. Would I be disappointed? And if I was, would that make me shallow and snobbish? Or would it just mean I’ve been conditioned to look for the Hollywood-style happy ending in what is actually a rather ordinary world – one where Oscar-winning plots are definitely not the norm.

I compose and post my answer.

MissGinFizz: How is it that in a matter of three short exchanges you have me questioning my personal values? My answer is ‘no’, I wouldn’t be disappointed – at least that’s what I’d like it to be.

This time, his response is almost instant.

GrahamLeeton: I very much like your honesty, MissGinFizz. It would have been tempting to just go for the textbook answer there. :)

Who is this guy? He knows nothing about me, yet he’s managed to get under my skin in a matter of minutes. I start to construct a response, then delete it. Then do the same again. I’m frustrated at being tripped up. But the reason for my hesitation is clear: I’ve met my match.

After a few further attempts, I post my next comment.

MissGinFizz: It didn’t come without an inner struggle. Now you have me wondering if you’re a psychologist… ;)

MissGinFizz: You’re not, are you?

I wait on tenterhooks for what he’ll say next. He doesn’t disappoint.

GrahamLeeton: I’m interested by your focus on ‘what’ I am, rather than ‘who’ I am. Does it really matter what I do?

I squeal with excited frustration as I realise he’s got me again.

MissGinFizz: Now I’m thinking I need to reassess my values and life choices. How do you do that? Let’s start again. ‘Who’ are you, GrahamLeeton? I would like to know about you.

I wait impatiently for his reply, but after several minutes I realise it’s not going to come. He must have logged off. Did he have to go? Or did he leave me hanging on purpose? Whatever the reason, it has the same effect as watching a long-awaited TV programme you’ve set to record, and it cuts off just before the end.

I log out of my admin page and try to distract myself with a few tasks around the house. Yet my mind keeps creeping back to our online conversation. Shall I log back on and check if he’s replied? No. Control yourself, Liv. He’s a man sitting behind a screen, about whom you know nothing. Remember the Hollywood storyline trap you were just pondering. I remind myself I have a real-life super-hot, attentive man in my life called Josh, and he really is incredible.

Later that afternoon, I arrive at the hotel, complete with the remnants of a hangover the size of the Atlantic.

‘What the hell happened to you?’ Amir looks me up and down from behind the bar where he is preparing the garnishes. ‘You look rough as a badger’s arse.’

‘Late night,’ I grumble. ‘And thanks for that.’

‘You’re welcome.’ He grins then calls over his shoulder. ‘Reyes, check the state of this one.’

Reyes appears from the storeroom. Her eyes widen as she spots me.

‘Chica. Dios mio! You are looking very tired. You are not well?’

‘She’s not ill.’ Amir chuckles. ‘She’s just been up all night doing Josh.’

‘Hey! I have not!’ I’m mortified by this assumption. ‘And how do you even know I was with Josh last night?’

‘Because we saw him about an hour ago.’ Amir bends down to put the garnishes in the fridge. ‘It didn’t take a genius to work it out. He was striding about like he owns the place. He’s clearly well into you.’

‘You think?’ I’m temporarily distracted by this observation. ‘Wait… he didn’t tell you that we… you know… did he?’

My mind starts to race. Josh wouldn’t make that up just to look good – surely. He’s not that kind of guy. Or is he? Once again, even through my mental fog, I realise I barely know him.

‘Didn’t have to.’ Amir shrugs, putting my worries to bed in an instant. ‘It was obvious, wasn’t it, Reyes?’

‘He is looking like a cat that has made a lot of cream.’ Reyes nods agreement, a wicked glint in her eye. ‘Tell me all the details.’

‘OK, stop.’ I hold up both hands to silence them. ‘Both of you, just stop. Firstly, that did not happen. Secondly, I’m not sure I like the idea of my personal life being the talk of the hotel. And thirdly, why would a cat make cream? Seriously?’

Amir splutters with laughter, while Reyes just looks confused. I clutch the side of the bar top, almost to steady myself – the combination of my hangover and this topic of conversation now too much.

‘Come on. Calm yourself,’ Amir soothes me and guides me behind the bar to a seat in the storeroom. ‘How is it the talk of the hotel? Josh didn’t say anything. He’s a top guy – wouldn’t do that. And no one else seems to know about you two yet. We only know because we’re your friends. Remember?’

‘Sorry,’ I mumble. ‘I just don’t want to be the focus of office gossip. That’s part of the reason why I was funny about seeing someone from here in the first place.’

Amir looks me straight in the eye. ‘Liv, do you have any idea how many people in this hotel are in relationships?’

‘No.’

‘The answer is: a lot.’

‘Really?’ I look up at him hopefully.

‘Yes.’ Amir smiles at me kindly. ‘You’re far from the only one. Nobody’s going to care – not for any longer than a day anyway. People who work in hospitality work crappy hours, so they end up coupling up with each other. They don’t have much chance to build relationships otherwise. It’s the same as people in the police and other shift-working professions.’

‘Right.’ I perk up a little. ‘I guess that’s not so bad then. Only…’

‘Only, what?’ Amir prompts me.

‘Well, I guess I’m just a bit concerned about Aaron finding out.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I don’t really know.’ I ponder this for a moment. ‘Maybe just because I don’t know how he’ll react. He’s hard to judge. I don’t want him to think I’m taking the piss or anything, you know, when he’s helped me out.’

‘I’m sure you don’t need to worry about that at all,’ Amir reassures me. ‘Aaron’s awkward, but he’s still human. He knows better than most how working in this industry affects personal lives.’

‘I suppose.’

‘I agree with Amir.’ Reyes leans casually against the doorframe. ‘You have no worries, Chica. And I am sorry if we are making you like this.’

‘No, don’t apologise, it’s fine.’ I offer her a feeble smile. ‘I overreacted. Guess I’m still feeling a bit vulnerable after everything that’s gone on.’

‘That’s totally understandable,’ says Amir. ‘And being hungover won’t be helping either. Messes with your head. Just take it easy tonight, yeah?’

‘Thanks, Boss.’ I get up from my seat to receive the friendly hugs I’m being offered by my friends. ‘Compared to Clara, you’re like the male equivalent of Mother Teresa.’

Around midnight the bar is nearly empty, allowing Reyes and I some time to chat as we hang aimlessly, waiting for the few remaining punters to pay up and go. Amir has taken the opportunity to nip away and focus on some of his managerial tasks.

‘So, you are liking Josh then?’ she asks me. ‘It is looking like this when you come back from your break with him earlier.’ Her eyes are twinkling with mischief.

‘Yes. Of course, I like him. Who wouldn’t?’ I consider how to sum it up for her. ‘He’s gorgeous – obviously. More than gorgeous. He’s like a total Adonis. And he’s really sweet and fun to hang out with. We have such a laugh.’

‘This is all so good.’ Reyes clasps her hands together, clearly thrilled. ‘I am very happy for you, Chica.’

‘Me too.’ I smile to myself smugly. ‘You know, something else – he’s actually really respectful and considerate. Definitely doesn’t behave like I’d expect from a guy who looks like him: that’s such a bonus.’

‘How are you expecting this kind of man to be?’ Reyes looks puzzled.

‘A total twat.’ I shrug. ‘Full of himself. I’ve come across enough of them, particularly at work. Though never quite in Josh’s league.’

‘Ah, OK. I understand this.’ Reyes nods. ‘Some hombres think too much that they are the best. And they are treating the chicas badly.’

‘Exactly that.’ I nod. ‘Over here we call them players.’

‘Players. Pla-yers.’ Reyes repeats this slowly to commit it to memory. ‘Ah, that is reminding me. I have been learning a game. It is new. We must play it.’

‘A game?’ I look at her sceptically. ‘What’s it called?’

‘It is being called Snog, Marry, Avoid.’

‘Snog, Marry, Avoid?’ I let out an incredulous laugh. ‘That’s not a new game. I used to play it at school with my friends when I was, like, fifteen.’

‘It is not new?’ Reyes looks disappointed.

‘No, I’m afraid not. There’s even a TV show based on it. We actually played a variation on it in school: Snog, Marry, Push off a cliff. But it’s the same principle.’

‘So, we will play your version.’ Reyes’s face brightens again. ‘I would like to do this. Will you play?’

‘OK…’ I shake my head to check I’m not in some kind of weird dream where I select my ‘snog’ guy, then suddenly find myself making out with a slavering warthog on a train to Nepal, or something similarly strange. ‘Do you want to ask first, or shall I?’

‘I will ask first,’ Reyes announces. ‘Who you will snog, who you will marry, and who you will… push off a cliff? Your choices… Josh… Amir… and… Paulo from the kitchen.’

‘Ooh, that’s difficult.’ I mull over my choices, upping the suspense to humour Reyes. ‘I’d push Paulo off the cliff, because I don’t know him and he’s about twice my age. Plus, I’d never kill off Josh or Amir. Obviously, I’d want to snog Josh. But that means I have to marry Amir… maybe that’s OK though – a purely platonic marriage where we see other people.’

‘You would not marry Josh?’ Reyes looks shocked and riveted. This takes me back fifteen or so years to my chemistry class, where my lab partner, Kyla and I, spent hours playing this game – to the severe detriment of our grades.

‘If I marry Josh, then I have to snog Amir,’ I say. ‘And I’m not sure I want to visualise that. As much as he’s a lovely guy, he’s firmly in the friend zone.’

‘And Josh is not a man that you can marriage?’ Reyes persists. ‘You tell me he is all these things, but he is not that?’

‘It’s just a bit early for that question, is it not?’ I laugh, but Reyes looks serious, so I try to give the question some proper thought. ‘At this stage, I’m not sure. He ticks most of the boxes, but…’

‘But, what?’

‘Well, we haven’t actually had much serious intelligent conversation. Don’t get me wrong, I like having a laugh and all, but it’s just daft chat and flirting. Not much sharp wit. I need someone I can have proper brain-stimulating conversations with as well. I’ve no idea about his values, his political views, what he wants from life… wow… I’ve actually only just realised all this.’

‘See, Chica!’ Reyes claps her hands together in delight. ‘This is good game. If you do not play, you are not having this thinking.’

‘I guess you’re right.’ I eye her curiously. ‘Is that why you suggested we do it?’

‘No.’ Reyes shakes her head resolutely. ‘I am not planning this. It is just… how do you say…’

‘A coincidence?’ I suggest.

‘Yes. Gracias. That is a word I am always having trouble with remembering.’

‘OK, now let’s do you now.’ I make a show of thinking up the options for Reyes. ‘Your choices are… also Amir… Piotr… and… Dylan.’

Reyes looks so serious in considering her options, I can’t help but laugh.

‘I am thinking,’ she says eventually. ‘That although Piotr is nice hombre and I am happy to be working with him, I must push him.’

‘OK. Interesting choice.’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘I thought it would have been Dylan for the chop straight off.’

‘Why are you thinking this?’ Reyes asks.

‘I just figured he might be a bit rough around the edges for you.’

‘Chica, no.’ She waggles her finger at me. ‘I am liking this about him. He is bad boy, yes?’

I look at her, perplexed. Having come from the background I’m told she has, I would expect Reyes’s taste to be a little more refined. ‘I… err… I guess so. I didn’t realise that was your type.’

‘Every chica likes a bad boy.’ She puts on a mischievous face.

‘I’d better keep you two apart then,’ I joke. ‘Because he’s got a thing for you too. And I’m sure your husband wouldn’t approve.’

Reyes puts on a face. ‘My husband, he is not—’

She’s interrupted as a customer signals for the bill, putting a stop to our chat. I busy myself emptying the glass washer, while Reyes completes the transaction.

‘I have decided,’ she announces, returning. ‘I am snogging Amir and marriaging Dylan.’

‘You’re going to marry the bad boy?’ I’m baffled by her choice once again.

‘Yes. I can see clearly that Dylan is bad boy and good hombre,’ she states this as if it is obvious. ‘He is what I think you call “for keeping”?’

‘A keeper. Yes, that’s right.’ I smile at her. ‘Well, I guess you’re probably right. He’s certainly got a good heart.’

Wait till I tell Dylan, I think to myself. He’ll love that little confidence boost. And he certainly needs one. I’ll just need to keep him on a tight leash to stop him sniffing around Reyes, and earning himself a black eye, or worse from her husband.

‘OK, one more time.’ Reyes waves to the remaining customers as they leave. ‘You have… Dylan… Piotr… and… ah, yes, Aaron.’

‘Oh man. That’s even tougher than the last one.’ I exhale loudly. ‘OK… Piotr’s off a cliff. I couldn’t do that to Dylan or Aaron – not after everything they’ve done for me…’

‘I am glad of hearing this.’

‘And as snogging Dylan would feel a bit like incest – he’s like my brother – I’m going to have to opt for another marriage of convenience…’

‘This is meaning that you snog Aaron!’ Reyes hoots with glee.

‘I guess it does.’ I wrinkle my nose as I contemplate this.

‘Aaron is good-looking hombre, no?’ Reyes regards my facial expression with confusion.

‘Yeah, I suppose.’ I remove the remaining glasses from the glass washer. ‘I’ve never really thought about him that way. And he’s a few years older than me. But if you lose the super-awkward personality and replace it with Josh’s charm, then why not?’

‘I am thinking you are right.’ Reyes starts to cash up the till. ‘But I am also thinking that any man with charm of Josh I will snog.’

‘That may well be true,’ I agree. ‘Which is probably all the more reason why I need to keep my wits about me in this… whatever it is. I could easily get swept away by the lust and fun, without thinking any of it through. I do like him a lot, but I need to be sure that he’s right for me.’

‘I think this is OK, Chica,’ Reyes reassures me. ‘For now. You can see if the rest is coming later.’

‘Lots of deep and meaningful chat going on here, I see.’ Aaron’s clipped tone suddenly cuts through our conversation, as I freeze in horror.

Chapter 21

Reyes and I share a panicked look as we realise he’s standing just feet away from us, his expression totally unreadable. Oh hell. How long has he been there? Please tell me he didn’t hear us; I’ll have completely barbecued my bridges this time.

‘Aaron. Hi. Didn’t see you there,’ I say, flustered. ‘We were just… err…’

I glance desperately at Reyes, who reads my unspoken distress call and wades in to help me.

‘We speak about a new TV show, Mister Gardiner. It is about dating.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Aaron prompts Reyes to continue, his expression still indecipherable.

‘It is dating, but without clothes,’ Reyes continues. ‘The chicas and hombres go for dinner naked. You have seen this?’

I inwardly groan, realising that whatever Aaron heard, it will not match up at all with Reyes’s account of things. She’s now added to an already excruciating situation in her attempt to divert his attention.

‘Is that right?’ Aaron gives nothing away as he sways in his habitual, pine-tree-like manner, moving smoothly back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet. ‘I can’t say it’s something I’ve seen.’

I study his face, trying to figure out what he heard. Unless it was only the very tail end of our conversation, I have two things to worry about: he’ll now know about me and Josh; or worse, he’ll know that and that I said I would snog him, but preferably only if he assumed a different personality.

‘You should watch it, Mister Gardiner.’ Reyes appears completely unaware of her misjudgement. ‘It is very… liberation.’

‘You mean liberating,’ Aaron corrects her.

‘Yes,’ Reyes replies. ‘That is what I say.’

I stare at Reyes, trying to send her telepathic messages to shut the hell up, but her attention is fully fixed on Aaron.

‘Right, well. Perhaps I should give it a watch.’ Aaron surveys us appraisingly.

‘Yes, you must,’ she persists. ‘You are learning things. Like how people are making different choices when they cannot see how the other person will dress.’

Reyes smiles sweetly at Aaron, mistakenly thinking she’s rescued the situation. But the hint of sarcasm barely detectable in Aaron’s voice suggests otherwise.

‘It’s certainly interesting what people consider to be important,’ says Aaron. ‘For some it’s all about fun and lust.’

Shit. He heard. He bloody well heard. Certainly, the part about me and Josh. That’s bad enough, especially him hearing it in that context, but did he hear the bit before it – about him? Please, no. I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again. My face is burning. I will him to leave and end to this excruciating conversation.

‘That is true, Mister Gardiner. You have good observation.’ Reyes is completely oblivious to what’s really going on.

‘Well. Thank you, Reyes.’ He nods at her. ‘That’s most useful. I’ll be sure to tune in. I trust all is well otherwise?’

‘Yes, Mister Gardiner. We are finishing very soon.’

‘Good. Safe journey home, both of you.’ He looks directly at me.

‘Thanks, Aaron.’ I force a smile, still avoiding full eye contact. ‘See you tomorrow.’

He turns and sweeps out the door into the main hotel.

‘As Amir say: you are welcome,’ Reyes announces proudly as soon as he’s gone.

‘Are you being serious?’ I look at her incredulously. ‘You made the situation twenty times worse. Naked dating? Really? He obviously heard the end of our conversation, which means he knows about me and Josh. I just so hope he didn’t overhear what I said about him.’

A short while later, I’m sitting on my couch, half-watching some late-night TV, eating some toast before bed. I’m beyond exhausted, but my mind is still wired with nervous energy, mainly from the irrational loop of worry that’s locked on repeat in my mind.

Did Aaron hear what I said about him? It was only a bit of fun. But out of context my words would have sounded so cruel and bitchy. He’s someone I have so much respect for, to whom I owe so much. I can’t stand the thought that he could have overheard, and been hurt by my carelessness. But am I overthinking this? He can be quite cutting in his own way. Would he even care? He may have been an important person at a previous point in my life (and has unexpectedly become so again), but I’m probably not that significant in his. He’s only ever been my boss – just a really good boss, who didn’t want to see me go under and have to drop out of uni. Surely people like him deal with much worse than a bit of harmless gossiping behind closed doors.

Amir’s words about me being oversensitive because of my hangover come floating back to me, and I realise that I need something other than crap TV to distract me. I pick up my laptop and log onto my blog site admin page, where I can see that there’s been some further comments on my recent post. And that GrahamLeeton has eventually replied and answered my question. I immediately click into his response.

GrahamLeeton: The easy and slightly creepy response would have been ‘who would you like me to be?’ But as you were so honest before, you deserve better than that. Who am I? I’m a man (you probably guessed that bit already), a man who makes the most of life, who works hard, who cares about other people, and what’s going on in the world. Who sometimes wishes he were a superhero, so he could right all the wrongs… and I’ve just realised how boring that sounds. Can we go back to what I do? ;)

I smile as I read his words, then type out a response.

MissGinFizz: Definitely not boring. That’s amazing. So few of my conversations these days involve real stuff. And it matters. To care. To want to change things, but to feel so powerless to do so. Tell me more…

Sitting back, I glance at my watch. It’s one-thirty in the morning. He’s unlikely to respond tonight. This frustrates me. I want to know more now, not tomorrow. I start to reply to the other comments I’ve received, but I’m distracted and my responses don’t flow. Eventually I realise it’s a fruitless exercise and cast aside my laptop in irritation. I may as well go to bed; hopefully my exhaustion will eventually overwhelm my unsettled mind.

Just as I’m about to log out of my site and shut down my laptop, I receive a notification of a new comment. Filled with anticipation, I click it open. It’s him. My eyes quickly dance across his words.

GrahamLeeton: I will. For some reason, I have an instinct that you will understand me – in a way that many others haven’t. But first, tell me who you are, MissGinFizz. It’s your turn.

As I drink in his words, my stomach fizzes excitedly. He’s reeled me in so fast, it’s scary. I know I should be careful and have my wits about me, but I sense that this man is not a threat. However, my own instincts have let me down before – most notably at McArthur Cohen with my so-called friends there. I decide I won’t give away any personal details or hints that could betray my true identity. So, there will be no real risk. Just a bit of harmless – and inspiring, intriguing, intelligent – conversation.

Taking time to protect my anonymity, but trying to appear suitably open and interesting, I tap out my response.

MissGinFizz: OK… I’m a woman (touché) – a woman with dogged ambition, who only recently realised that play is just as important for success as work. Who’s realised there’s a lot more to life than money and living the high life. Who may have drunk too much last night, and who may have spent the whole day endlessly regretting it…

I read my words back as I wait, hoping he’s not disappeared again. He hasn’t.

GrahamLeeton: Thank you, MissGinFizz. I suspect we have a lot in common. I also wonder if you would like to take this conversation somewhere less public? And before you think I’m some crazed cyber-criminal, I’m not looking for any of your personal details. I will never ask you for them. I’d just like to chat. Do you have a chat app on your blog site? That is, if you’re not desperate to get to bed – you did mention having a hangover after all…

As I read his reply, I don’t feel threatened or uneasy, not even for a moment. I want to chat to him. And I’m too buzzed to sleep anyway. I’ve soared past exhausted and crash-landed in a state of burning adrenaline-fueled wakefulness. I send him a reply, asking if he knows how I can add a chat app, and he immediately comes to my assistance.

Once I have it installed on my laptop and my phone, we resume our conversation, which now flows much more easily with the enhanced functionality of instant messaging. I cast aside my phone and restart the conversation.

MissGinFizz: So, you said you’d tell me more once I’d shared a little myself…

GrahamLeeton: What do you want to know?

I pause, my fingers hovering over the keys of my laptop. That’s a good question. What do I want to know? I can’t ask him where he’s from, or anything personal; that’s already been ruled out. He’s also already taken the career conversation off the table. He’s a shrewd operator! I now have little choice but to engage at a deeper level. All obvious topics of conversation have been eliminated. I look back at his last post on my blog page, trying to follow through from the original thread of conversation.

MissGinFizz: You mentioned wanting to be a superhero, so you could right all the wrongs of the world. Which superhero would you like to be? :)

GrahamLeeton: I’d be… Equilibriman.

MissGinFizz: Right… don’t think I know him. I don’t really follow the world of comics and superheroes.

GrahamLeeton: Neither do I. Just made him up. :) Can you guess what my superpower is?

I look at his made-up superhero name and groan loudly. It’s so obvious.

‘Come on, Liv,’ I coach myself out loud. ‘You’re supposed to be a smart woman. You’ll need to be a lot quicker if you want to keep up with this guy.’

I fire back a response.

MissGinFizz: Ha, of course. You have the power to bring things back into balance. Creating a more equal society. Righting the wrongs of the world, as you say. Am I right?

MissGinFizz: I blame my sluggishness on the hangover!

GrahamLeeton: Spot on! At least you got there eventually, eh?! ;)

‘Cheeky bugger!’ I shout at the screen, but I’m smiling all over.

GrahamLeeton: Being serious though, I detest the level of inequality in society. It pains me to see kids in gangs, dying needlessly, or not having a chance at a promising future because of the postcode they live in. Parents struggling to feed and clothe them, while the rich and famous use intravenous drips as cures for hangovers.

I’m shocked as his words sink into my very core, suddenly conjuring up some difficult memories from my past. My immediate instinct is to shut the conversation down, to hide from them, but I don’t want to. I feel a driving need to keep this communication going.

MissGinFizz: I completely agree. Though I do believe that hard work and effort has to be part of the picture. People can’t just be handed things on a plate without any effort whatsoever.

GrahamLeeton: Yet many people are – and more often they’re the privileged ones. If they have the contacts, the right postcode…

MissGinFizz: That is true. It’s the playing field that’s so uneven. Everyone should have the same chance in life. For some it’s such a desperate struggle – those born into money and a comfortable life simply don’t have the first clue.

GrahamLeeton: You sound like you may be talking from experience?

I hesitate, my breathing shallow. He’s tapped into this so quickly. Do I want to share how I grew up? It’s been my shameful secret for so long – from all those whom I met from university onwards anyway. I’ve never wanted to share it, even acknowledge it. But there’s something about this guy that makes me feel I’m in a safe place. That I don’t need to be ashamed. He doesn’t know who I am, and he seems to have some understanding himself.

No. Not now. Perhaps not ever. But definitely not now.

GrahamLeeton picks up on my hesitation and moves the conversation on.

GrahamLeeton: Sorry, MissGinFizz. That was possibly a little too intrusive. Let’s get back to more important things. Your superhero name?

MissGinFizz: No, it’s fine… I’m just… OK, yeah, change of subject. My superhero identity would be… hang on… *plays hold music*

GrahamLeeton: I’m imagining some kind of cringeworthy lift music. ;)

MissGinFizz: No way! My imaginary hold music is great. I use The Killers. Right, I’ve got it! I’d be Mirror Woman.

MissGinFizz: No, wait… that’s rubbish…

MissGinFizz: I’m Reflektra!

MissGinFizz: Can you tell I’m on Google looking up Marvel’s characters? :)

MissGinFizz: Are you still there??

GrahamLeeton: Sorry, I was obviously enjoying The Killers too much. :) Reflektra, eh? So, I’m guessing your superpower is something to do with showing people their true selves?

MissGinFizz: Exactly that! I’d hold the mirror up and show them how meaningless it is to be so obsessed with having lots of money and things – with materialistic wealth. A bit like the way the three ghosts show Scrooge his reality in A Christmas Carol.

GrahamLeeton: I like it! So, how would that story go? Tell me more about Reflektra’s specific modus operandi?

I become so immersed in our conversation that, by the time I glance at my watch again, it’s nearly four in the morning. With such energising, amusing and mind-stimulating chat, I’m reluctant to call it a night. But if I don’t want to feel like crap for a second day, I have to get some sleep. I politely wrap things up, say goodnight and shut down my laptop.

As I get up to head to the bathroom, I pick up my phone from the sofa and see that I have a text message from Josh, sent two hours earlier.

Hope you got home OK. Can’t stop thinking about our night last night. When can we do it again?

I feel a surge of guilt. I realise that my attention should probably be on Josh, not another man, whom I know next to nothing about. Is that being unfaithful? Can I even be unfaithful? Josh and I haven’t had the chat about being exclusive. For all I know, he could be dating other women. I have nothing to feel guilty about – do I?

As it’s highly likely Josh will be fast asleep by now, and I definitely don’t want him asking why I was up till four, I decide I’ll respond in the morning. It’s not such a bad thing to keep him waiting.

Chapter 22

Over the next few weeks, my life slips into a comfortable but enjoyable pattern of working my shifts in the bar. I barely have time to think in between completing the hotel training programme, publishing my blog posts and keeping up with my subscribers – who, to my amazement, have now breached the ten-thousand mark. My job hunt isn’t just fruitless, it stalls completely; I can’t bring myself to apply for anything. I know that I have rediscovered a part of me that I had buried through sheer unrelenting determination to leave Ridgemore estate far behind me – both physically and psychologically. I also know – be it a bad decision or not – I can’t step back into the façade of a life I had created, just to keep me financially sound.

The lump sum from my eBay sales (very kindly facilitated by Dylan), my fast-growing online following, and my first payment due on the earnings from my blog all mean I can take that risk without feeling faint with fear every time I think about it.

I also find myself juggling the attention of two very different men. On one hand there’s Josh, my real-life love interest – a knee-tremblingly hot man. He may lack a level of depth, which may or may not be related to his age; but he’s super considerate and he showers me with affection. My feelings for him are getting stronger by the day; there’s no question about that.

Then there’s the more mysterious ‘GrahamLeeton’, who engages me in a way that spans the emotional spectrum daily. We get indignant together. We rise up in determination to change the world, then acknowledge that we’re out of our depth and pipe down. We appreciate the little things, we laugh uproariously (portrayed by multiple LOLs with laughing emojis), and we let the sadness and empathy through whenever there’s another terror attack or natural disaster. We have the ultimate cyber partnership. And as it blossoms, I find myself more and more conflicted.

I desperately want to meet him in person. At the same time, I’m terrified that if I did, this huge blissful bubble between us might burst in epic proportions, just like the Marshmallow Man exploding at the end of Ghostbusters. What if he’s married? Or he’s ancient, with a hairpiece, dentures and multiple grandchildren? It wouldn’t matter how much we connect at an intellectual and spiritual level, those are red lines. There has also been no indication on GrahamLeeton’s side that he’s even remotely interested in meeting me anyway. So, maybe this is the best way: I have my ultimate perfect man, but in two different men.

There are moments when I find it rather challenging, though. For example, Josh now thinks I have a worryingly weak bladder, because I excuse myself to the toilets about ten times every time we’re together – to reply to GrahamLeeton. GrahamLeeton does, of course, realise that I have a life beyond him, but he’s just so full of energy, razor-sharp observations and piercing wit – and I’m a total sucker for it. Then there’s the issue of making sure Josh doesn’t clock these conversations on my phone. I have to turn off the notifications from the chat app, which means I have to guess when GrahamLeeton might have messaged, resulting in further unnecessary bathroom breaks and Josh asking me if perhaps it’s time I saw a doctor.

‘Liv, are you ready?’

I drag myself out of my latest daydream about who GrahamLeeton might really be, and focus my attention on Amir.

‘Yes, sorry.’ I get up from the bar seat I’ve been sitting in while waiting for Amir to finish the staff rota. ‘Where’s Reyes? I thought she’d be here by now.’

‘She arrived just before you, but she nipped back out to get something from the shop across the road. It’s OK, we have plenty time. We don’t need to be at the distillery till twelve, and as we’re taking a car, it won’t take long.’

‘Oh, are you driving us?’ I ask.

‘Nope. I’m driving us.’ A grinning Josh has burst through the door from the main hotel, Reyes trotting along at his side.

‘Hola, Chica.’ She gives me a kiss on each cheek.

‘Hi, beautiful.’ Josh then scoops me up like a sack of potatoes, giving me a smacker of a kiss on the lips. ‘Looking forward to our day out?’

‘Hi.’ I try to squirm out of his grip, embarrassed, causing him to half drop me. ‘What do you mean our day out? You’re coming with us?’

‘Yup.’ His grin widens.

‘But why?’ I’m puzzled by this revelation. ‘You don’t work in the bar.’

‘I talked Aaron into letting me go. Told him as Ops Manager I should have a good understanding of all areas of the hotel.’ His face scrutinises mine, his eyes betraying the disappointment he’s obviously feeling at my reaction. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. Means we can spend some extra time together.’

A Mars-Bar-sized lump of guilt lodges itself in my chest.

‘I am pleased.’ I fix as convincing a smile on my face as I can and take his hand. ‘Of course, I am. I just… well, I was surprised, that’s all. And I’m surprised Aaron agreed to it. He knows about us, you know. I don’t want him thinking we’re taking advantage.’

‘He won’t, Liv,’ Amir reassures me. ‘He knows you’re a hard worker. And as much as this is a work-related trip, you can actually enjoy it.’

‘Right.’ I shake my head to clear my muddled thoughts. ‘Sure. Sometimes I forget I’m not in the corporate world anymore.’

‘Well, forget it,’ Amir commands in a very uncommanding way. ‘We’re going to make the most of this. It’s not often we get a day away from work – and on the hotel.’

As if his ears are burning, Aaron suddenly strides into the bar, his long legs giving him giraffe-like momentum.

‘All right, Aaron?’ Amir greets him.

‘Morning, Amir.’ Aaron nods at him stiffly, then looks round at us, a curious expression on his face. ‘Ready for your trip, you motley crew?’

‘Yes, Mister Gardiner.’ Reyes beams at him. ‘We are very much looking forward to drinking the gin.’

‘Right.’ Aaron raises an eyebrow at Reyes. ‘I hope you’re looking forward to what you’re going to learn today as well. It’s a developmental excursion, not a piss-up in a brewery.’

The choice of words and neutrality of his tone leave us all a bit stunned, as well as wondering whether he’s trying to crack a joke or is deadly serious. He takes in our bewildered faces, then continues.

‘You do realise that there’s a test on what you learn today, once you’re back at work. The hotel isn’t just funding you to go on a jolly.’

We look from him to each other, unsure whether to laugh or make for the housekeeping storeroom to stock up on the hotel’s embossed pens and notepads.

‘I’m joking, obviously.’ Aaron tries for a light-hearted chuckle, but it sounds more like a cat being strangled. ‘Just go and have fun. But try to learn something useful you can bring back here too.’

‘What? Ha, Aaron, you had us there.’ Amir starts to laugh, more out of relief than enjoying Aaron’s attempt at a joke.

The rest of us join in with similarly appropriate comments.

‘Off you go then.’ Aaron smiles a little less rigidly than usual at us.

‘All right!’ Josh exclaims. ‘Let’s do this.’

‘I call shotgun!’ Amir whoops, clearly forgetting he’s in the presence of the General Manager.

He and Josh race out of the bar, with Aaron calling after them not to run in the hotel. He turns back to me and Reyes.

‘I hope you enjoy your day, ladies.’

His tone is sincere, but there’s something about the look he directs at me specifically that makes me slightly uncomfortable. Almost as if he’s saying, ‘Really, that guy?’ I look away, embarrassed; all too aware that the way Josh just behaved has highlighted the age gap between us in neon pink.

‘Thank you, Mister Gardiner.’ Reyes smiles warmly at Aaron.

‘Yes, thanks,’ I add. ‘We’ll make sure it’s a worthwhile trip.’

‘I’m in no doubt of that.’ Aaron gives us a brief nod, then strides back out of the bar, leaving Reyes and I to follow after the guys.

‘We will be having fun today, yes?’ She searches my face. ‘I am sure you can do this.’

‘I hope so.’ I shrug non-committally. ‘I wasn’t off to the best start there with my reaction to Josh coming, was I?’

Just over an hour later, we drive through the gates of the countryside gin distillery in the Scottish Borders, with ten minutes to spare before our tour is due to start. It’s a large old stone building that looks like it was once part of a farm. A large sign by the gates, framed by trees with leaves of fiery red and burnt orange, introduces it as Greenlaw Gin Distillery. Josh parks the car and we pile out, commenting on how fresh and pleasant the air is, and enjoying a few moments of basking in the bright autumn sunshine, before crunching our way across the gravel in the direction of the entranceway. Josh walks beside me, while Reyes and Amir are a few steps in front. As they vanish around a corner, following the signs to the entrance, Josh grabs my hand and pulls me back.

‘Josh, what are you—’

He pulls me into him and plants a long sensual kiss on my lips before I can even finish my sentence. At first, I try to pull away, too conscious of the fact I’m on a work-related outing. But his hold on me is tight, one of longing, which despite my initial discomfort, makes me melt into him, feeling the same desire. I can taste the saltiness from the bag of crisps he was eating in the car on his lips.

‘Are you two lovebirds coming, or what?’ Amir has reappeared around the corner, having clocked our disappearing act.

Josh and I pull apart.

‘You did say to enjoy ourselves,’ I mutter, trying for a casual shrug, but my flaming cheeks give my lingering unease away.

‘Well just don’t enjoy yourselves too much.’ He raises an eyebrow cheekily. ‘I don’t want to see anything I can’t unsee. Or… maybe I do…’

‘Hey! Behave!’ I feign indignation.

‘Let’s go, beautiful.’ Josh grabs my hand and hauls me round the corner after Amir.

As I allow him to lead me down the path, I feel like a naughty teenager on a school trip. It’s certainly not how I’ve conducted myself in the past and I’m definitely not completely comfortable with it.

We reach the entrance and walk into a small reception room. A cheery man wearing a kilt, with wild red hair, cheeks to match and a tenor-style voice greets us, vigorously shaking each of our hands in turn.

‘Welcome. Welcome all. You must be the group from the Mayfield Hotel?’

‘That’s right,’ says Amir. ‘Just the four of us.’

‘Great to have you.’ The man beams. ‘I’m Alan. I’m the owner of the distillery. Our tours are usually done by Steph, our dedicated distillery tour guide, but I’ll be taking you round today. How was your journey?’

‘Fine, thanks.’ Amir continues to act as spokesperson. ‘We’re really looking forward to this. We specialise in gin in one of our bars, as you know, so we’re keen to learn more about how it’s made – to be properly in the know. We have quite a few high-net-worth customers from abroad, and they ask a lot of questions; gin being the big thing these days.’

‘That it is,’ Alan booms, nodding overzealously. ‘Predictions are that gin exports from Scotland will soon surpass those of whisky. Well, you’ve come to the right place. I can fill you in on all you need to know. Just follow me and we’ll get started. Would you like a tea or coffee?’

He takes our preferences, passes them on to a female colleague who looks like she may be his wife, then leads us through to a small room set up like a theatre, inviting us to take a seat in the front row.

‘So, the format for today’s visit is this.’ Alan is standing in front of us, gesturing theatrically. ‘I’ll give you a short overview of the history of gin, and the strong roots its production now has in Scotland. Then I’ll take you round the distillery and explain the production process. You’ll get to see some of the real action there. And then we’ll finish with a tasting session. How does that sound?’

‘Sounds great!’ Amir’s ears prick up on hearing we’re getting a tasting. ‘Bad luck, Josh. As you’re the driver, I’ll have to drink yours.’

Josh sits forward, about to backchat Amir, when Alan jumps in and addresses Josh.

‘Not at all, son. We can’t have you missing out. You can take a couple of miniatures away with you – on the house.’

‘Really? Thanks, Alan.’ Josh looks mighty pleased with this arrangement, firing a ‘burned’ look back at a deflated Amir.

As Alan turns away to receive a tray of tea and coffee, Reyes leans in towards me conspiratorially.

‘Chica, I am liking this hombre.’

‘What, Alan?’ I whisper in disbelief. ‘You fancy Alan? He must be about fifty-five – at least.’

‘Then he has good experience. This is better.’ Reyes’s eyes twinkle mischievously. ‘The red hair is sexy. He is sexy Scotsman.’

I have to stifle a giggle as a rather disconcerting image of Reyes and Alan together materialises in my mind.

‘You seem to have quite a broad taste in men,’ I mutter under my breath. ‘And for a married woman, you certainly seem to like to look.’

‘Looking is not touching.’ Reyes shrugs, unconcerned.

I shake my head in incredulity as I watch what I consider to be a somewhat clumsy Alan hand out the hot drinks. No matter how hard I try, I simply cannot make the gigantic leap to sexy Scotsman. I decide Reyes must be blinded by the highland dress. A rookie error, but a common one.

‘Right, let’s get started,’ Alan announces, once we’re all sipping away at our drinks. ‘A quick quiz. From which country is gin widely believed to have originated?’

Amir’s hand shoots up.

‘Yes?’ Alan prompts him.

‘The Netherlands. Its precursor was called genever.’

‘That’s right, son.’ Alan looks impressed. ‘In fact, the invention of gin is not totally clear. It is, however, claimed by the Dutch, the British, the Flemish and even the Italians. OK, one more question. What’s the main ingredient in gin that gives it its unique flavour?’

Amir’s hand shoots up again, but this time he doesn’t wait to be prompted.

‘Juniper berries!’

‘Correct again.’ Alan beams at Amir. ‘You seem to know your stuff, son. Perhaps you should take over from me.’

It’s plain that Alan is joking, but Amir looks elated by this comment. The rest of us stare at Amir with distaste for being such a suck.

‘Teacher’s pet.’ Josh covers up his name-calling with a fake cough, causing me to snort with laughter, then sink down in my seat in embarrassment.

Alan simply smiles at us jovially, clearly having missed the joke. I will him to speed up. This visit is getting more and more weird – and more and more like a high school field trip. The difference being that we’re allowed the alcohol at the end.

An hour and a half later, our tour of the Greenlaw Gin Distillery is complete and we’ve settled into seats in the tasting room: a generous space that benefits from the timeless beauty of traditional architecture, while having been tastefully decked out with more contemporary furniture and fittings. A colourful modern-looking tartan plays a key role in the décor, and to complete the effect, low-level Scottish country dance music frolics from the speakers in the corners of the room. Alan is over at the bar, consulting with one of his employees over the different tasting combinations he wants to offer.

Having not had a moment to myself since we left the hotel, I excuse myself to the ladies. As I enter the pine-scented restroom, I pull my phone out of my bag and see that I have a notification from my blog chat app. It’s GrahamLeeton, of course; he is the only person I actually converse with on it.

GrahamLeeton: Observation of the day: I am officially ancient. I was in a café, sitting at a table next to a group of teenage girls, and I kid you not, they spent nearly forty minutes discussing a single photo one of them was about to post on Instagram. First it was the photo effects, then the intended recipients, then who was likely to comment and who wasn’t – and what that might or might not mean. I was exhausted just listening to them! How are you today, MissGinFizz?

I laugh as I read this, then quickly tap out a response.

MissGinFizz: That does sound exhausting! Must have been entertaining too though. I’m great, thanks. I’m actually living up to my namesake today. At a distillery tour with some of my workmates. We’re learning about gin so that we know what we’re talking about in the bar, and we’re about to start my favourite part – the tasting session. :)

He replies almost immediately, and before I know it, I’m immersed in conversation with him.

GrahamLeeton: The girls were actually quite amusing. Especially when they started agonising over whether Tariq (whoever he might be) would think the post was cool or naff – at least that’s what I think they were debating. They used words I had never heard before! Distillery visit sounds fun. Be helpful for your blog too – I do love a good BOGOF. I hope you have a chauffeur to take you home??

MissGinFizz: BOGOF??

GrahamLeeton: Buy one, get one free. BOGOF. You get something out of it for your work and for your blogging.

MissGinFizz: Ah… OK, now I feel stupid.

GrahamLeeton: No need to feel stupid. Ashamed will do just fine. ;)

‘You bugger!’ I shout at the screen, laughing.

‘Chica, you are coming back to join us?’

I look up and see that Reyes has entered the ladies’ toilets without me even noticing.

‘Oh, sorry, yes.’ I quickly fire back a humorous retort, letting GrahamLeeton know that I have to go for now, but I’ll be able to chat later.

‘You are messaging with your online boyfriend?’ Reyes’s dark eyes are twinkling. ‘While your real-life boyfriend is out there. I am impressed with this new chica.’

‘He’s not my boyfriend.’ I drop my phone back into my bag. ‘Neither of them are my boyfriend.’

‘Josh is not even?’ Reyes looks at me, puzzled.

‘Not officially.’ I shrug. ‘We haven’t made things exclusive yet. Anyway, GrahamLeeton is just someone I have an intellectual and spiritual connection with. We enjoy good conversation. That’s all.’

‘Of course.’ Reyes regards me knowingly. ‘That is all.’

I realise I’m not fooling either of us, but before I can say anything else, she disappears into one of the cubicles, so I head back to join the others.

‘Here, Liv, try this.’ Amir sticks a glass in my face the moment I rejoin him and Josh. ‘It’s got a blinking tree in it. But it’s amazing!’

I take the drink from him and hold it at a distance so I can actually focus on it. It does indeed have what appears to be a cutting from a pine tree in it.

Alan jovially fills me in on the goings-on. ‘I’m demonstrating some more unusual garnishes, to offer interesting alternatives to the commonly used ones, such as fruit and cucumber.’

‘I see.’ I take a sip and my taste buds immediately burst to life from the zingy flavour combination. ‘Wow, that is amazing. It’s kind of fresh, natural, outdoorsy… almost medicinal.’

‘Great adjectives, Liv!’ Alan claps his hands together jubilantly. ‘And that’s what it’s all about. Don’t just describe your selection of gins in your drinks menus. Get talking to your customers about them. Use adjectives that tickle their taste buds. If they hear the words, they’ll have the experience. Take them on their own tour – in their minds.’

‘Who’s the teacher’s pet now?’ Josh grins with pride, like I’m his prize pooch.

Reyes rejoins us and we get properly stuck in, tasting one drink after the other.

‘Another tip,’ Alan announces. ‘You obviously need great pairings, but don’t always pair the same gin with the same garnishes. Try this.’

He lines up an array of shot-sized glasses sporting three different gin and tonics: one similar to before, with a miniature sprig of pine in it, one garnished with sage, and the other with a tiny slice of orange. We (other than Josh) breathe in the unique aromas and then sip at them, taking the time to let the flavour of each one develop in our mouths before swallowing. I move from the medicinal pine, to the earthy herbal smoothness brought through by the sage, and finally on to the zesty, fruity, sharpness of the drink paired with orange. It’s a truly educational tasting experience.

‘They are all tasting so wonderful. So different.’ Reyes looks truly amazed. ‘I am expecting some of this, but with these three drinks, they are almost like different gins. They are not?’

‘No.’ Alan shakes his head. ‘They even have the same tonic.’

‘You are magician.’ Reyes looks at him in awe, and for a moment I wonder if she’s going to follow up with the words ‘sexy Scotsman magician’, but thankfully, she doesn’t.

‘That’s what we do, isn’t it?’ I turn to Amir. ‘We have an assigned garnish for each of our gins. Maybe we need to be a bit more creative.’

‘Definitely,’ Amir agrees. ‘We can work through some new ideas back at the bar.’

As he says this, my mind automatically flits to GrahamLeeton’s comment that I can perhaps use some of what I’ve learned today in my blogging. Without thinking, I pull my phone out of my bag and illuminate the screen to see if he’s replied.

‘Who’s GrahamLeeton?’ Josh leans over and kisses my shoulder.

‘Oh… err… just a friend,’ I stammer, realising my error. ‘Someone I know from uni. We chat online from time to time.’

My eyes meet those of Reyes, who gives me a ‘busted’ look. I shake my head to signal that Josh didn’t actually see any of the message. Replacing my phone in my bag, more out of guilt than anything, I focus my full attention on him. Josh, apparently none the wiser, seems happy about this: obviously cheered by the fact that I’ve enjoyed having him along for the trip after all.

I feel immensely guilty, like a deceitful cheat. But how can it be cheating if Josh and I haven’t taken things to the next level yet – it still feels like we’re just casually dating. Anyway, I’ve never met GrahamLeeton, let alone touched him, kissed him or anything more. All we do is talk. Sure, I feel a connection with him, some sort of attachment; probably even fancy him – or the ideal of him I have in my mind. But it’s not like anything is ever going to happen. Not when I’m never likely to even meet him.

Chapter 23

‘I need to meet him.’

‘Huh?’ Dylan regards me absently. ‘You need to meet who?’

‘She is speaking about her online hombre.’ Reyes gives me a cheeky wink as she plonks our drinks in front of us.

It’s early evening, and while Josh and Amir have had to go back to work for the evening shift, myself and Reyes have taken advantage of our early finish from our gin distillery visit by heading through the now lashing rain, straight to the pub – our usual post-work haunt off Mayfield Road. Dylan, having found out via text that I’m with Reyes, has, in true stalker-style, turned up uninvited to salivate over her.

‘Her online what?’ Dylan looks confused.

‘Hombre.’ Reyes mouths this very slowly and clearly, as if this will help.

‘Like me, he doesn’t speak Spanish,’ I clarify. ‘Hombre is Spanish for man, Dylan.’

‘Right.’ Dylan nods easily. ‘Yeah, I knew that actually. Just didn’t get it because of the accent.’

‘Is that right?’ I raise an eyebrow at him, fully aware he’s just saying that to try and impress Reyes.

‘Yeah, it is actually.’ He shoots me a look. ‘Anyway, back to your limitations. So, you’re still two-timing Josh?’

‘Hey, I’m not two-timing anyone,’ I complain. ‘We’re not exclusive.’

‘Whatever. You keep telling yourself that.’ Dylan shakes his head at me. ‘I’d have thought you’d have canned the chat with your online stalker by now.’

‘He’s not a stalker.’ I huff, then mutter under my breath, ‘Not like some people I know.’

Dylan throws me another warning look, but Reyes doesn’t even register this frosty interchange.

‘Look.’ I exhale loudly, taking a slug from my gin and tonic. ‘I don’t mean any disrespect to Josh. He’s an amazing guy. He really is. I like him a lot, and I can almost see something long-term coming from what we have. But… there’s something missing. He doesn’t challenge me. I need him to stimulate my mind as well as…’

I trail off, realising that I can’t finish my sentence – not without sparking a domino effect, and I’m not in the mood for any smutty chat tonight.

‘Go on.’ Dylan looks amused.

Reyes also appears ready to pounce, sexual innuendos being something she is surprisingly alert to, given the other topics that go right over her head.

‘Stop it. Both of you,’ I complain. ‘I’m being serious. I need your help. Josh is a truly amazing guy. But there’s something there with GrahamLeeton too. I have a connection with him that I’ve never encountered with anyone else. He’s helping me to find the real me again.’

‘What do you mean, Chica?’ Reyes asks.

‘I mean the person who gave a shit about things that really matter, rather than just making money, fitting into the corporate world and chasing a career. Things like the serious stuff in the world, like politics and the environment; and that I hate how some people have so much while others have so little.’

‘I did notice your principles had made a reappearance,’ Dylan jokes.

‘Right?’ I’m enthused by this comment. ‘He’s really sharp too. He makes me laugh like crazy – but in an intelligent way. I’m hooked when I’m talking to him. I’ve trawled the internet trying to get some clue as to who he is, but I’ve come up with nothing. I need to find out who he is, if he’s the full package… seriously, stop it. Both of you.’

Dylan and Reyes share a delighted look.

‘So, you think that this GrahamLeeton is your dream hombre?’ Reyes asks.

‘No. Maybe. I don’t know.’ I throw my hands up in the air helplessly. ‘All I know is that by not knowing, I’m building him up in my head. Now he’s taking up so much room, I need to know if it’s all worthwhile. Or if I’m totally wasting my time.’

Dylan takes out his tobacco and papers, and starts to roll himself a cigarette. ‘The whole thing just smells off to me, Squirt. Even the fact you call him by his full name, like it’s some kind of artistic tag.’

‘It’s his username, idiot. Like mine is MissGinFizz.’

‘Whatever.’ Dylan shrugs. ‘Well, I tell you straight off, with a name like GrahamLeeton, and him using his full name online, I’d put any money on it that he’s over fifty, fat, bald – and probably a paedophile.’

He seals his cigarette and offers it to Reyes, who, to my surprise, accepts it. Dylan then starts to roll a second one for himself. I regard him witheringly.

‘If he’s a paedophile, then why’s he spending all his spare time talking to a grown woman?’

‘OK… then he’s in prison. Or worse, he’s a serial killer.’ Dylan looks at me pointedly. ‘And he’s sizing you up as his next victim.’

‘I am thinking I have watched crime programme like this.’ Reyes, suddenly wide-eyed, nearly chokes on her pint. ‘Chica, you must be careful. Maybe Dylan is right. You are in dangers.’

‘I’m not in danger.’ I snort and shake my head. ‘You two are as bad as each other. He doesn’t know anything personal about me. He said he would never ask, and we’ve never even talked about meeting up either. This is all me.’

‘That’s how he does it.’ Dylan continues to wind me up. ‘He lets you think you’re the one in control. Bit by bit, you start to open up, unaware that in the background he’s piecing all these bits of information together. Then one day—’

‘That’s enough, thank you, Dylan.’ I shut him down. ‘Do me a favour and go have your bloody cigarette, will you.’

Dylan looks self-satisfied as he and Reyes get up and put on their jackets, then his face turns serious. ‘You know I’m joking. But in a way, I’m not. Just be careful, yeah?’

‘I hear you. Go on, get out.’ My face is dismissive, but I’m secretly pleased that I have my own big-brother type to look after me.

As they head out of the door, I pull my phone out of my bag and find I have messages from both the men in my life.

Josh’s message with its usual open affection:

Hey beautiful. Enjoyed our trip together today. Can I come over when I finish tonight? Around 10.30 p.m.?

GrahamLeeton’s is simply asking when I’m free to chat, which will now need to be before 10.30 p.m. As I reply to each of them, another jolt of guilt rushes through me. Am I really a two-timer? I don’t want to be that. I need to sort this.

Around 8 p.m., I arrive back at my flat and start chatting with GrahamLeeton straight away, while making myself a late dinner. With Dylan’s earlier words in my mind, I’m determined this will be a conversation with purpose. This time I’m looking for answers instead of our usual thought-provoking – but at the same time inspiring and entertaining – conversation.

MissGinFizz: OK, I’m finally free! Are you there?

He replies within seconds.

GrahamLeeton: At last! I’ve been watching my phone screen for the last three hours. Don’t think I’ve even blinked.

MissGinFizz: Ha, yeah, so you have. You’ll have missed dinner then too?

GrahamLeeton: Helps the waistline. How was the tasting session?

As I read this, Dylan’s image of a paunchy, late middle-aged man pops into my mind. I bat it away and type out my response.

MissGinFizz: It was fun. And educational actually. I thought I knew enough about gin, but there’s so much more to it.

GrahamLeeton: It does seem to be about more than just ordering a G&T these days. What gin? What tonic? What garnish? What flavour of ice?

MissGinFizz: What flavour of ice???

GrahamLeeton: Was just checking you were paying attention. :)

MissGinFizz: That actually sounds like something that could work. With the right flavour combinations, of course.

GrahamLeeton: Something you could explore? I’d definitely try that if I came across it in a bar. The flavour of the drink changes as you drink it – as the ice melts. So instead of becoming watery, your drink becomes fruity, or something??

MissGinFizz: I love that! Thanks for the idea. I’ll definitely look into that one.

GrahamLeeton: You’re totally welcome.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as I try to think of my ‘in’. How can I ask some of the questions I want to pose to him, without them seeming premeditated? I quickly become mentally paralysed. A top communications professional I am, but only if I have twenty or so minutes to think about things first. I don’t do top-class on-the-spot creations. Although, from my experience, neither do many of the people who think they do.

GrahamLeeton: You’re not doing it right now, are you? The ice will take a while to freeze.

MissGinFizz: Sorry, I was just thinking about something.

GrahamLeeton: Something good or something bad?

MissGinFizz: I’m not sure it’s either. Just… some questions I have.

GrahamLeeton: For me?

How do I do this? I don’t want to scare him off, or get his back up because I’ve broken our (sort of) unspoken rule. But I can’t not ask either. It’s eating me up. I need not to be a cheat, or feel like one.

GrahamLeeton: I’ll take that second long pause as a yes. Whatever it is, just ask.

MissGinFizz: OK… here goes…

MissGinFizz: Today I was talking about you with a couple of friends, and they laughed that I call you GrahamLeeton, rather than just Graham. But usernames are different to real names. I mean, my real name is obviously not MissGinFizz. And even though yours does seem like it’s your actual name, I can’t just assume and call you Graham, can I?

I sit back and read my words on the screen, screwing up my face in embarrassment. Never have I been so incoherent in the [virtual] presence of this man.

GrahamLeeton: You can call me Graham.

MissGinFizz: Oh, OK, great. And you can call me…

I pause, and suddenly panic. He can call me what? Gin? Hardly. I blink at the screen, stuck on what to say next. Should I give him my name too? What if he’s not actually a Graham at all? Dylan’s serial killer comments momentarily float into my mind. Thankfully GrahamLeeton’s perceptiveness saves the situation once again.

GrahamLeeton: I think I’d like to stick with MissGinFizz, actually. It’s rather alluring.

MissGinFizz: OK… great?

GrahamLeeton: Yes. Great. What’s your next question?

I take a deep breath. How do I even approach the whole meeting-up thing? Should I even do so after what Dylan said? Oh, shut up, Dylan. I can do the whole public place thing. It will be fine. And who says we’ll even be able to meet. I don’t know if he lives in Palawan or Preston. Yes – maybe that’s exactly where to start.

MissGinFizz: I know you said at the start there would be no sharing of personal details, but now that we’ve been talking for a while, I feel like I know you. But I actually don’t. I don’t even know what country you live in, or what age you are, even roughly – I’d never ask your exact age. Oh dear, I’m rambling…

GrahamLeeton: I live in the UK. And I’m old enough to drink, but not yet drawing my pension. Does that help? ;)

Does it? A little fizz of excitement bubbles in my stomach at knowing he’s in the same country, but we’re not out of the woods yet in relation to Dylan’s age-range prediction. I can’t really ask him to narrow it down though.

MissGinFizz: Yes, that helps. Thank you. I’m in the UK too, and also within that cavernous age range. ;) My friend thinks you’re a serial killer by the way.

GrahamLeeton: Sounds like your friend watches too much TV.

MissGinFizz: That’s probably accurate.

GrahamLeeton: Just to tick off a few more options, I’m not a (non-serial) killer, thief or con man either. Nor am I married/cohabiting/in a relationship. Just in case you were wondering.

I gasp. That’s a definite pointer. He’s offering me an ‘in’. Isn’t he? I need to grab this opportunity.

MissGinFizz: Good to know. Well in that case, do you think that we could maybe meet up? In person? I’d really like to meet you – properly.

I wait for his response, but it doesn’t come immediately. Or even quickly. I impatiently tap my fingers on my laptop casing. Why’s he taking so long? Have I misread the situation and scared him off? My palms start to feel tacky. Just as I’m working myself into an overreacting frenzy, he replies.

GrahamLeeton: I’d love to meet you in person. But I can’t. Not yet. There are some complications in my life, so now is not good. But when the time is right, I promise.

When the time is right? What does that even mean? That could be in a month or a decade. Or it could be never. Has he just fobbed me off? Why have we been chatting every day for weeks, building this amazing connection, if he doesn’t even want to meet me?

I feel so disappointed and confused by his answer, I find it hard to gather myself. I try to keep the conversation going, but the vibrancy has dissipated. After a while, I wrap things up, and try to busy myself doing a few bits and pieces around my apartment before the real-life and totally uncomplicated Josh arrives.

Next morning, I waken groggily, and on feeling Josh’s strong protective arm around me, instinctively snuggle into him for extra comfort, hoping I’ll nod off again. No such luck. As I come to, my mind immediately kicks into full capacity, replaying the events of the last twelve hours over and over. GrahamLeeton – now just Graham – and the tentative steps forward we made, but then feeling like I’ve fallen down a manhole after I asked him about meeting up.

Then Josh coming around last night. How he was able to distract me from all that, just through being so uncomplicated and attentive, and adorable. And unbelievably hot. We have such an amazing time together, and apart from the lack of interesting, brain-stimulating conversation, he’s everything I could possibly want.

But maybe that’s OK. Maybe he’ll grow into it. He is only twenty-three. Maybe it’s not actually that important; it’s just that having such incredibly thought-provoking, edge-of-your-seat conversation with Graham magnifies that one gap between Josh and me. Maybe if I didn’t continue my online interactions with Graham, I could be more settled with Josh. All I know for certain about Graham is that he has this one strength that Josh does not. What if that’s the only box he actually ticks?

My instincts immediately start to debate that point. I can’t believe that Graham is no more than a good conversationalist. There are clues all over our interactions that he’s more than that. I just don’t yet have the physical proof.

I realise I’m not just confused, I’m horribly conflicted. I don’t want to hurt Josh, and the idea of not being with him fills me with great sadness, but I know I can’t just turn off this online relationship I’ve developed either. Having slept on the disappointment of Graham telling me he couldn’t meet me just yet, I’ve woken even more determined that we will meet. Because that’s who I am. Who I learned to be at such a young age. No one was ever going to guide me or open the right doors for me. I had to do it all myself. And I’ll do it again.

Restless and not wanting to wake Josh, I gently slip out from under his huge muscular arm and pad along my laminate hallway floor to the kitchen living room. I make myself a cup of coffee and curl up on the couch with my laptop, deciding I’ll write a new blog post as a distraction.

As I’m creating a new file for my workings, I remember that my first blog-related payments are due from my advertising and affiliations. I quickly log into my bank account and see that they’ve actually been paid over the last couple of days. It’s not a lot, but I’m delighted that I’ve earned this money all by myself (OK, with a lot of help from Dylan), and that I’ve earned it because people enjoy my writing. I grab my phone and quickly tap out a text to Dylan.

I made £63.37 in my first month! It’s there in my bank account. I can’t believe it. xx

Expecting that he’ll be at work and unable to reply, I put my phone down and go back to preparing my new file for my blog post, but within a couple of minutes my phone lights up with a new message.

Nice one, Squirt. As long as you keep writing and getting more subscribers, that number will only go up. How much do you need to cover your monthly shortfall?

Good question. I do a quick calculation, taking into account the generous tips I get from wealthy clients in the bar, but being cautious and reducing that amount by around a third, as it’s not guaranteed income.

I think around £500–600 a month. Reyes says the tips at the hotel do fluctuate a bit, but are generally pretty good, and she’s been there quite a while.

Dylan replies quickly.

You could manage that level of income within a few months if all goes well. Maybe have a think about how you can diversify your portfolio. Like developing your blog site further and covering different topics, or maybe starting another blogging project altogether. Or look at alternative online options. You could have a few things on the go at once.

I screw up my face at his words. ‘Diversify my portfolio’? That’s not the way Dylan usually speaks. I quickly fire back a response to that effect.

Look at you using posh words! Something I should know?? OK, will have a think. Not so terrifying now I’ve done one. Maybe I can bounce my ideas off you?

His reply is almost instant.

Moving up in the world. Inspired by you. No probs. Happy to help. No need to do anything straight away. Keep your main focus on growing your blog site, just work on some ideas so you have them ready when you need them.

I smile at his words. Between us, Dylan was always the one who was less sure of himself. It was always me giving him advice and telling him he could be more than what statistics predicted for people from our background. Funny how things have switched recently. Now it’s him giving me advice.

I return to the empty file and start to type, but for some reason I just can’t get my words to flow. Still plagued by my own personal dilemma – who is the right man for me? – it’s almost impossible to focus on anything else. How can I solve this one? I need some advice, and not from Dylan or Reyes. They’re too close. They’ll automatically tell me to ditch Graham and stick with Josh. I need impartial advice.

Suddenly a thought pops into my mind. I know how to get my answer.

Chapter 24

It’s not often I see the same daters more than once, but occasionally I get such a treat. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been lucky enough to witness the dating antics of one particular woman several times. It’s like having access to my own private soap opera, only unscheduled, and I have to fill in a lot of the gaps myself.

‘She’s a Tinder fiend!’ I hear you cry. Actually, no. She’s been in eight times, four times each with one of two different blokes. Let’s call them Bill and Bob.

It’s becoming quite clear to me that this woman (let’s call her Amanda) is finding it difficult to choose between them. And to be honest, I can’t blame her. Here’s why:

Bob is super-smoking-hot. He’s the man almost every woman longs to be with. Dazzlingly white perfect teeth, tanned skin (from the actual sun, not a bottle), and (I’m making an educated guess here!) washboard stomach, complemented by a tank-like solid upper body. He oozes charm, leads the banter, draws Amanda in like some kind of industrial-scale magnet. No question: she is head over ballerina pumps in lust.

Now here’s the curious bit: our Adonis reincarnate (that’s assuming the God of Love was ever actually incarnate) has women quite literally wilting like day-old salad at the sight of him. But he doesn’t even notice them. I’ve watched as one sultry sex kitten after the next has tried to lever his attention away – when Amanda nips to the loo, checks her phone, even when he’s heading to the gents himself – but he doesn’t so much as register their existence. He is completely into Amanda – and Amanda alone.

‘Is there really a dilemma here?’ I hear you ask. Actually, yes. Because is Bob everything a girl could possibly want, that is, unless she wants a man who stimulates her mind as well as her libido. As much as Bob ticks almost every box, he’s not ticking that one. How do I know this? Because I’ve taken it upon myself to join Amanda in her quest to figure out which of these men is ‘the one’. Plainly put: I enthusiastically eavesdrop on all their conversations. And every time Amanda so much as dips her toe into the subjects of world politics, climate change, the growing chasm of inequality in the world, Bob either steers her back to lighter topics with a well-placed quip, or simply looks at her blankly and swiftly changes the subject. When he does this, I see the almost undetectable disappointment in her face.

So, on to Bill. Bill is not the total opposite to Bob. But he’s not nearly in the same league from a physical point of view – don’t think I’ve ever seen a man who is. Bill is just a normal bloke. Not ripped. No TV-ad pearly whites. He’s actually got a hint of a paunch he’s trying to hide under his shirt. He doesn’t have the easy charm that Bob uses to shower Amanda with endless innuendo-fuelled flirty banter, unrivalled affection and beautifully timed compliments. But he does have a secret weapon. He can engage – no – mesmerise Amanda with his mind alone. Because he does talk world politics, climate change, the growing chasm of inequality in the world.

‘But surely that gets boring quickly,’ I hear you say. Actually, no. Bill takes Amanda to places she’s been longing to reach with Bob – and she doesn’t just love it, she lights up like fireworks. Because Bill’s wit and humour are razor sharp. He has Amanda desperately clutching her stomach muscles as he takes her on an intellectual and rollicking roller coaster every time they meet.

‘So, then Bill must be “the one”!’ I hear you cry. Actually, it’s not that simple. Because with Bill, Amanda is quite clearly not head over ballerina pumps in lust – not yet anyway. And as much as we all try to deny it to avoid seeming shallow, sexual chemistry is important.

Hopefully, now you see the dilemma. Amanda’s perfect man is in fact Bill and Bob combined. But as the perfect man doesn’t exist, she has to make a choice. Who to choose? I know I’d be struggling. Just when I find myself leaning towards one, I’m drawn back to the other. All I can really say at this stage is that it’s one of those nice dilemmas in life. But I’m glad it’s not mine.

This week I’m proposing a drink to toast each of Amanda’s wonderful men – because no matter who she eventually chooses, it seems she’ll be on to a winner. For super-sexy Bob, it’s got to be a Spicy Red Snapper (AKA gin’s answer to the Bloody Mary – a piquant blend of gin, tomato juice, fresh lemon juice, generous dashes of hot pepper and Worcestershire sauces, finished with a little seasoning), and for Bill, the mind-blowing-yet-sophisticated Earl Grey G&T (a simply genius combination of gin, chilled earl grey tea, simple syrup, tonic and lime peel to garnish).

As usual, featured cocktail recipes are below. Looking forward to your verdicts on the gin, the men and Amanda’s ‘dilemma’!

‘Chica, I am loving your new post.’ Reyes looks up from the phone screen. ‘But it is strange. This episode, it is like your life.’

It’s two days later and Reyes and I are doing the usual preparations behind the bar for our evening shift.

‘It’s exactly my life,’ I confirm, as Reyes hands my phone back to me. ‘Well, exactly in the sense that I’ve used my own personal dilemma as inspiration for this one. I haven’t watched this unfold in the bar – I’m living with it day to day.’

‘This writing is about you? But, why?’ Reyes looks confused as she pours ice into the ice buckets from a much larger container. ‘Are you not having enough ideas for your blog from the customers?’

‘Of course, I am.’ I pause momentarily from slicing the fruit garnishes. ‘There’s endless material in here. But I’m getting eaten up by this whole thing with Josh and Graham, my online… whatever he is. I wanted to get some advice… no, perspectives… from people who aren’t close to the situation – people who wouldn’t just automatically side with Josh, like you and Dylan.’

‘We are with Josh because he is real and we are knowing him.’ Reyes shrugs. ‘Josh is amazing. He is so into our chica. But this other hombre, he is not real – not yet.’

‘I know that.’ I nod. ‘And that did make things a bit more difficult when I was writing this blog post. I had to make up a physical appearance for Graham, which might be nothing like him at all. But essentially, it’s down to one thing – what’s more important to me? Is it the physical or the non-physical connection? My subscribers love to offer their perspectives and opinions.’

‘And you are getting this perspective that you need?’ Reyes asks.

‘Well… yes.’ I bob my head from side to side in a non-committal way. ‘They’ve commented in droves. But to be honest, I’m no clearer than I was. I had expected there to be a landslide in one direction, but there’s such a range of views, I’m no further forward. Take a look.’

I scroll down to the comments section at the bottom of my post and hand my phone back to Reyes. She starts to read aloud.

SexiBetti: Go for the hot ripped guy!! Especially if he’s a faithful one. That’s every girl’s dream!

Redhead93: No way! Amanda should hold out for the perfect guy! If all these characteristics are so important to her, she should try to find them all in one man – it might take a while but it’s possible. Never settle! I didn’t.

CandyCrushIcedTea: Did you find your perfect man then, Redhead93? Any tips?

Redhead93: Not yet. But he’s out there. I know it.

CandyCrushIcedTea: Right… Good luck with that…

TickTockClock: That earl grey g&t is rockin!! Found my new favourite drink. Ta, MissGinFizz.

Sugar’n’Spice87: Looks fade but a good mind can last a lifetime. It’s so obvious that this woman is better off with Bill. Otherwise she’ll live out her middle and old age bored and unfulfilled.

GemmaLC: Sure. But a lifetime of having to close your eyes during sex isn’t ideal either. Trust me, I know from experience…

Andy1996: Don’t choose. Have them both. Just don’t tell them. ;)

KitKatCat: Yeah ’cos that always works out well. You’re such a typical male chauvinist, Andy1996. Lucky for Amanda she hasn’t come across you.

Andy1996: I’m a woman, you idiot. Andy is a unisex name. Don’t be so judgemental.

KitKatCat: LOL. Sorry about that. Still think your idea’s stupid though.

Reyes reads right to the bottom of the comments, then looks up and regards me sympathetically. ‘I am seeing why this is not helpful, Chica.’

‘Right?’ I let out a sigh of resignation. ‘I’m even more confused than I was in the first place.’

‘This is because your opinion is what is important. The answer is clear. You must meet with this Graham. And then you know exactly who you choose.’

‘I want to,’ I say. ‘I’ve even suggested it. But he’s told me he can’t meet me yet.’

‘Why is this?’ Reyes suddenly looks suspicious. ‘What he is telling you?’

‘Just that he can’t meet me yet. That’s it. Oh, and that he has some complications in his life just now.’

‘He is marriage.’ Reyes’s eyes fill with concern.

‘You mean married, right?’ I cock my head to one side. ‘Not marriage material.’

‘Yes, yes. This is what I say. He has wife. And children. You must choose Josh.’

‘Hang on.’ I laugh. ‘That’s just one possibility. And one I’ve already considered. In addition to Dylan’s unattractive late middle-aged man, prison inmate and mass murderer theories. But that’s all speculation. Graham and I have been chatting since he told me that, and he’s asked me to trust him. I feel that I should. It just means I have to wait a bit longer – which isn’t easy at all. I’m not a very patient person.’

‘Chica, please.’ Reyes doesn’t look totally comfortable with this. ‘I am just asking that you are taking care. When you are meeting with him, Dylan and me, we will come and be near – we will keep you safe as housing.’

‘OK, sure.’ I laugh. ‘I know I’ll be in good hands with the two of you around.’

A few hours later, I head to the staff canteen for my break.

Once I’ve waited in the small queue and filled my plate with a rather delicious-smelling portion of steak pie, boiled potatoes and mixed vegetables, I settle into a seat at the far end, away from the other staff members who are also having some downtime. Before even my first bite, I unlock my phone, open up my blog chat app and send an instant message to Graham.

MissGinFizz: Are you there? I’m on my break. Got about 20 mins to chat.

I set my phone down beside me and take a mouthful of steak pie, which tastes just as good as it smells. Before I’ve even swallowed, my phone lights up beside me.

GrahamLeeton: I am indeed. How are you today? Still trusting me, I hope. :)

My stomach does a little flip as I read the words in front of me. I realise this is the first time that’s happened. Before I had always been thrilled, excited even, when Graham messaged me, but it was in more of a sucked into the conversation kind of way. This feels more like actual chemistry – like a full-on teenage crush. I tap out a response.

MissGinFizz: I’m still trusting you. But also impatient. Are you not?

He replies instantly, triggering an avalanche of messages between us.

GrahamLeeton: Of course I am. But I know that good things come to those who wait. :)

MissGinFizz: Ah, the slogan from the old Guinness adverts. You’re quite the literary genius. ;)

MissGinFizz: Also gives away that you were of drinking age in 1998 or thereabouts. Thank goodness I can now score ‘spotty teenage boy pretending to be grown man’ off my list.

GrahamLeeton: You have a list??

MissGinFizz: Yup. And you do not want to know what else is on it.

GrahamLeeton: Hmmm… think I need to take some remedial action here. Should I tell you a bit more about myself? So you don’t need to make it all up.

MissGinFizz: That would be nice. :)

GrahamLeeton: What would you like to know?

MissGinFizz: OK, err… what do you do?

GrahamLeeton: Seriously? You’re going to lead with that again?

I curse under my breath, realising my mistake. Why am I still so obsessed with position and status? Even now, after everything I’ve been through and learned about myself.

MissGinFizz: OK, start again… just give me a moment…

MissGinFizz: I know… what’s your favourite film?

GrahamLeeton: Easy. Star Wars: Return of the Jedi. Still remember watching it with for the first time with my dad.

I quickly look up the original Star Wars trilogy on Wikipedia, sucking in my breath nervously as I read the content. Return of the Jedi was released in 1983, which means he must be at least forty. Shit. That’s not a good sign. Chances are he’s probably a good bit older. The mature, balding man from Dylan’s musings returns to haunt me. I realise I need some reassurance – but without giving away my intentions.

MissGinFizz: Sounds like it’s a nice memory in more than one way. Did your dad take you to see it in the cinema? Were you one of those geeky teenagers who queued for hours?

Holding my breath, I await his reply.

GrahamLeeton: Nope. Watched it at home on a VHS recorder borrowed from my uncle (I assume you’re old enough to remember those?). Cinema trips weren’t something my family could afford. Same question back at you, what’s your favourite film?

I exhale with relief. He watched a recording. That could have been any time before DVDs came along, so opens the playing field right up again. As I’m typing the shortlist for my favourite film into the chat app to share with Graham, I miss the fact that someone is approaching me from behind.

‘Hey, beautiful. That you chatting with your pal from uni again?’

I jump with fright, dropping my phone on to my gravy-soaked plate, as Josh casually slides into the seat next to me. ‘Josh! What the… you scared me half to death.’

‘Sorry.’ He grins, reaching over and guiding my chin towards him with just one finger. ‘I still get a kiss though, right?’

‘Only after I’ve cleaned this mess up.’ I pull away from him and tentatively lift my phone out of the puddle of gravy.

‘Here, I’ll do that. It was my fault.’ Josh tries to take my phone from me, causing me to panic and haul it out of his grasp.

‘No. It’s fine. I’ll see to it. Back in a sec.’

I get up, flustered, and rush to the hand sink where I use wet paper towels to clean the gravy off my phone. As I do, I glance at my home screen and see there’s a message from Graham asking if I’m still there. Shit. I can’t reply now Josh has appeared.

‘What are you doing here anyway?’ I return to the table and sit back down, allowing Josh to plant a kiss on my lips. ‘It’s your day off.’

‘Had some training budget figures to work through ahead of a meeting with Aaron tomorrow,’ says Josh. ‘Didn’t get a chance to do it yesterday. Thought I’d see if you were around before I headed home.’

‘That’s what I call commitment – on both counts.’ I smile, letting him pull me in for another, more lingering kiss, my agitation suddenly forgotten.

We chat and flirt for another ten minutes or so, until it’s time for me to head back to the bar. As we’re walking back through the corridor from the canteen, I realise I need to get rid of Josh, so that I can message Graham back.

‘Right, I’ll leave you here.’ I jab my thumb towards the locker room. ‘Just need to put my phone in my locker. See you tomorrow?’

‘I’ll wait and walk you back to the bar. Means I can have another few minutes with you.’ He gives me a little wink.

I’m aware that I should find this sweet and feel flattered, but instead I become flustered again, and a little irritated. More at myself though, for getting into this situation. I’m careful not to give this away.

‘OK, sure,’ I say. ‘Just give me a moment.’

I dash inside the changing room, open my locker, and frantically tap out and send a message to Graham before Josh comes looking for me.

MissGinFizz: So sorry. Got hijacked by a colleague and now my break time is over. Will be finishing late. Chat tomorrow?

I replace my phone in my handbag, slam my locker shut and head back to join Josh, feeling tremendously guilty that I just referred to him as a colleague. I’m now getting in the habit of lying to both of them. This really is getting out of hand, and I badly need to sort it.

As Josh and I wander along the staff corridor in the direction of the bar, he’s even more affectionate than usual, and I find myself falling in sync with him once again. We’re just yards away from the door to the main hotel, enjoying a particularly gooey, intimate moment, when Aaron strides through it.

Just about expiring through fright for the second time in as many minutes, I pull away from Josh guiltily, my face flaming.

‘Aaron… err… hi,’ I say, flustered. ‘How are you?’

I glance at Josh, who looks mildly put out that I’ve leapt about five feet away from him.

‘Good evening to you both,’ Aaron addresses us in his usual clipped tone and continues to walk past us without even hesitating, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he goes. ‘No need to stop on my account. Just remember the rules – don’t take it past that door.’

Mortified, all I can muster is a squawk-like ‘sure’ in response.

‘Oh, man, that was so embarrassing,’ I moan to Josh, once Aaron has disappeared out of sight. ‘I can’t believe he caught us snogging.’

‘Why?’ Josh gives me a hurt look. ‘Are you ashamed of me or something? I thought you were OK with the age thing.’

‘No. No, of course I’m not.’

‘You’re not ashamed of me? Or you’re not OK with the age thing?’ Josh is scrutinising me.

I feel a sudden swell of empathy for him as I realise how I’m coming across. I step towards him and take his hand.

‘I’m not ashamed of you. Far from it – you’re amazing. And I am OK with the age thing. I’m totally over that. It’s just… well, I’ve never had an ‘at work’ relationship, and I’m just a bit uncomfortable with it. I’m actually surprised that you’re so cool about it.’

‘Maybe it’s a generational difference,’ Josh huffs.

I search his face, trying to think of a way to make this better, but then I realise he’s putting it on to tease me.

‘Oh, see you.’ I give him a playful push. ‘You had my heartstrings to breaking point there.’

‘Should have played on it a bit longer then, eh?’ He grins and scoops me up into his arms. ‘Don’t worry. Think I’m just more laid-back about it. That kind of thing doesn’t bother me.’

‘Maybe I need to learn from you then.’ I lean in for a last delicious smooch. ‘Right, I’d better get back to the bar. I’m late. See you tomorrow?’

‘Can’t wait.’ He keeps hold of my hand, gripping it affectionately, stopping me from leaving until I finally tug it away and disappear through the door to the main hotel, blowing him kisses as I go.

Chapter 25

I finish my shift just after 1 a.m., and after saying goodnight to Reyes and Amir, retrieve my things from my locker. I pull my phone out of my handbag and, as expected, see that Graham replied not long after I sent my last message.

GrahamLeeton: No problem. That’s the annoying thing about workplaces. They have other people in them. And very little privacy. I’ll be up late so feel free to message when you finish.

Pleased to see that I’ll have virtual company for my bus journey home, I let him know that I’m finished, and we immediately resume our earlier conversation.

GrahamLeeton: So, your favourite movie?

MissGinFizz: I can only give you a shortlist. Couldn’t whittle it down to just one. I love a good thriller that keeps you guessing. Gone Girl is right up there, as is Rear Window – it’s old but a real classic…

MissGinFizz: And, much as I hate to admit it, I’m afraid I’m also a sucker for a romcom. Love Actually and the Bridget Jones movies are some of my faves.

MissGinFizz: Oh, and I still love Grease, even though I’ve seen it about forty times.

GrahamLeeton: Decision-making not a key strength of yours then. ;)

‘Cheeky,’ I mutter under my breath, then realise that, given my current predicament, he may have a point.

MissGinFizz: I’m going to be kind and let that one slide. Next question. What was your favourite childhood sweet treat?

GrahamLeeton: I get the distinct impression you’re fishing for clues about my age again, so I’ll put you out of your misery. Partly. I tick the age 25–40 box on questionnaires…

GrahamLeeton: And my favourite childhood sweet treat was a trip to the Woolworths pick’n’mix. Not that it happened often – probably what made it such a treat.

I’m so elated about Dylan’s late middle-aged man prediction being wrong, I almost miss the follow-up message Graham sent straight after sharing this revelation. As I’m reading it, I find myself reminiscing fondly on my own rare memories of the Woolworths pick’n’mix – but with Dylan’s mum as chaperone. Mine never took me anywhere nice; not that I remember anyway. I do have hazy memories of being very young, and my mum being more caring and protective of me. But it’s hard to know if those memories are real, or a fantasy my mind concocted out of sheer longing for parental love and affection. Because if it was there at some point, it meant I wasn’t completely unwanted, and it could return. As these thoughts are swirling in my head, something twigs in my mind. I scroll back to slightly earlier in our conversation, stopping at Graham’s statement related to his favourite film. I read and reread the text in front of me.

GrahamLeeton: Nope. Watched it at home on a VHS recorder borrowed from my uncle (I assume you’re old enough to remember those?). Cinema trips weren’t something my family could afford. Same question back at you, what’s your favourite film?

He’s mentioned things being tight when he was a child, not once, but twice. Either he’s unaware of this, or he’s trying to give me a hook into a conversation that’s more personal. But if it is a hook, do I want to follow up on it? If I probe about his childhood, he might ask about mine. I’m not sure I want to go there.

Realising that the next stop is mine, I put my phone away, get off the bus and use the brief walk along Bonnington Road to weigh things up. If I want to get to know this guy properly, I can’t hide who I really am. The good thing is that I can reveal it without having to look him in the eye and see his reaction. But it’s just too painful, the still raw part of my mind protests. I don’t want him to know that I grew up in my own filth, that my mum was continually hounded by social services for serious neglect; that my dad was a vicious and violent man. Even if Graham grew up with not very much, it’s unlikely it was as bad an environment as mine. It sounds like at least he may have had parents who loved him.

As I’ve been battling with this dilemma, Graham has been waiting for a response and is clearly wondering what’s going on.

GrahamLeeton: Not disappeared again, have you?

Realising I need to reply, I let myself into my apartment, hang up my coat, and quickly send a response.

MissGinFizz: Sorry, no. Was walking last bit home. And also contemplating something.

GrahamLeeton: Well the Woolworths pick’n’mix is a deep topic. You take your time. ;)

I let out an involuntary giggle as I hop onto the couch and power up my laptop so I can shift the conversation to it. Oh, for goodness’ sake, Liv. This guy – whoever he is – he’s spent hours talking to me, exploring the issues of the world with me, making me smile and laugh. I’ve connected with him mentally and emotionally in a way unlike anyone I’ve ever met. If there’s anyone I can share my shame with, it’s him. But maybe I’ll just dip my toe in at first. I need to know his circumstances before I even think about sharing mine.

MissGinFizz: Ha ha, very funny. Actually, I had just noticed that you’ve made a couple of references to things being a bit tight when you were young.

I leave it as a statement, allowing him to share if he wants to, but also to change the subject if he doesn’t.

GrahamLeeton: Did I?

GrahamLeeton: So I did. Yeah, my childhood certainly wasn’t one of milk and honey. Made me appreciate the good things when they came along though. Some kids have so much these days, it just baffles me. How do they learn the value of anything when they start off with everything?

MissGinFizz: I think the answer is: they don’t. Unless they’re left to fend for themselves when they grow up – rather than being propped up by wealthy parents.

GrahamLeeton: Well, I may have grown up in a high-rise block, where the paper-thin walls meant there were no secrets. I shared a tiny bedroom with my two brothers, wore their hand-me-downs and played with old tyres on a derelict building site. But I understand and appreciate having a more financially stable life now. I don’t want more and more. I’m happy with what I’ve got. Unlike a lot of people, it would seem!

MissGinFizz: I get the impression you feel quite strongly about this. :)

GrahamLeeton: Yeah, sorry. Went on a bit of a rant there. :)

MissGinFizz: Not at all. I liked it. So your family struggled then?

I wince as I read my question back, wondering if I’m pushing things too far, but Graham seems quite happy to share.

GrahamLeeton: We did, yes. But we stuck together, especially after my mum died. That was when my brothers and I were still in primary school. My dad had to work two jobs to keep a roof over our heads, as well as looking after us. Our neighbours were our saviours, caring for us when Dad was out at work.

MissGinFizz: Right, wow. I’m so sorry to hear this. No wonder you feel strongly about this stuff.

GrahamLeeton: You don’t need to be sorry. The only thing I’m sad about is that I hardly remember my mum. The way I grew up made me who I am. I’m really proud of where I came from. And very open about it – I actually use my story to help inspire young people in similar situations.

I suddenly feel all shivery and goose-pimply as I read this last comment. And to my horror my eyes begin to well up. I have to tilt my head back and blink furiously to stop them spilling over. He’s been through hell in his life, but he’s proud – and making a difference. I feel quite overwhelmed and confused by this. I’ve never felt proud of my background. I’ve always tried to bury it, too ashamed to admit that my family were losers who had nothing, who didn’t even try to fight through, and just thought they should be handed the solutions. I guess that’s the difference. Graham can be proud of his parents. I can’t be proud of my mum or dad. And I can’t possibly share my own situation because I don’t have a story that’s anything like that.

Feeling simultaneously relieved and confused, I try to lift the conversation to a more general level to avoid any questions about me.

MissGinFizz: Well, good for you. That’s so admirable. I’m sure we’ve said before that those who grow up with it easy haven’t the first clue what it’s like for others. They live in a different world entirely.

GrahamLeeton: Absolutely. So, what about you, MissGinFizz? I seem to remember you feeling quite strongly about this stuff before as well. Do you have a story to share?

For a few moments, I can’t breathe. My attempt to divert the conversation has failed. Now I have three options: tell the truth, lie, or avoid the question entirely. I know choosing the latter two will probably only cause me further issues in the future – if I actually have a future of any kind with this guy.

Agonisingly conflicted, I eventually realise it’s for the best if I’m honest. I also note that Graham hasn’t stepped in and recused me from my discomfort this time. He wants me to open up. I agitatedly tap my finger on the edge of the keyboard, trying to figure out the best way of approaching this, and realise there isn’t one. Taking a deep faltering breath, I rapidly compose a similarly summarised version of my own ‘story’ and hit send before I have a chance to change my mind.

MissGinFizz: OK, here goes… like you, I grew up on an estate with very little, but unlike you, I had useless parents. My mum lived on benefits, drank herself silly daily and barely ever left the house. My dad was a violent waste of space who spent more time in jail than out, and blamed the world for his problems. The cupboards were always bare, and the flat was always freezing – I basically had to fend for myself. So, unlike you, I don’t have a story I can be proud of. Only one that makes me feel shame.

As I read back what I’ve written, I feel a sudden, desperate urge to delete it and pretend it never happened. But I know there’s no point. He’s seen it now. I can’t undo it. I wait anxiously for his response, almost unable to bear it. After what feels like an eternity, a message pops up on the screen.

GrahamLeeton: Why does your story bring you shame, MissGinFizz?

I blink at the screen. Is he for real? What part of what I’ve just told him isn’t a reason to be ashamed? Who would want to admit that they grew up being regarded as the vermin of their neighbourhood? His parents were loving grafters. They created a home out of so little. Mine created little more than a doss house.

I can feel my stress levels rising. Why did I bring this up? I should have kept my bloody mouth shut. Or spun the same line I’ve used for the last ten-plus years, about having had a rather ordinary upbringing in a three-bed semi in the burbs. Nobody ever questioned that. It wasn’t an interesting enough story to pursue. And it was my safety blanket. Things were going so well, and now I’m on the verge of ruining them. He’s going to want to know more; I just want to shut the whole conversation down.

Just respond as if it’s a difficult PR question, Liv. You know the drill: take a step back. I let my mind tick over for several seconds, fingers poised on the keypad, then tap out my response. Unfortunately, on reading it back once I’ve hit send, it isn’t nearly as balanced and impersonal as I had intended.

MissGinFizz: Because families like my mine are seen as the scourge of our society. Looked down upon by so many. Some people would rather we didn’t exist, or were shipped off somewhere out of sight and mind. I can’t be proud of any of that. My story is completely different to yours.

Annoyed with myself for such a personal and emotional response, I lean back on the couch, clasp my hands across my midriff and wait resignedly for Graham to start to make his excuses. Chances are he’s now got an image of me in his head that’s not quite so desirable.

I wait for several minutes. Just when I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s not even going to bother with the pleasantries, my laptop pings with a message from him.

GrahamLeeton: Your story is sad, no doubt about that. But it is not one of shame. I understand that you can’t be proud of your family’s story, but you can be proud of yours. It’s clear to me that you are quite an extraordinary woman. On the limited information you have given me, this is how I see it: You have, against all the odds, defied the statistics and not followed in either of your parents’ footsteps. Not only have you committed to creating an honest and hard-grafting living for yourself, you also have a genuine writing talent. You have had the courage to branch into something new and I hope you are already reaping the rewards. You were not accountable or responsible for any of the failings in your early life. You were a child. An innocent child who depended on her parents, and they let her down. Society may judge your parents, but I will not. As we’ve discussed, there is so much inequality in this world. Your parents are probably to blame to some extent, but if all the disadvantage and postcode lotteries, and all the great imbalances in our country didn’t exist, then maybe they might have had more of a chance in life. Consider your circumstances within the parameters of the many discussions we have had about the wrongs of the world. You were strong enough to fight through; not everyone is. By allowing the leech of shame to suck you dry, all you will bring yourself is a lifetime of unnecessary pain and suffering or running away from the truth – when you could simply face it and put it to bed. I can’t say this strongly enough: do not ever carry the shame of anything you had no influence or control over.

I drink in his words, reading them over and over. As I do, I feel an eruption of questions, thoughts and emotions. He thinks I should be proud? Of what I just shared? But my life was a car crash. A humiliating blot on the early pages of my copybook. Though he does say I should be proud of myself, not my family. I contemplate this for a moment and consider how much this man’s views mean to me. In many ways I don’t really know him at all, but when it comes to perspectives and intellectual and emotional depth, I know him well. Not just that, I have the absolute highest respect for him. His opinion means more to me than anyone’s.

I realise he’s right. I did defy the statistics. I did exactly what I always encouraged Dylan to do – but I never allowed myself to appreciate that I had done it myself. I just saw it as my only chance of survival. I can be proud of that. But it doesn’t stop me being ashamed of, and embarrassed by my upbringing. I was the kind of human vermin people looked down on, wrinkled their noses at, even took a wide berth from when they passed me in the street. But was that my fault? I was just a child. A harmless, innocent child. I chose none of it. So why should I be ashamed?

I let out a splutter of emotion as it dawns on me that I’ve been carrying this burden all my life. My parents – and in some ways, the rest of society – were the ones who more or less abandoned me to become almost feral. And who was it that dug and dug, and eventually climbed out of that hole? Me. With no help from anyone else – except maybe Dylan and Mrs Patterson.

Tears begin to roll down my cheeks for the first time since I was a small child. And this time, I let them. For years I’ve hidden away from this. I’ve batted back Dylan’s criticisms of my refusal to acknowledge my background and past, because it was just too painful, too humiliating. I realise Graham is right. I need to face this, and allow myself to be OK with it. And I need to find a way to feel the pride he describes.

Wiping the splatter from a few rogue tears off my keyboard, I thoughtfully type out a reasonably short, but heartfelt message of gratitude.

MissGinFizz: You may not know me that well, but somehow, you’ve reached into the very core of my soul. I’ve spent years running and hiding, unable to grasp at logic because it was just too raw. Somehow, you’ve picked the lock; now, finally I feel like I can start to undo the chains. I honestly can’t thank you enough. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed now. I suddenly feel exhausted, like I’ve scaled a mountain. But I would very much like to chat again tomorrow, if you would too?

He responds almost immediately.

GrahamLeeton: Absolutely, MissGinFizz. I completely understand. And I look forward to it. I’m glad you feel you can start to move on. Goodnight.

Chapter 26

I’ve seen a lot of forward people in my time: men and women.

The pushy guy who relentlessly propositions his disinterested target (and I say target because that’s all she is to him), firing out one cringeworthy line after the next. And on finally admitting defeat, he moves straight on to the next ‘most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life’.

Then there’s the determined female who’s decided that this is the man she simply must have: the perfect accessory to drape over her arm, alongside her Michael Kors handbags and her Gucci watch. They’d have the most beautiful children ever – of course!

I’ve seen all that. But I’ve never seen anything quite like this.

The unassuming datee innocently sips at a classic gin martini (a simple, laid-back combination of dry gin, dry vermouth and a lemon twist to garnish), while grazing on a complimentary bowl of cashews, peacefully scrolling through his phone. His wait is relaxed, unanticipatory.

She enters the bar, scanning the room hungrily, and quickly spots her prey (aka this poor unassuming man). For a moment she simply stands there, sizing him up. I swear I even see her lick her chops (sorry, lips!). Then, slowly and calculatedly, she stalks her way across the bar towards him.

He doesn’t hear her coming. His defences are down. This is his fatal error. She’s just two feet away when he finally looks up, but it’s too late. She takes her opportunity and pounces. If this were the jungle or wilderness, a brutal, cruel assassination would immediately follow, blood and body parts on full display as the more sinister side of nature took its course.

This is far more terrifying.

‘Oh, you are just delicious,’ I hear her purr. ‘I will so be having you for dessert.’ The man gulps as the realisation dawns. He’s not getting out of this with his pride.

What follows is a game of cat and mouse so painful to watch, I almost feel the need to intervene. She toys with her victim: physically and psychologically bats him around like a bit of meat. To her, he is nothing more than a chew toy for her to poke, prod and paw at. She pauses only briefly to order a rather fitting Hanky Panky (a mischievous mix of gin, sweet vermouth, a double dash of Fernet-Branca, and a strip of orange peel to serve). At one point, I become concerned that she might actually swallow him whole. And the man, dazed and disoriented, just lets it happen. He has no defence against this perplexing ‘assault’.

After what feels like an inordinate amount of time spent fearing for this man’s safety and sanity, the woman eventually pays up and drags him off to what I can only assume is her lair.

I spend the rest of the evening wondering what became of the poor bloke, and whether, once out in the open, he was able to make a successful bid for freedom.

This week I’m making two recommendations – one for each scenario. If you believe he got away, toast him with a Raspberry Gin Bellini (a lively, fizzing combination of champagne, raspberry gin liqueur, a dash of lemon juice and fresh raspberries), and if you think he was a goner at the hands of this predator, please raise a Black Widow (a dark, mildly foreboding mix of gin, fresh blackberries, basil leaves, fresh lime juice and agave nectar) to his memory.

As usual, featured cocktail recipes are below. Looking forward to your verdicts!

‘Hola, Chica. You are good?’ Reyes greets me with her usual European-style kisses as I enter the bar the next afternoon at 5 p.m.

‘I’m great actually.’ I give her a big smile.

‘What is this?’ Reyes cocks her head to one side curiously. ‘I am seeing different chica today.’

‘I think you are,’ I agree. ‘For the first time in months… no… make that years, I feel genuinely content and free.’

‘Dios mio!’ Reyes pretends to faint. ‘I am not knowing this chica at all. Where is Liv? What you do with her?’

‘Very funny.’ I laugh, giving her a playful nudge. ‘I’m serious. I feel like everything is going well again. Better, in fact, than it was before I lost my job.’

‘I am very happy that this is true.’ Reyes starts to empty the glass washer, and I pitch in to help. ‘But you must tell me, why you are thinking this?’

‘For lots of reasons.’ I shrug. ‘I feel like I’m being myself again for a start. My blog has really taken off – I have over twelve and a half thousand subscribers now – and I’m starting to make some money from it—’

‘Chica, this is amazing! Come to me.’ Reyes puts away the glass she’s holding, and gives me a huge hug. ‘I am subscribing, and I read your new post this morning. It is so much fun. And so real. That chica last night, she is… wow! I never see anything like this.’

‘Me neither.’ I shake my head at the memory. ‘I’ve seen her in here before, with friends or colleagues, but never with a man.’

‘I am very hoping that this man is still living.’

‘Me too.’ I giggle.

Reyes stops what she’s doing and looks at me. ‘I am thinking this is not all. You are very different chica today. There is more with Josh, or your online hombre?’

‘Actually, yes.’ I nod slowly, weighing up how much to share. ‘Not with Josh though. With Graham. Last night—’

‘You meet him?’ Reyes interrupts me with wide eyes. ‘Dios mio – again! I say you meet him only with me and Dylan. What you are thinking?’

‘I didn’t meet him. Calm yourself.’ I shake my head at my friend. ‘I just had a really… enlightening conversation with him. One that made me realise two things: he’s bloody incredible, so I need to meet him soon or I’ll explode; and that I’ve been really shit to myself.’

‘I tell you this.’ Reyes shrugs. ‘Why this is news?’

‘No, you don’t get it.’ I suddenly feel almost wired with exhilaration. ‘He helped me see things in a way that no one else ever has. And he’s helping me make peace with things I’ve never shared with anyone. I mean, it will take a while, but I’m on my way – and that feels good. We were chatting again this morning, and I just felt such a connection with him. He really understands me… gets what makes me tick.’

‘If this is true,’ says Reyes, ‘then you are right. You must meet this man. But what this is meaning for you and Josh?’

‘That I don’t know.’ A creeping sadness begins to smother my positivity. ‘I think Josh is amazing. He’s so loyal and affectionate – and the chemistry between us is explosive. The thought of ending things between us makes me a bit sick. I’ve got strong feelings for him, no doubt about that. It’s such a horrible dilemma. And it’s not fair to Josh – me being so divided. He deserves better.’

‘Unless he sees other chicas too?’ Reyes suggests.

‘Yeah, that would make it all totally fine.’ I let out a weak laugh. ‘And for all I know, he might be. But from his actions, I suspect not.’

‘I tell you this.’ Reyes puts her hands on her hips, signalling that she’s about to make an important point. ‘I am thinking you must not end with Josh until you know who this Graham really is. If Graham is not what you have in your mind, and you are realising Josh is more than you think, then if you are losing him, this will be very bad. You comprende?’

‘I comprende.’ I nod apprehensively.

As we’re chatting away easily, preparing for the busy evening ahead, Amir enters the bar, looking uncharacteristically troubled.

‘Hola, little man. Why you are looking so…’ Reyes searches for the right word.

‘Concerned?’ I suggest.

‘Yes.’ Reyes nods vigorously. ‘This is it. You are looking like… there are words on your shoulders.’

‘Huh?’ Amir glances at her distractedly.

‘I think she means you look like the world is on your shoulders,’ I clarify. ‘And she’s dead right. What’s up? Are you OK?’

‘I’m…’ Amir rubs his forehead. ‘Eh… oh man… I’m sorry, Liv, I have no choice but to do this. Can you come with me?’

‘Err… sure.’ I look from him to Reyes in confusion. ‘Where are we going? Do you need help with something?’

‘Look, do me a favour and don’t ask any questions, yeah?’ Amir looks sick.

Faint alarm bells start ringing in my head – though I have no idea why. ‘OK, yeah, of course. I’ll come right now.’

Amir turns and heads back out of the bar, leaving me to trail behind. I glance back at Reyes as I go. She simply shrugs and holds her hands out in a gesture of bewilderment. I begin to feel quite uneasy as I trot along behind a silent Amir through the echoing staff corridor, past the canteen until we reach a door I’ve never seen before. He opens it, steps inside and I follow.

As I enter the room, which is very small, and hosts just a table with a laptop on it, and four chairs similar to those in the canteen, I gasp in surprise.

‘Josh. Hi. What are you doing here? What’s going on?’

Josh, like Amir, doesn’t look himself at all.

‘Take a seat, will you, Liv.’ He doesn’t make eye contact.

As I tentatively pull out a chair and sit down, my insides begin to churn. This feels eerily familiar. This time, I can tell at this early stage that something is very wrong. Amir walks round the table and takes a seat next to Josh. I wait silently for someone to speak, my heart pounding in my ears.

‘Liv,’ says Amir eventually. ‘We’ve had a complaint from a customer.’

‘Right.’ My eyes dart to Josh, hoping for some kind of reassurance, but he’s looking at the floor. ‘What’s it about?’

‘It’s pretty serious.’ Amir opens up the laptop and types in a password. ‘Liv, is this yours?’

He turns the laptop round, and I immediately feel like I might pass out. Staring back at me from the screen, plain as day, is my blog site.

‘Oh no.’ My hand flies to my mouth in shock, my breathing suddenly shallow and irregular. ‘Yes… yes, it’s mine.’

I realise there’s no point in denying it. I’ve been caught out.

Amir puts his head in his hands and lets out a groan of exasperation. ‘I had hoped this was some kind of mistake.’

‘It’s… no mistake.’ I struggle to get the words out; my whole body is shaking inside. ‘How… how did you find out about it?’

‘A customer recognised her “situation” in this most recent post – although she didn’t quite agree with this rather… caricatured version of events.’

‘Shit.’ I bite my bottom lip anxiously.

‘She’s one of your subscribers,’ Amir continues. ‘But on this occasion, she didn’t see the funny side, as you can imagine. When I read it, I knew it had to be you, because that’s just too fluent and polished to be Reyes.’

He gestures towards the laptop screen in frustration.

‘Oh shit, Amir… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ I feel my face heating up. ‘I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I tried to keep it as anonymous as possible. This was never meant to happen.’

‘I’m sure it wasn’t, Liv,’ says Amir. ‘But the problem is that it has. This woman – who’s a regular customer – is demanding that you’re fired, or she’s going to the local press to out you. She’s pretty well connected. I don’t doubt that she’ll be successful in getting a headline that will – while protecting her anonymity – damage the reputation of the hotel, as well as harm the entire company.’

As the enormity of the situation dawns on me, I feel sick with shame and humiliation. Having been a communications and PR professional, I know exactly the kind of headache this could cause for the hotel. I glance at Josh, hoping to get some kind of reaction from him, but his eyes remain fixed to the floor.

‘I’m so very, very sorry,’ I begin to babble. ‘I really am. There was no mal-intent, I promise. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just… I was just trying to make some extra money so that I didn’t lose my apartment…’ I trail off realising how pathetic that sounds.

‘I know that you’ve had some challenges, Liv.’ Amir’s tone softens slightly. ‘And as your friend I’ve supported you, and I really hope you can work them out. But the problem is, I’m also now your manager. I realise the impact this will have for you financially and beyond, but I’m afraid I have no choice but to let you go.’

As he says the words I am already expecting, it does nothing to soften the blow. I’ve just been fired for the second time in a matter of months. The first time at McArthur Cohen may not technically have been a dismissal, but that’s absolutely how it felt. And while back then it was due to circumstances beyond my control, now it is very much of my own doing.

‘Right.’ I sit back in my seat resignedly. ‘I totally understand. I’d do the same if I were in your position. So, what happens next?’

‘I’ll accompany you to your locker to get your things.’ Amir looks deeply pained as he says this. ‘Then I’ll escort you out of the hotel. That’s company policy, I’m afraid. Just as it is to have two departmental managers at any dismissal.’ He nods in the direction of Josh, as if to explain his presence.

‘OK, well, I guess let’s get it over with.’ I chew on my bottom lip anxiously.

‘Before I do,’ says Amir. ‘I just need to see to something urgent. I’ll be back soon.’

To my surprise, Amir gets up and walks out of the room, leaving me alone with Josh, who continues to stare at the floor and say nothing. The tension in the room is almost unbearable, making it feel more like a prison cell than a workspace. I realise that Amir has left on purpose, to let us have a few moments alone before I go. Knowing I must take this opportunity, I look directly across the table at Josh, but he still refuses to meet my gaze.

‘Josh?’

He doesn’t respond.

‘Josh, please,’ I plead with him. ‘I’m sorry. I know I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve embarrassed you. But that doesn’t need to affect us.’

I reach over and try to take his hand, but he pulls it away forcefully, causing me to gasp in shock.

‘You think this doesn’t affect us?’ His eyes lift and meet mine defiantly.

‘It doesn’t have to,’ I say in a small voice.

‘OK, then how about you tell me this. Why didn’t I know about the blog? I thought you and I were getting close. But you obviously didn’t trust me because you hid it from me.’

‘I… no, that’s not it…’ I realise I don’t have an answer to this. ‘I guess… I needed as few people as possible to know about it to stay anonymous. And it would have put you in a difficult position if you knew. I wouldn’t have wanted you to feel conflicted. It was my risk, not yours. If you’d known, you might have gotten into trouble too.’

‘Wasn’t that my decision to make?’ He continues to stare me out till I can’t bear it any longer and look away. ‘I could have helped you to protect your anonymity better by reading through your posts before you published them. I could have suggested changes.’

‘Wait.’ I gaze at him in astonishment. ‘You would have supported me?’

‘Of course, I would.’ He shakes his head defeatedly, and I realise that he’s really hurting. ‘I really thought we had something special, Liv. I would have been one hundred per cent behind you, but you never gave me the chance.’

I struggle to comprehend what he’s saying. He’s also hurt to a level I can’t quite connect with my actions.

‘Who knew about it?’ he asks. ‘Who did you share it with?’

‘Just Dylan.’ I decide there’s no way I’m putting Reyes in the firing line. ‘He came up with the idea of doing a blog. But it was me who had the idea of using the bar as inspiration.’

‘Right. Just your best pal. That figures.’ Josh’s words suggest understanding, but his tone and body language betray a victim, deeply hurt.

‘Josh.’ I shake my head, and place my palms on the table, trying to figure out what’s not fitting in this picture. ‘I get that you’re hurt that I didn’t tell you about it. And I know I’ve put you in an awkward position as my senior manager. But that’s it. That’s all it is.’

Josh’s eyes lock on mine.

‘Is it, Liv?’ His tone is suddenly a lot more cutting. ‘Is that all? There’s nothing else you need to tell me? Just while we’re laying everything out in the open.’

I shift awkwardly in my seat, as I realise there’s more to come.

‘Wh… what do you mean, Josh?’

His eyes are overflowing with hurt.

‘I mean your pal, GrahamLeeton. He’s not an old friend from university, is he?’

I flinch as he says the words. How does he know that? Where is this even going?

‘He’s… err… he’s just a—’

‘Liv, don’t treat me like an idiot.’ Josh bangs the table with his fist in frustration. ‘Do you know what I’ve been doing for the last few hours since that woman made that complaint? I’ve been reading every single word on that blog site – comments and all. And guess who I came across?’

I gulp as I realise I’m totally busted.

‘That’s right.’ Josh eyeballs me. ‘GrahamLeeton – or whoever the hell he is – made contact with you through your first blog post. Then you took things offline, it seems. And if that wasn’t bad enough, some weeks later, you write a post to try to get your readers to help you decide between him and me. You made me out to be some kind of empty-headed tool.’

The bottom just about falls out my stomach as I hear these words. He guessed that? How? I realise I’ve possibly given Josh way less credit than he deserves. What do I do now? Deny it? Tell him he’s being paranoid? No, this has already gone too far. He deserves the truth.

I sit silently for a few moments, figuring out how to do this.

‘Josh,’ I say eventually. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so bloody sorry. I can explain – some of it, anyway. Yes, I lied about who GrahamLeeton was. I’ve been really conflicted over the whole situation. On one hand, it was just chat, so what harm was it really doing? But then I started to feel more of a connection with him; I realised that things were a bit more complicated. But it all just exists in the virtual world – it’s not a relationship. Also, I wasn’t sure about what we are. We’ve never said we were exclusive, and—’

‘Hold on a minute, Liv,’ Josh interrupts me. ‘We’re not fifteen. Did we really need to rubber-stamp our relationship like that? I thought I was supposed to be the young and immature one here.’

I cringe at his words; so spot on.

‘I just assumed, Liv, as we had become so close, that that meant we were in a relationship. I really was falling for you. I know it’s only been a couple of months, but I actually thought we might have a future together. I thought you were it.’

He looks so sad and broken, I can’t bear it.

Now it’s my turn to stare at the floor as Josh’s words sink in. I realise he’s so right. Was it just convenient for me to assume that we needed to label our relationship? Why didn’t I give him a chance to be more than the guy I saw in front of me? Or tell him I needed more? Maybe if I had, he could have delivered.

‘You’re right.’ I screw up my face in self-loathing at having hurt this lovely man so badly. ‘I messed things up. I didn’t take responsibility, and as a result I’ve really hurt you. You deserved better. Way better.’

He looks so wounded, I want to reach across the table and hug him. I want his forgiveness. But I know this is done; there’s no going back now. I needed to make a decision, and now that decision has been made for me. Only I’m not sure I like the outcome.

I look up and force myself to make eye contact, if only to show Josh the respect he deserves, and to make sure that this moment is forever etched in my mind.

‘You deserve better,’ I repeat in a whisper.

Josh holds my gaze for a few seconds.

‘Damn right I do,’ he mutters, then gets up and walks out of the room.

Once the door closes behind him, I put my head on the table in despair. How did this get so out of hand? All I wanted was to fix my life and now I’ve blown an even bigger hole in it. I feel I might be sick as I think about the impact of all this. I’ve lost an amazing guy. I’ve lost my job – again. Which means I will now lose my home, for sure.

And I’ve nuked my chances with the one person who has always supported me: Aaron. How will I ever look him in the face again? Thank goodness it wasn’t him doing my dismissal. That would have been even worse. While I’m contemplating all this, Amir walks back into the room.

‘You OK, Liv?’ he asks.

‘Not really.’ I give him a feeble smile. ‘But I appreciate you asking. Amir, I’m so sorry. I put you and Josh in an impossible situation. I don’t deserve any sympathy.’

‘Listen.’ He puts his palms on the table and leans in conspiratorially. ‘I’ll deny having ever said this, but I’m just sorry you got caught. Your writing is freakin’ fabulous. You’ve been a bit naive, that’s all. I know you, Liv, and I know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Had you done a few things differently, like making your content part-fiction, you could have continued. With no risk of people recognising themselves in your work and being outed. I just wish you’d told me about it.’

‘That’s what Josh said.’ Feeling the hot sting of tears starting to well up in my eyes, I look up and blink them back. ‘He hates me. And I don’t blame him.’

‘He doesn’t hate you.’ Amir perches himself on the table beside me and squeezes my shoulder. ‘He’s fallen for you, big time. He’s hurting, but you never know, once the initial shock wears off, he might—’

‘He won’t.’ I shake my head. ‘There’s no way. And it’s probably for the best anyway. I had strong feelings for him, but he was clearly in a place I hadn’t quite made it to yet – not that I gave it a proper chance – and that’s not fair to him.’

‘Fair enough.’ Amir nods. ‘Right then, shall we get this over with?’

‘Yes, please.’ I get to my feet. ‘And, Amir… thanks for being the best boss ever.’

Chapter 27

‘You’re kidding me, Squirt!’

‘I’m not.’ I take a beer from the fridge for Dylan and pour myself a large gin and tonic. ‘I’m officially unemployed – again.’

‘I thought when you said it was an emergency, you were gonna tell me you had writer’s block or some crap like that.’ Dylan seems even more anguished than Amir was.

‘I wish.’ I hand him the beer, plonk myself down miserably on the sofa beside him and take a big swig from my drink.

‘And Josh dumped you too.’ Dylan gives me sympathetic look. ‘That’s brutal.’

‘I wouldn’t say he dumped me…’ I suddenly realise what I’m saying. ‘Yes, I guess he dumped me. But it’s totally my fault.’

‘Sorry, but I can’t disagree there.’ Dylan absently clunks his bottle neck against my glass. ‘I told you to ditch your online stalker. Josh is a top guy. You’ve blown it there, ya numpty.’

‘I know. I don’t need you to tell me that.’ I sigh. ‘But please stop calling Graham my stalker. He’s amazing. Incredible, actually.’

‘Whatever.’ Dylan shrugs. ‘So’s Josh.’

‘No, I mean it,’ I persist. ‘I’ve had a complete revelation.’

I fill him in on the previous night’s conversation and take my phone from my handbag to show him the message from Graham. He reads it slowly and intensely. Once he’s finished, he lets out a low whistle.

‘He’s good. I could never have put it like that. Smug bastard.’

‘Hey.’ I laugh and give him an affectionate push.

‘So, are you gonna finally meet him then?’ Dylan asks. ‘Like, if you’re that into him. You can’t just forever have a cyber boyfriend. That’s weird.’

‘I don’t know.’ I shrug, as I put my phone back in my handbag. ‘I told you before: he said that we couldn’t meet yet. I’m trying to respect that.’

‘Sod that.’ Dylan takes a swig of his beer. ‘Put the pressure on. He’ll cave if he thinks you’re getting too impatient.’

‘Hmm… OK… I’ll give that some thought.’ I raise a sceptical eyebrow at him. ‘I think maybe I’ve got more urgent things to sort out, don’t you? Like putting this place on the market before it’s taken out of my hands, quite literally.’

‘Any idea where you’re going to live?’ Dylan’s face turns serious with concern.

‘Nope.’

‘What about money, Squirt?’

‘Don’t even go there.’ I chew on my lip. ‘My best chance is to keep my focus on my blog, so I still have some income – it looks like it will grow. I was thinking I could just start going to different bars and get my material from them.’

‘Sounds like a decent plan,’ says Dylan. ‘Are your subscriber numbers still climbing?’

‘They are.’ I nod. ‘I’m hoping I’ll have better income this month, but I’m guessing it will still only be a few hundred at best. I need to sell this place and everything in it fast. Then I can assess where things are at. I can also try and get another bar job. But at this rate, I’m going to be in sheltered accommodation for a bit, at least.’

‘No way!’ Dylan looks alarmed. ‘That just can’t happen. I know you won’t want to hear this, but what about your mum? Could you not stay with her for a bit?’

‘Dylan, I haven’t spoken to my mum in years. There’s no way I’m going crawling back to her now. Not a chance. I’d rather sleep on the streets than spend even one night in that piss hole.’

‘Right, well…’ Dylan rubs his forehead. ‘There’s no way I’m gonna let you go into sheltered accommodation. You can couch surf at mine until you get sorted with something. And you can store your stuff in my room. My flatmates are just gonna have to deal with it.’

My instincts are screaming at me to stay independent and politely decline Dylan’s proposal, but I resolutely fight them off. I remember Aaron’s words about me being so stubborn and refusing offers of help – when everyone in life needs a bit of help at times.

‘OK, thanks, Dylan.’ I lean over and give him a hug. ‘That means a lot. I’ll make sure I’m out of your way quick as possible.’

‘No worries, Squirt.’ He ruffles my hair, causing me to duck out the way. ‘You’re like my wee sister. There’s no way I’m letting you go under. Actually… seeing as you’ve had this epiphany over your upbringing, how about you join me at the Broken Arms for a few drinks sometime soon? As I’ve said, the guys are always asking for you.’

I wrinkle my nose, my instincts having kicked into gear once again. Then I see the prove-you’re-not-a-snob-after-all look Dylan is giving me.

‘It’s not what you think,’ I protest. ‘It’s just… it’s been so long. I’m out of the loop. Everyone will be staring at me, judging me.’

‘That’s all in your head.’ Dylan shakes his head.

‘Is it?’ I look him straight in the eye. ‘Why would they welcome me? I abandoned them. Left them thinking that I thought I was too good for them. You always make comments like that about me, so why won’t they?’

‘I do that to keep you grounded.’

‘Well it’s effective, I’ll give you that.’ I feel myself starting to sweat. ‘Dylan, it’s not just them. It wasn’t a happy place for me.’

‘I know,’ he soothes me. ‘I get that. But why not be brave? Give it a go. For me?’

I stare at the floor, mulling this over, sorely conflicted. The last thing I want to do is put myself in yet another a vulnerable position, but I do owe Dylan for everything he’s done for me. And then there’s the progress I’ve made with getting over my past. As much as I want to run screaming at the thought of returning to Ridgemore Estate and the Broken Arms pub, and feeling all those unpleasant feelings again, maybe this is the final step to rid me of my demons: to go and face them head on.

‘I… err…’ I look up at Dylan. ‘OK, I’ll do it. I’ve hidden away for long enough. Maybe I’ll even get some blog material there. You’ll need to buy my drinks though – I can’t afford to go out anymore.’

‘Deal.’ Dylan sticks his hand out and I tentatively shake it.

‘And you’ll need to give me a bit of time to sort out this mess I’m in first too.’

‘Fine by me.’ Dylan shrugs. ‘But, Squirt?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m gonna hold you to this.’

‘Oh, I know you are.’ I laugh. ‘I’m well aware of that.’

A few hours later, once Dylan has left, I’m sitting at my breakfast bar trying to keep myself busy by composing my next blog post, using some ideas I had scribbled down previously. But with everything that’s happened, I’m struggling to concentrate. I’m plagued by memories of this afternoon’s disaster, guilt and sadness from how I messed things up with Josh; as well as worries about how I’m going to stay afloat financially. Eventually, deadlocked, I get up to make myself a snack.

As I’m buttering my toast, it suddenly dawns on me that my phone has been uncharacteristically silent. I’m not aware of having received any new messages since the early afternoon. Understandably, there have been no texts from Josh. But I’ve not heard from Graham either since my last message to him. With everything having gone south earlier, I hadn’t clocked his lack of response. I glance at my watch and see it’s ten-thirty p.m.

Abandoning my tea and half-buttered toast, I pad over to my handbag and grab my phone. I’m hoping I’ve accidentally switched it to silent, and that there’s a whole raft of messages from him asking where I am, and if I’m OK. I press the home button and my screen lights up, but all I see is my wallpaper image staring back at me; no alerts or messages dominating the small space.

Just to be sure, I open up my blog chat app, but all it shows me is the last message I sent to Graham. There’s been no response. A sinking feeling immediately engulfs me. Where is he? Why has he not answered? We’ve had unanticipated pauses in our conversations, but not for this long. I had asked him a question. He couldn’t have mistakenly regarded my message as the end of a conversation.

Don’t blow this out of proportion, I coach myself. You’re just feeling vulnerable. Maybe something came up. Just like it did for you. Do I have any real reason to think that there’s anything wrong? No. He did say he had some complications in his life right now. Maybe it’s connected to that. Shaking my head at myself for being so paranoid, I decide there’s only one way to solve this. I tap out a short message.

MissGinFizz: You had as crazy a day as me? I almost forgot I was waiting for you to reply!

I place my phone on the breakfast bar, and return to my half-made tea and toast. My ear remains continuously tuned to my phone, waiting for that all-important message of reassurance. It’s still my focus as I switch on the television and flick absently through the channels, then give up and switch off the television. Finally, I shut down my laptop, wash my face and brush my teeth, and head to bed.

As I lie there, my phone sitting mutely beside me on my bedside table, I’m consumed with anxiety and sadness – knowing I’m not just being paranoid. If he was busy, or just temporarily forgot about my message, he would have answered by now. He wouldn’t just not reply. I may not know what he looks like or where he lives, but I do know how he interacts. Something’s wrong. Something’s very, very wrong.

Chapter 28

Two weeks later, I’ve started frequenting several different bars to get my blog material. This is so I’m not always seen in the same one – a lone person nursing a single soft drink for hours does stand out a bit. Having learned the hard way about regular customers and their distaste of being mocked while simply going about their business, diversifying my territory has been a priority. I’ve also added fiction in each of my posts to ensure no one recognises themselves in my work again.

I push open the door to The Green Room, a trendy gin bar in the West End, where – no surprises – the décor and furniture display different and complementary shades of green. I walk inside, immediately hit by their moreish signature apple scent. Even though it’s a Wednesday evening, there’s a lively buzz about the place and I can immediately recognise a potentially rich source of material. Having used the time I’ve gained from being sacked from the hotel productively, I’ve started a second, sister blog, focusing on the wider spectrum of human interactions and behaviour; as well as a broader range of alcoholic beverages. So, I know I’ll get something from this visit.

I carefully select a table that offers a good view right across the bar without me having to move or change my sitting position. Taking a seat on the comfortable armchair-style seat, I read through the menu, reminding myself of the range of gin-based drinks available. My taste buds tingle.

‘What can I get you?’ A surly-looking waitress has approached without me noticing.

‘Oh, err…’ I put down the drinks menu guiltily. ‘Can I just have a mineral water, please?’

‘A mineral water?’ She looks at me as if I’ve grown a unicorn horn.

‘Yes, please.’

‘Right. Still or sparkling?’

‘Sparkling, please.’ I smile politely at her. ‘With ice and a wedge of fresh lime if you can.’

The waitress stares at me with a bored face, then walks off. There’s one possibility for my new blog site right there.

Once the grumpy waitress has grudgingly delivered my drink, I sit back and take in my surroundings. There’s a female same-sex couple sitting side-by-side near the bar, completely engrossed in each other, giggling away. I feel a little pang of jealousy as I think how nice it would be to have someone I felt that way about. For a moment, my mind wanders to Graham, but I catch it quickly, acutely aware that I need to stay focused. While they are clearly relationship role models, I decide this couple don’t inspire me to write. My eyes roam past groups of work colleagues and friends; eventually landing on a rather frisky couple sitting in the far corner. Bingo. Exactly what I need.

Presently glued together by the mouth, I can’t see much of them, but one thing’s clear: they’re not shy – my favourite source of inspiration. I surreptitiously observe them as they continue to devour each other; hoping they’ll come up for air soon, to give me something to work with. As I glance towards them once more, the surly waitress stalks past and clocks the direction of my gaze.

‘Mingin’ eh?’ She huffs. ‘Don’t know why they bother leavin’ the house. Like I wanna look at that all night.’

I chuckle to myself. Thank you, surly waitress. You’ve just given me the beginnings of something to work with.

After about ten minutes of steamy snogging, the couple finally pull apart. I take in their faces and feel the colour drain from my face. It’s Dylan and Reyes.

‘What the…’ Without thinking, I jump up and march determinedly across the bar towards them. ‘You two are so busted.’

Having failed to notice my approach, they’re completely caught off guard.

‘Squirt! Balls! Didn’t realise this is one of your new haunts.’ Dylan’s face starts to colour. ‘You know Reyes, right?’

‘Hilarious, Dylan.’ I shoot him a withering look.

Reyes, who isn’t remotely fazed by being rumbled cheating on her husband, hops off her seat and greets me with her usual continental kisses.

‘Chica. This is surprise! Nice surprise. You are good, yes?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ I’m now standing with my hands on my hips. ‘But I hardly think that I’m the surprise in all of this. How did… what’s going on… I mean… spill. Every last detail. Now!’

‘I’m not sure you want every last detail.’ Dylan gives me a cheeky wink.

‘You know what I mean.’ I flash him my death stare, wondering how he can be so blasé about getting caught with a married woman – and my good friend.

‘Chica, please. You must sit.’ Reyes sits back down and pats the cushion next to her.

‘Let me get my stuff first,’ I mutter.

I return to my table to retrieve my jacket, bag and drink that I irresponsibly abandoned because of the shock, then join them once more.

‘Is that… mineral water?’ Dylan asks.

‘I can’t afford anything else,’ I grumble.

‘Let me get you something stronger.’ He signals for the waitress. ‘Think you need it. Anything you want.’

Annoyed that Dylan has clearly been hiding this from me, while all the time lecturing me on my own questionable romantic choices, I decide he owes me one.

‘OK. I’ll have a Gin Fizz.’ I fix a smug that’ll-teach-you-to-keep-secrets smile on my face.

He instinctively scans the open drinks menu on the table, and his face pains. ‘That costs nearly a tenner. For one drink. Not lost your taste for that poncey shit, I see.’

‘You said I could have anything I want.’ I shift my look to angelic. ‘And that’s what I want. Are you going to change your mind?’

The touchy waitress finally appears, regarding me with confusion. ‘You know these two?’

‘Unfortunately, I do.’ I smile at her and shrug.

‘Poor you.’ She throws a filthy look in the direction of Dylan and Reyes.

‘Customer service really isn’t your thing, is it?’ I laugh.

‘Huh?’ She simply looks at me as if I’m irrelevant, takes the order from Dylan and stalks off again.

‘Right, you two.’ I turn my attention to Dylan and Reyes. ‘What the hell is this?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Dylan chuckles. ‘Or do you need a lesson on the birds and the bees?’

‘Don’t be a smart-arse, Dylan.’ I eyeball him. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’

‘Chica, do not worry.’ Reyes puts her hand on my arm reassuringly. ‘This. It is real. I am liking Dylan, and he is liking me.’

‘Well, that I worked out for myself.’ My tone is flat. ‘But, Reyes, you’re married. What about your husband? It doesn’t matter if you and Dylan like each other, someone’s going to get hurt here.’

Dylan looks at Reyes. I sense an unspoken message pass between them, then Reyes nods agreement.

‘Chica, I am sorry. Yes, I am married, but I am also… separate.’

‘What?’ I look at the two of them, perplexed. ‘Like an open marriage – you see other people?’

‘No, not this.’ Reyes shakes her head. ‘My husband, he returns to Spain.’

There’s a momentary pause as my drink is practically thrown in front of me by the waitress, her disgust at Dylan and Reyes’s behaviour now also directed at me.

‘Thanks,’ I absently acknowledge her, my attention still firmly fixed on my two friends. ‘Wait. Are you telling me you’ve separated from your husband, Reyes?’

‘This is correct.’ Reyes nods.

‘For him?’ I fail to hide my astonishment.

‘Hey! That’s below the belt,’ Dylan complains.

‘No. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.’ I take a sip of my cocktail and shake my head, trying to sort out my jumbled thoughts. ‘It’s just that Reyes’s husband is loaded. Look at the bloody rock on her finger. Reyes, why would you risk your marriage for an affair that you don’t know will go anywhere? You told me that love is so important. I just don’t understand.’

‘Chica, are you ever meeting my husband?’ Reyes asks me.

‘Well, no, but you told me—’

‘Why you think you are not meeting my husband?’ She searches my face. ‘We are spending this time together and you are not meeting him.’

‘I just assumed there was never an opportunity. Though, I suppose, other than when we first met, you’ve never really talked about him. What happened?’

‘He is not liking this life.’ Reyes shrugs. ‘His family is rich. He does not need to work like this. He does not want to. I am finding too late that we are too different. So, he go home.’

‘And you split up?’ I ask.

‘Yes, but this is before we meet – you and me – by one month. I just am not wanting to talk about it. And the luck for me is that you are not asking. One day, when we play Snog, Marry, Avoid, I nearly tell you, but a customer interrupt us. Then I think it better you believe in our love, so you find your own.’

‘Right.’ I let out a huge sigh.

I’m relieved this isn’t some sordid affair after all. But I am sad for Reyes that her marriage didn’t work out.

As I take all this in, my eyes land on Reyes’s humongous diamond ring, glinting alluringly in the artificial lighting. She follows my gaze, answering my question before I can even ask it.

‘My husband is not wanting this – he tell me to keep it. What chica would not do this?’

‘Oh, I’m with you on that.’ We both gaze at it adoringly for a moment.

‘Chica, when I meet you…’ Reyes turns to me, her face serious. ‘I know that you need more in your life. You need fun and love. But you do not believe me. If I tell you that my husband is leaving, you will not think that love is important.’

‘That would probably have been true.’ I smile at her knowingly.

‘But love is important.’

Reyes gives Dylan a sickeningly love-struck look, which he returns. I realise this is real between them.

‘I am not stopping to believe in love just because my husband is leaving,’ she continues. ‘This is why, when you tell me that Dylan is liking me and he is online dating, that I have to date him before any other chica.’

‘Can you imagine how happy I was when Reyes turned up on the dating app I was on?’ Dylan’s grin is so wide, he looks goofy.

‘Oh, you guys.’ I feel an unexpected tightness in my throat. ‘You’re a bunch of buggers for not telling me… but I’m so happy for you.’

‘We didn’t want to tell you until we knew it really was something,’ says Dylan. ‘Because we knew you’d freak out. We were actually gonna tell you this week.’

‘I wouldn’t have freaked out.’ I suddenly realise I’ve done just that. ‘You realise the two of you can’t break up now. I am not going to choose between you.’

‘I think we’re probably good.’ Dylan pulls Reyes into him and plants a smacker of a kiss on the top of her head, while she giggles delightedly. ‘So, now we’re sorted, what about you, Squirt?’

‘What about me?’ I sigh.

‘Any more progress with your apartment? How’s the blogging going?’ he asks.

‘You are hearing anything from your online hombre?’ Reyes chips in.

I slug at my cocktail to stall for time, while I consider my answers.

‘It’s actually good news with my apartment – if I can call it that. There’s already been quite a bit of interest, and it’s only been on the market for a week and a half. Apparently, my area of the city is having a surge: just been named as one of the up-and-coming places to live. I may get a little equity out of my sale after all.’

‘I know you really don’t want to sell, but that’s good news for your finances,’ says Dylan.

‘It is,’ I agree. ‘And my Gin Fizz site has continued to climb in subscribers; I’ve also gained followers on my new site much quicker by cross-referring. I’ll still be on your couch for a bit once my apartment is gone, but not too long, I hope. Especially if I can pick up a bit of bar work on the side.’

‘As long as you need,’ says Dylan. ‘Sean will just have to bloody deal with it.’

‘Chica, you come stay with me,’ Reyes says suddenly. ‘You must not be on this couch in a flat of hombres.’

‘What? Really?’ I look at her in hope. The thought of sleeping on Dylan’s couch not being something I was relishing; especially when one of Dylan’s flatmates has made a fuss about it.

‘I am insisting.’ Reyes puffs herself up in her seat. ‘I have spare room.’

‘There you go, Squirt.’ Dylan grins adoringly at Reyes.

‘Oh, this is amazing! Thanks, Reyes.’ I launch myself on her with a rather uncharacteristic and suffocating hug. ‘You’ve no idea how much I appreciate this.’

‘De nada, Chica.’ She laughs and hugs me back. ‘And the online hombre?’

‘Ah, Graham.’ I’m suddenly sobered by the change in topic of conversation. ‘I’ve still not heard a word from him. He’s just disappeared.’

I feel a familiar sad, churning emptiness in my stomach at the thought of him.

‘Aww, I’m sorry,’ says Dylan. ‘It did seem like he might be a good guy in the end. It’s a shame it ended like that. But he did help you move on from something you’d been struggling with for years. Maybe he’d served his purpose. Like it was meant to be that way.’

‘What, you mean like fate, and being part of the bigger plan for me.’ I throw him a sarcastic look. ‘You don’t suddenly believe in stuff like that, just because you’ve bagged yourself a hot girlfriend, do you?’

‘What? No.’ Dylan’s face colours. ‘Shut it, you douche. I just mean that he maybe wasn’t going to be your perfect guy, and he knew that. So, he moved on – but he did have that impact on your life.’

‘Or maybe this complication in his life gets more complicated. He has to stop speaking with you?’ Reyes suggests.

‘I guess it could be either. Or neither.’ I sigh again. ‘I know I never met him in person, but I miss him so much. I really feel like I’ve been ditched by the man of my dreams.’

‘You will meet other perfect hombre.’ Reyes squeezes my arm. ‘I know this. I am so proud of you. You make big progress.’

I laugh weakly. ‘You think? Because from where I’m standing, my love life looks like one big car crash. Speaking of which, how’s Josh doing?’

‘He is OK,’ says Reyes. ‘There is new receptionist who is liking him. He say he not ready but I can see he is already flirting with this woman in staff canteen.’

‘That’s good.’ I feel an overwhelming sense of relief, and just a smattering of unjustified envy. ‘I hope she’s nice. Josh is such a lovely guy. He deserves to find someone who’ll treat him really well.’

‘She is nice,’ Reyes confirms. ‘And so are you, Chica. You are also deserving of meeting someone good. Maybe you should try the online dating?’

‘Great idea!’ Dylan nods enthusiastically in agreement. ‘And we can vet them for you.’

‘OK, you two, calm it,’ I instruct them. ‘Just because it’s all worked out for you, doesn’t mean you need to push it my way.’

Chapter 29

6 weeks later

‘Guys, wait.’ I suddenly falter in my stride.

‘What’s up, Squirt?’ Dylan stops and looks at me with concern.

‘I… err… I’m not sure about this after all. Maybe it’s not such a good idea.’

‘Hey, you’re fine,’ Dylan soothes me. ‘You’re already here on the estate. You’ve made it this far. Just a few more steps, and you’re gonna be welcomed by people who have been dying to see you for years.’

‘I’m glad you’ve got the fairy tale all worked out in your head.’ I raise my eyebrows at him sceptically, feeling my pulse quicken. ‘But in mine, the story goes like this: Oh, there’s that snobby cow who thought she was above us all and has been pretending we don’t exist for the last eight years.’

‘Chica, no!’ Reyes approaches me and takes me by the wrists. ‘They are not thinking this. You let your mind drive you to crazy. Dylan is telling me these people are all friendly.’

‘If that’s the case, then where’s your big fat sparkler gone?’ I eye Reyes’s ring finger suspiciously.

‘Reyes isn’t wearing it out of respect for me,’ Dylan jumps in. ‘Nothing more than that. Quit looking for problems that aren’t there.’

‘Right.’ I feel my insides tighten. ‘OK… then just give me a minute.’

As Dylan and Reyes obediently move away to give me some space, I take some deep breaths to calm my rising anxiety. The entrance to the Broken Arms is just as I remember it: in desperate need of repainting, the same sludge brown colour theme and dingy signage I remember from years ago. It’s like a time warp. I notice that one of the windowpanes in the door is broken, and has just been taped over. I wonder which of the locals put their fist through it, and for what reason. It really couldn’t be a less welcoming place if it tried. Even the draping of purple Christmas tinsel and the festive Christmas lights framing the entranceway do little to freshen its appeal.

‘This is Broken Arms?’ I hear Reyes ask Dylan quizzically from behind me. ‘This sign, it say Ridgemore Arms.’

‘It gained the nickname, Broken Arms, because of the number of fights that used to break out there.’ Dylan replies in a low voice. ‘It’s not like that anymore though, don’t worry.’

Tuning them out, I continue to breathe deeply, inhaling the familiar smell from the nearby industrial bakery, memories rapidly flood my mind; some with a grim fondness. Rolling old tyres in the dusty, uneven car park as child: seeing how far they would go, and who could make them go the fastest. And as a teenager, whipping Dylan’s and most of the regulars’ backsides at pool; something they could never accept from a girl, driving them to re-challenge me over and over – though with little success.

But mostly the memories are painful. A glass ominously smashing against the wall as my dad lost it with one of the locals yet again. Being dragged home, a vice-like grip on my arm leaving me with painful bruises that I ashamedly hid from my teachers and friends. Seeing the empty, soulless look in my mum’s eyes after years of drinking to escape the physical and emotional abuse.

My brain hurts from trying to fight against the tidal wave of haunting, sinister flashbacks; my eyes sting and my throat aches from holding in the emotion. Voices circle like sharks in my mind.

‘Where the hell have you been, you nasty little waste of space. Put the pool cue down and get your arse home – now.’

‘Too good for this family, eh? I’ve got news for you, darlin’. You’ll no’ fit in anywhere outside this place, so don’t bother yer backside tryin’.’

‘Say that one more time. Go on, I dare you…’

It’s almost too much. I’m dizzy with fear just at the thought of who’s beyond that door. Just as I’m on the brink of calling this off altogether, another voice creeps into my head.

‘My only true barrier is myself.’

My mind suddenly switches to that moment of self-liberation on my balcony months before.

‘My only true barrier is myself.’

How positive and free I felt. Like I could do anything. But I couldn’t because I still carried such a weight: a sack of shame that I lugged everywhere, that made me less of a person than everyone else.

‘Do not ever carry the shame of anything you had no influence or control over.’

As Graham’s words pop into my mind, it’s as if a switch has flicked. What am I doing? I wasn’t going to let this rule me anymore. No apologies, or feeling inferior. I’m definitely not a wannabe snob either. I’m just me. Plain. A bit bashed and bruised. But strong and determined. I have nothing to be ashamed of, or to apologise for. I’m going in.

Without even a word to nearby Dylan and Reyes, I take a final deep, solid breath and march through the doors of the Broken Arms.

Counter to the horrors in my mind, nothing stops as the door slams behind me. No one even looks up, engrossed in their noisy, animated conversations, which they have to amplify to be heard above the other punters and the almost blaring Christmas music. I stand just feet away from the overdecorated long bar, propped up by a seemingly endless line of punters of various ages. My eyes explore the room, across the sea of tables, past the enormous, blinking Christmas tree, to the pool table at the far end – the same one I played on all those years ago.

Before I even realise, I gravitate towards it. Slowly, I walk right up to the pool table; my fingers automatically reach out to touch it. As I make contact with the cool wooden frame, and the rough, faded, threadbare green felt, one thing is clear: I need to play.

A gruff voice suddenly snaps me out of my curious trance. ‘Eh, mate? Is that your bird? Gonnae ask her to get out the way.’

Seeing my surroundings properly for the first time, I realise that I’ve wandered into the middle of a game of pool in play. The challengers look thoroughly perplexed. The man with the gruff voice, who’s wearing a tracksuit and a cap, and is of a similar age to me, taps his foot impatiently, waiting for me to move. Glancing to my left, I see Dylan and Reyes arrive by my side, and steer me out of the way.

‘Not my bird, Neilsy,’ says Dylan. ‘But she’s with me. Sorry, pal, we’ll let you get back to your game.’

‘Hold on.’ The man called Neilsy looks at me again. ‘Is it…? It is. Shit a brick. Guys, it’s wee Liv.’

I’m suddenly surrounded by a swarm of faces – full of curiosity and recognition. And they’re smiling, welcoming me. One by one, they step over and overwhelm me with huge bear hugs, stinging high fives and complicated handshakes. The complete opposite of what I anticipated. As word spreads through the pub, the well-wishers – previous neighbours, old schoolmates, even one of my secondary school teachers – crowd round me.

After a while, as nice as it is to be so welcomed, I’m feeling a bit jaded from having to repeat my story of the last eight years over and over. I take a step back from the well-wishers so I can settle properly and relax.

‘So, wee Liv, you still the pool shark you were before?’ Neilsy asks me. ‘I remember you used to shrivel the balls of every guy in here – including me.’

‘Nah.’ I laugh. ‘That was a long time ago. I’ve only played a couple of times recently.’

A familiar feeling of guilt tinged with sadness creeps into my mind; alongside a memory of Josh and me playing pool in the staff canteen at the hotel. I push it aside.

‘You up for a game?’ Neilsy asks. ‘Maybe this time I’ll beat you. Been the Broken Arms pool champ three years in a row, I have.’ He puffs his chest out proudly.

‘OK, you’re on.’ I give his hand a slapping shake to seal the challenge. ‘Just let me get a drink first.’

I make my way through the group and bump into Dylan.

‘You all right, Squirt?’ He hands me a pint of Tennent’s. ‘Thought I’d get you your old tipple to complete the experience.

‘Thanks.’ I take it gratefully from him. ‘Guess that makes sense.’

‘We were a bit worried before when you just stormed in here like that,’ says Dylan. ‘Like an undercover cop about to do a bust. That never goes down well in a place like this.’

‘You’re right about that.’ I laugh. ‘I don’t know what happened. It was weird. One minute I was about to do a runner, and the next it was like I could take on the world.’

‘Was that your online pal coming to the rescue again?’ Dylan grins at me.

‘Graham? Actually… yeah… it was.’ I let out the same huge sigh I do every time he floats into my mind or enters a conversation. ‘That man. He just blew me away, Dylan. Made me see things I could never see myself; helped me find what was really important to me again.’

‘It wasn’t just him. You did a lot of it yourself.’

‘I know.’ I nod thoughtfully. ‘And you guys have been part of it too. I’ve actually got a little mantra now, for any more moments of self-doubt.’

‘Let’s hear it then.’ Dylan gives me nudge.

‘No chance.’ I clink his glass and take a refreshing slug from my pint. ‘You’ll just take the piss.’

‘That you can be sure of.’ Dylan gives me a wink and puts his arm around Reyes, pulling her in close.

‘Chica, I am so wishing your online hombre come back.’ Reyes gives me a pouty sad look.

‘Me too.’ I match her facial expression as my stomach starts it familiar washing-machine-style churn. ‘So badly. I thought it would fade, the feeling of missing him so much, but it’s still there, strong as ever. I don’t think I’ll ever hear from him again. It’s been so long now. Makes me wonder if he was married after all – maybe separated and got back together with his wife.’

‘Then maybe there is new hombre here for you.’ Reyes starts to scan the room.

‘Here?’ I choke on my pint. ‘No way.’

Dylan gives me a look.

‘It’s not a snob thing,’ I defend myself. ‘I went to school with these blokes. I’ve seen way too much of what they get up to, to ever date any of them.’

‘Fair play.’ Dylan shrugs. ‘They haven’t changed much either.’

‘They are very happy to be seeing you,’ says Reyes. ‘You are feeling good about this?’

I look round me, making eye contact with Neilsy, who raises his pint towards me. I return the gesture.

‘Yeah, they are.’ I smile contentedly. ‘It feels really good. I can finally say with pride that this is where I’m from.’

‘That’s my girl. You’ve come a long way these past months.’ Dylan puts his other arm around me and pulls both Reyes and me into a group hug; his strong arms holding us there until we cry out at him to stop suffocating us.

A short while later, I’m being heralded as Neilsy’s nemesis. Although he’s beaten me twice, I’ve apparently made him sweat, and I’m the first person to do that in the last few years.

I’m in the process of negotiating a short break before playing another old schoolmate, Justin, a nice-looking guy with dark hair and deep brown eyes, who obviously works out, when there’s a tap on my shoulder.

‘Squirt, have a you got a minute?’ Dylan asks.

‘Sure, Dylan. Justin, give me half an hour, and I’ll be back to kick your backside.’ I give him a cheeky wink.

‘Fine by me.’ Justin’s eyes glint impishly. ‘Very happy to get an arse-whipping from a gorgeous woman anytime.’

Caught off guard by his flirting, I feel my cheeks start to burn. Back here in the Broken Arms, in some ways it feels like I never left. But I certainly never got comments like that when I was a teenager. The guys were all fond of me, protective even, but they saw me in more of a little sister or vulnerable kid kind of role. I was never the one they lusted after. I didn’t have any money for new clothes, make-up and hairspray, like some other girls. Their families, though they still didn’t have a lot, made sure their daughters were presentable and had a bit of pocket money.

I turn away from Justin to hide my blush and follow Dylan from the pool table. Once we’re out of earshot, he stops and turns to me.

‘The word’s gotten out that you’re here.’

‘Well, duh!’ I screw up my nose at him, wondering why he just dragged me away to state the obvious.

‘No, I mean the word’s gotten out – beyond this pub. Your mum’s just turned up.’

The bottom just about falls out of my stomach, closely followed by a shiver that runs through me. My mum’s here? In this pub? Shit. I was almost prepared for seeing all my old friends and schoolmates, but not for this. I didn’t think for a second that, even if she heard I was back, she would have shifted her lazy backside off the couch long enough to wave to me in the street, never mind turn up, right here in the Broken Arms.

‘Is she drunk?’ My eyes search Dylan’s nervously.

‘Actually, no,’ he replies. ‘That’s the surprising thing. She’s sober. And she looks pretty well.’

‘What?’ I look past him, scanning the bar to try and spot her. ‘Are you sure it’s her? Where is she?’

‘Of course, I’m sure it’s her.’ Dylan looks at me incredulously. ‘I know what your mum looks like.’

‘Oh, I know that.’ I purse my lips. ‘But you know as well as I do that she’s barely been sober since I was a kid. And the days she was – the ones that I saw – she was a total nightmare.’

‘I know she was. But she wants to see you. Are you ready for that?’

‘I… err… no. NO.’ I rub my face anxiously. ‘I don’t want this to ruin things. This wasn’t part of today’s plan.’

‘It’s up to you.’ Dylan puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. ‘No pressure. If you don’t want to see her, I’ll make sure she leaves. She even said herself she would.’

‘She did?’ I look up at him in surprise.

‘Yeah, she did.’ Dylan gives me an encouraging smile. ‘I’ve not seen her in a couple of months, and I have to say, there’s a huge difference in her. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.’

‘The words pleasant and my mum definitely don’t go together,’ I grumble.

‘They haven’t in the past, for sure.’ Dylan nods slowly. ‘So, what do you want me to tell her? Shall I say to her to go?’

I mull this over for a few moments. ‘No. I’ll see her. Where is she?’

‘Good for you.’ Dylan squeezes my shoulder. ‘She’s at a table over by the door. Want me to come with you?’

‘I’ll be fine.’ I give him a weak smile. ‘Go and rescue your girl before those guys take their flirting to the next level.’

We glance across at Reyes, who is surrounded by a group of blokes, all completely transfixed by her. And she’s lapping it up.

‘Right, yeah, gonna have to fight my way through that lot.’ Dylan regards Reyes adoringly. ‘Good luck, Squirt. I’m here if you need me.’

As Dylan makes a beeline for Reyes, I turn my attention to the other side of the bar, and start to weave my way through the tables, giving a little wave here and there to people I recognise. It’s not until I’m nearing the end of the room that I spot her, and it’s no surprise why. She’s aged a lot in the ten or so years since I last saw her. But it’s not just that. She’s slimmer, and although she still looks prematurely old and haggard from the years of alcohol abuse, there’s something brighter and slightly more alive about her. She’s obviously dyed her hair, and she’s even wearing a little make-up. Along with her general transformation, this makes her formerly soulless eyes look more warm and human. She’s wearing jeans and a green nice-but-plain top instead of the ragged, stinking tracksuits she used to rot in from dawn till dusk. She also looks nervous.

‘Hi, Mum.’

She looks up as I greet her.

‘Liv… you’re really here… it’s so… it’s lovely to see you. You look great.’

I tentatively pull out a seat and sit down, noticing that my mum doesn’t just look nervous, she seems almost terrified. She’s also just greeted me warmly and complimented me: two previously unheard-of gestures.

‘You look well too, Mum.’ I mean this as a statement, but unfortunately it comes out as more of a question.

‘I’ve… I’ve been trying to turn myself around.’ She fiddles with her top uncomfortably. ‘You know, stop being such a waste of space.’

I know I should jump in at this stage and scold my mother for being so down on herself, but this is no normal conversation. There’s no point in denying the truth.

‘What’s brought this on?’ I ask.

‘Oh… I… umm… I just, you know, thought it was time…’

‘What do you mean you thought it was time?’

‘You know… just… stuff.’ She fiddles with her top again.

‘No, I don’t know, Mum. What stuff?’

‘It’s nothing… really… just knew I needed to change.’

‘Don’t bullshit me, Mum.’ I feel a twinge of annoyance. Despite me having made the effort to turn up here, looking like a different person, she’s reverting to her old avoidance tactics. ‘Is it a new bloke?’

‘What? No. No, not a man. Not a man.’ She shakes her head vigorously, like a toddler refusing to co-operate.

‘So, what is it then?’ I continue to probe, deciding she’s not getting off the hook that easily.

‘It’s… umm… it’s just… it’s not important… you know…’

‘Look.’ I sigh. ‘I don’t have time for this, Mum. You obviously came here because you wanted to see me. So, if you don’t want me to get up and walk away right now – and who would blame me – I suggest you spit out whatever it is you’re dancing around. Right now.’

I sit back in my seat and fold my arms to show I mean business. I might appear hard-hearted, but in view of all I know and what I had to put up with, I would be forgiven for a lot worse.

‘Yes. You’re right.’ His eyes dart around guiltily, unable to meet mine. ‘OK, I heard something. Something bad. And I realised I needed to sort myself out.’

‘Right.’ I pause momentarily. ‘And what did you hear?’

‘I heard that… you… that you were… I can’t say this… I don’t want to upset you…’

‘OK, fine. I’m going to leave.’ I stand up, pushing back my chair noisily, causing a few people to look over.

My mum cowers away from the attention.

‘Please. Don’t go,’ she pleads with me. ‘I’ll say. I’ll tell you.’

‘Last chance.’ I sit back down and look at her expectantly.

‘I heard… I heard that you had lost your job. And that you were losing your apartment,’ she gabbles.

‘Who told you that?’ I ask. ‘Why would that suddenly make you turn your life around? You never bothered when I really needed you. When I was a kid.’

‘I know. I was… your dad… he made things…’

‘That man has been dead for nearly five years. You can’t go using him as an excuse – not anymore.’

‘I know… I know that.’ My mum starts to rock back and forth, my confrontational approach evidently too much for her to cope with.

‘OK.’ I soften my tone slightly, deciding that if she’s going to relapse back to the drink, I don’t want to feel any responsibility for that. ‘So, you heard I hit a difficult patch. Why did that suddenly make you want to turn your life around?’

‘Because…’ She continues to rock, but it slows. ‘Because… I… realised that you’d rather be on the streets than with me.’

I stare at her for a moment. ‘Dylan told you that.’

‘Umm… yes… but it’s not his fault… he… I wanted to know. I’ve been wanting to change. I’ve tried, Liv. You haven’t seen it, but I’ve tried before.’

‘How long have you been sober?’ I ask.

‘Ten weeks.’ My mum dares a weak smile. ‘I have an Alcoholics in Recovery coach. She’s really good. I think I might make it this time, Liv. I’ve cleaned up the house and I’ve even just got a part-time job in a school canteen.’

‘Wow, Mum.’ I can’t help but be mildly impressed by this. ‘That is good. Well done.’

‘Thanks.’ She almost looks proud for a moment. ‘I decided that if you were going to need a home, I would make one for you this time, just… just in case you might…’

Hearing these words, I realise this is indeed a changed woman in front of me. After years of abuse, and a distinct lack of enthusiasm for anything but the bottle, she’s finally making an attempt at life. How do I let her down gently? So that it doesn’t send her careering back down that perilous slope?

‘Mum, look.’ I clear my throat awkwardly. ‘I appreciate what you’ve done. I really do. And I think you need this for you – more than you do for me. But I’m not going to come back and live with you..’

‘Oh, OK.’ My mum’s face falls.

‘Don’t do that.’ I grimace. ‘You don’t want me back in the house. You just think you do. We barely even know each other now, Mum. I’m not homeless – not technically. My apartment’s gone, yes, but I’m staying with a friend, and I’m self-employed now. I’m going to be fine.’

‘That’s good.’ My mum’s face is still one of bitter disappointment.

This tugs at me in a way I would never have expected.

‘Tell you what,’ I say. ‘How about I visit from time to time?’

‘You will?’ She looks up at me, eyes full of hope.

‘Yes, but on one condition only.’ I look her straight in the eye. ‘You stay off the drink.’

‘I will, Liv. This time, I promise.’ She makes every effort to hold my gaze.

‘You won’t be able to hide it from me.’

‘I know.’

‘Then we have a deal.’

I smile at her, and to my surprise, I feel my throat tighten and a light stinging at the backs of my eyes; the idea that I might have a mum who cares about me after all, suddenly becoming quite overwhelming. I swallow thickly in an attempt to compose myself.

‘I’d better get back to my friends, but I’ll pop round between Christmas and New Year for a proper catch-up. And, Mum… I’m proud of you for making this change. It can’t have been easy.’

‘That’s great. That’s… just great.’ My mum’s eyes are suddenly filled with nervous excitement. ‘I’ll make dinner. For you. And for Dylan. I owe him.’

‘Me too. Him, and…’ But I don’t say Graham’s name. I sigh, my stomach churning again as that omnipresent feeling of loss rears its head once more.

Chapter 30

The next morning, I’m heading home from the supermarket, enjoying the feel of the cold, crisp winter air, when I spot Anya walking along the street towards me.

She doesn’t see me at first. But the moment she does, that same look of awkwardness and discomfort from the night she first discovered I was working in a gin bar, returns.

‘Oh… hi… Liv… nice to see you. It’s been a while.’

I smile politely. ‘Hi, Anya. Yes, it has. Are you well?’

‘Yes, all good.’ She struggles to maintain eye contact with me. ‘How are… things?

I study her for a moment, amazed that it took me so long to see through her insincerity. It was always there, I now realise. But it was so subtle, and I was so drawn into what I thought was a great friendship, I never saw the warning signs.

‘If you mean the bar, I’m not working there anymore.’ I intentionally fail to elaborate, to see if she shows any further interest at all.

‘Right… good.’ She seems unsure where to go next. ‘So, what are you up to then?’

It could be an innocent question, fuelled by genuine curiosity, or some level of concern for my wellbeing that she herself doesn’t even realise she has. But my instincts are bellowing at me that this is nothing more than a blatant fish for information, so she can take something juicy back to her gossip squad. I decide I’m going to give her as little as possible.

‘I’m self-employed now,’ I reply. ‘Decided to take up freelance writing – blogging, that kind of thing.’

‘That sounds interesting.’ Anya’s expression turns to one of curiosity, the bounce I used to find so endearing almost sneaks through. ‘I’ve always been interested in the idea of freelancing; being a creative entrepreneur. How’s that going for you?’

As I take in her ‘super-interested’ face, it’s like the whole three years of our now-defunct friendship flashes before me. Two things spring out: her expression, along with a never-ending stream of work-related gossip. She needs to be in the know. Not because she’s rooting for me to be a success. She needs to have and be able to share stories so she can create and maintain a bond with her colleagues: her way of securing her place with the ‘in’ crowd. None of it’s about genuine friendship. How did I not see this before?

‘It’s going OK,’ I reply eventually, now firm on sticking to my angle of non-elaboration. ‘Still early days. Will just have to see how it pans out.’

‘Right.’ Anya nods, her face already clearing of interest, now she’s under the impression that I’m still floundering in my career. ‘Well… it was good to see you.’

I’m under no illusion that it was anything of the sort, but at least the feeling’s mutual this time.

‘You too.’ I smile briefly.

‘See you then.’ Anya turns to walk away, then hesitates and swivels back on the spot. ‘Actually, since you mentioned a blog, Liv, me and the girls at works have become addicted to one recently. It’s so clever and funny. The writer calls herself MissGinFizz. Think she’s doing really well.’

‘Really?’ I keep my face poker straight as I digest this.

‘Yes, you should check it out. Maybe you can pick up some tips from her work.’

It takes all my effort not to laugh out loud. Anya and her crew are subscribed to my blog? And they have no idea that I’m MissGinFizz. I could tell her and become ‘someone’ in their eyes again. Give Anya the ripest of gossip to take back to the office. But the thing is, I no longer care what she or any of her coven think of me. That world is now in my past, and that’s where it’s going to stay.

‘OK, thanks,’ I reply. ‘Sounds interesting. I’ll take a look.’

‘No problem.’ She smiles smugly, and my one-time ‘friend’ turns and trots off in the direction of the city centre.

Several hours later, I’m camped out at a table in Hanover One, one of Edinburgh’s swankiest gin bars, situated in the city centre – and a top rival to my ex place of employment, Amethyst. As it’s Friday, the after-work crowd are making the most of their long-awaited freedom; some of them dressed in Christmas jumpers and wearing antlers and Santa hats, evidently on some kind of Christmas night out. The leather-seated booths have, till not long ago, been crammed full of high-spirited, boisterous colleagues, no doubt since the late afternoon. But as it’s reached the time when some of the office packs start to fall away, they’re gradually replaced by other types of punters, like smaller friendship groups and couples.

I hate sitting in bars alone at the weekend – even if it is just for research purposes – so I’ve recruited Dylan and Amir to join me for a couple of hours, before they head to the pub to watch the football. Amir, enjoying a rare Friday night off, is making the most of this opportunity.

‘Dylan, another pint, mate?’ he asks.

‘Nice one.’ Dylan offers a thumbs-up.

‘Liv? What are you having this time?’ Amir hands me the drinks menu.

‘I’m fine thanks, Amir.’ I hold up my drink. ‘Still on this one.’

‘You’ve got three mouthfuls left – at a push.’ Amir raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Come on, what are you having?’

‘Err… OK, just a mineral water then, thanks.’ I pretend to be writing something in my notepad. ‘Sparkling, with a wedge of lime.’

‘Liv, we can keep doing this for as long as you like,’ says Amir. ‘Or you can just accept a drink.’

‘You’ve already bought me a drink.’ I don’t look up.

‘And I’d like to buy you another one.’

‘Squirt, will you put the poor guy out of his misery and choose a proper drink,’ Dylan reprimands me.

I glance up. Seeing the pointed looks, I realise that there’s no getting out of this one.

‘OK, sorry. I’ll have a Bombay and tonic. Thanks, Amir.’

‘Why do you have to do that?’ Dylan rebukes me, as Amir heads to the bar. ‘You and your bloody pride. I thought you’d got past that.’

‘It’s not just about pride.’ I put my notepad and pen down on the mahogany table. ‘I just don’t want him spending lots of money on me. It’s not like he’s loaded.’

‘Has it dawned on you that maybe he feels partly responsible for the fact that you’re in the shitter financially?’ Dylan sinks the last of his pint. ‘He may not have had a choice, but he was the one who sacked you. Buying you drinks is probably his way of feeling better about that. Don’t take that away from him.’

I pause while I deliberate this. ‘I didn’t think about it like that. He totally shouldn’t feel that way, but if he does, then I guess I can understand why he’s overcompensating for it.’

‘You always get there in the end – eventually.’ Dylan gives me an affectionate nudge.

‘All right.’ I give him a warning look. ‘Don’t go taking the moral high ground. You’re still on shaky terrain for hiding your love affair with Reyes from me.’

‘That was ages ago now,’ Dylan complains. ‘You can’t hold that against me forever.’

‘Oh, I can.’ I smile sweetly at him. ‘And I will.’

Amir returns with the drinks, and we relax and enjoy a bit of banter together: discussing possible options for my next blog post. Once they’ve finished their pints, it’s time for them to go.

‘Join us after the footie?’ Dylan asks.

‘Yeah, sure.’ I nod. ‘That should give me long enough to get some good material. Thanks again for the drinks, Amir. It’s definitely easier to sit in a bar alone after a couple.’

‘Anytime, Liv.’ Amir gives me a mini salute, and then he and Dylan disappear out the door.

Moments after they have left, one of the bar staff approaches my table and sets down a drink on a napkin in front of me.

‘Gin and tonic, from the gentleman who just left.’ He smiles at me.

‘Sorry?’ I’m confused. ‘What gentleman?’

‘The one who was sitting at your table before – with the leather jacket.’

‘Amir, what are you like.’ I mutter under my breath, then thank the barman, who returns to the bar.

As I lift my drink and take a sip, I see that there’s a message scrawled on the napkin: Some company for you when we’re away? Enjoy. X

I smile to myself, reflecting on how I have such great friends now in comparison to Anya and the rest of the McArthur Cohen lot. In fact, I have such a great life full stop – apart from things being a bit tight financially. The office and my ‘high-flying’ career had its appeal. I was caught up in the game, the politics, the never-ending search for my next career ‘hit’. But I was never truly in control of my life. I was one tiny cog in that huge grinding wheel. Now, here, doing this. I’m free. I’m my own boss, I make the decisions, and best of all, my successes are totally mine. I’ve opened doors I never even knew existed. This is a much better fit for me than any corporate environment.

While lost in my thoughts, I become aware of someone having occupied the empty table next to me. As I glance over, I do a double take, then immediately panic. It’s Aaron.

Shit. What shall I do? I haven’t seen him since I got fired. And I don’t think I can face him. Since he’s not seen me yet, I decide to try to slip away unnoticed.

Keen not to waste my drink as well as any writing opportunities, I scan the bar for another table, spotting one where I’ll be at a safe distance. However, just as I’m surreptitiously gathering my stuff, and getting ready to slink away, Aaron looks over.

‘Liv? Is that you?’

I freeze. He’s seen me. What do I do now? Put on a voice and pretend to be someone else? I have my back to him, so he doesn’t know for sure that it’s me. I realise I’m being stupid, and a bloody coward. I’ve been busted, so I need to face the man, and humbly apologise. Then it’s over and done with.

Slowly, I start to turn towards him. ‘Aaron? Hi. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.’

‘Yes, you did.’ He greets me with his usual flat tone. ‘And you were hoping to sneak away unnoticed.’

‘What? No.’ I plaster a look of shock on my face. ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

‘You absolutely would.’ He throws me the same don’t-bullshit-me look I often receive from Dylan. ‘Especially after being fired from the hotel.’

‘Oh, yeah, about that…’ I reluctantly sit back down, squirming unbearably inside. ‘I’m… really sorry about that. I know I totally abused the opportunity you gave me, as well as your trust. It was reckless and immature, and be assured that I’ve learned my lesson – big time. I really am so sorry, Aaron.’

I sit back and wait for his response, unable to make eye contact. For a few moments Aaron says nothing, and I’m aware of him scrutinising me in his appraising way, making me squirm even more.

‘I just wish you’d covered your tracks better,’ he says eventually.

‘Sorry, what?’ I stare at him in amazement.

‘Your blog was good.’ He shrugs. ‘Really good. And you were a good bar worker. No reason why you couldn’t have done both. It was just a clumsy error. You upped the drama and humour around the situation, but you kept the factual details too accurate. I bet you make sure no one can recognise themselves in your writing now.’

‘You’re spot on there.’ I’m still looking at Aaron with utter bewilderment. ‘But, wait… I thought you’d be really angry with me. I’ve had that same reaction from the others – that I could have done both. From Dylan, even Amir, but I never expected it from you. I was your hire and I let you down; surely you must be pissed off?’

‘Why? Because I’m the stuffy hotel manager?’ Aaron tilts his head and examines me like I’m some kind of lab experiment. ‘Liv, I believe in helping people get on: which includes encouraging them to harness their entrepreneurial spirit – if they’re lucky enough to have some.’

‘I know… I mean…’ I’m so simultaneously astounded and relieved – Aaron’s approval meaning so much to me that I’m tripping over myself. ‘I knew you were supportive… I just… well… you fired me.’

‘The company fired you,’ Aaron corrects me. ‘There was no other way. If I could have stopped that, I would have. It was out of my hands. If I’d stepped in, questions would have been asked. And that customer would have followed through on her threat.’

‘I understand.’ I nod. ‘Wow. Thanks, Aaron. The thought of bumping into you, after everything that happened… it’s been filling me with dread for weeks.’

‘I can see that.’ He grins almost proudly. ‘Never saw myself as the scary type.’

‘You’re actually not.’ I smile. ‘Well, not in comparison to a lot of people. I’m so glad you liked my blog. I’m still writing it, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘You’re following it?’ My amazement reaches new levels.

‘I am. And your new one too. It’s still as good as it was.’

‘I take that as high praise coming from you.’ I’m elated to hear this. ‘I’ve actually been offered some freelance blogging work as well. By a couple of people who have been following me online. That will really help with my cash flow.’

Aaron studies me for a moment. His forgiveness and reassurance make me uncomfortable. I take a swig of my gin and tonic as an excuse to look away.

‘As much as I know you would be great at it, I don’t think you need to find a new job in communications, Liv,’ he says finally. ‘I think you’ve found your niche. And I think you’re going to be very successful.’

‘Stop it.’ I wave my hand at him. ‘You’re going to give me a big head.’

‘Don’t worry. That was all you were getting.’ His face returns to its usual poker expression.

‘Oh, right, of course.’ I suddenly flush with embarrassment.

‘I was joking.’ He raises an eyebrow at me.

‘Right, yeah, I knew that.’ I hide behind my drink once more, hoping this awkward moment will pass quickly.

‘Well, I won’t keep you any longer.’ Aaron pulls out his laptop and sets it down next to his drink. ‘I’ve got a few emails to send before an evening appointment. I’ll let you get back to your research – assuming you’re not just here drinking alone for the sake of it.’

‘No, I’m not.’ I laugh. ‘Definitely not. Lots of research to do.’

We both appear to immerse ourselves in our work. At first I find it difficult to concentrate. Aaron’s words play back in my mind. As much as I love this new world I’m part of, and I’ll definitely keep pursuing it, I sometimes have moments of doubt that I can pull it off. Aaron’s endorsement of my new career choice means more to me than he can possibly understand.

Eventually, I settle into watching the goings-on in the bar, while scribbling lots of notes, and contemplating how I can use the attractive festive setting of the bar in my next blog post. After a while, I almost forget Aaron’s there. There’s so much going on that I barely pause for thought in between jotting down ideas.

I’m so lost in my work that I almost miss my phone lighting up with a new message. Still engrossed in my blog-related thoughts, I pick it up absently, assuming it’s a message from Dylan or from Reyes on her break. But when I unlock my screen, my heart jumps. It’s an alert from my blog chat app, and the message is from Graham.

Goosebumps break out all over my body as I quickly open it up and read it in full.

GrahamLeeton: How are you, MissGinFizz? I know it’s been a long time and I have a lot of explaining to do, but I’m hoping you’ll hear me out.

I stare at the screen, my pulse thumping between my ears, a whole mishmash of thoughts and reactions swimming through my mind. He’s back? From what? How am I supposed to feel about this? Should I be angry with him for disappearing the way he did, and leaving me feeling so empty? I was really hurt, that’s for sure.

With curiosity overriding my emotions, I decide I need to know where he’s been before I can decide how I feel about all this. What was so delicate and important that he had to cut all contact with me, just like that? Should I make him wait and let him feel some of what I felt? Oh, who are you kidding, Liv?

I tap out a response, opting for blasé as an opener.

MissGinFizz: Oh, hello stranger. I’m good thanks. How have you been?

He replies with a longer message that comes through so quickly, he must have been writing it before I even responded.

GrahamLeeton: You don’t need to pretend. If you had done what I did, I would have been really hurt. Being left with all those unanswered questions. And I would have missed you terribly. Even though I was the one who chose to disappear, I still missed you.

I stare at the screen. How do I respond to that? How do I even feel about that? Of course, I’m hurt. I’ve never stopped hurting. But am I angry with him? It’s not a feeling I recognise when I think about Graham. Perhaps I should have been royally pissed off, but the overriding feeling was one of sadness and loss.

Feeling myself becoming emotional, I take a moment to try and compose myself. I glance over at Aaron, who’s putting away his laptop and getting ready to leave. He looks over and catches my eye.

‘It was nice to see you, Liv. Have a good Christmas.’

‘Same to you, Aaron.’ I drag my attention away from my phone and smile at him. ‘Thanks again for being so understanding. I hope I’ll see you around.’

‘I’m sure our paths will cross again.’ He gives me a little nod, and then walks away.

Once he’s gone, I look down at the screen in my hand, reading Graham’s message again. He missed me terribly? Why would he say that if he didn’t mean it? I realise that, much as it may make me vulnerable again, I need to hear his explanation. I need to be honest with him, and tell him how much I’ve missed him too. But not like this.

I compose and send my response.

MissGinFizz: OK, I was hurt. I’m still hurt. I will let you explain, but on one condition – you do it in person.

I sit back in my seat, feeling a little shaky inside. What if he says no? And I get the same excuse as before. I don’t think I could handle that. I impatiently tap my fingers on the table, and on spotting my half-drunk gin and tonic, grab it and sink the rest of it. There. At least that will numb the pain if he lets me down again.

After three or four minutes, I’m starting to panic. Have I scared him off already? Maybe he was hoping we could have just continued chatting online again, without the immediate demand of meeting in person. Just as I’m beginning to wonder if I should have taken a softer approach, my phone lights up. Grabbing it, I drink in his response.

GrahamLeeton: OK, deal. Will you join me for dinner – right now?

As I’m staring in astonishment at the words in front of me, another message pops up on my screen with the name and address of a restaurant and a selfie – of him.

‘What the…?’ I gasp loudly, suddenly bursting with disbelief and emotion.

The new occupiers of the table next to me give me an odd look.

‘Are you OK, hon?’ one of them asks me.

‘I… I’m…’ I stare at her blankly. ‘I mean… yes… I am. I… have to go…’

Without sharing anything further, I stuff my notepad into my bag, throw on my jacket, and rush out of the bar.

Chapter 31

I’m out of breath by the time I’ve run the three blocks from Hanover Street to the restaurant. Realising that turning up a sweaty mess probably won’t be the best start, I hide around the corner until I’ve cooled down a bit. As I’m taking some deep calming breaths and trying to sort my head out, light snowflakes start to flutter around my head.

All this time, I had thought I was speaking to a complete stranger, pouring my heart out. I have so many questions, my brain feels like it’s about it burst. But I also feel a bit queasy with nerves. How will this go? Will I feel the same way now that we’re meeting in person and I know who GrahamLeeton really is? I realise that if I don’t walk inside that restaurant right now, sweaty mess or not, my mind will overtake my initial instincts. I’ll be paralysed by paranoia and worry about how this will pan out.

‘Right, go!’ I say out loud to myself.

I straighten my top and jacket, then casually stroll around the corner and open the door to Delizioso. It’s a modern and slightly upmarket Italian brasserie just to the north of Queen Street Gardens, where the city centre meets the New Town. Facing the buzz of Friday night diners, and bustling waiting staff, I’m immediately approached by a male waiter.

‘Buona sera, signora. You must be Liv.’

‘Err… that’s right.’ I’m baffled by him knowing who I am.

‘Come with me.’ He flashes me a knowing smile. ‘Signor is waiting.’

He leads me through to the festively lit, beautifully decorated back section of the restaurant where the dining is a bit more private and intimate. As we turn a corner, I see the man I’ve known until now as GrahamLeeton sitting at a table in a white cave-like alcove, looking nervous. My heart skips a beat. Hearing us approach, he glances up. Our eyes meet, and I instinctively know that, despite the less than flowing conversations we have in person, whatever was there online between us is still there.

‘Hi,’ I greet him tentatively as the waiter melts away into the background.

‘Hi.’ Aaron jumps up and pulls out my chair for me.

‘Well, this is a surprise.’ I suddenly feel shy.

‘A good surprise?’ He studies my face, understandably keen to know my reaction to finding out he’s the elusive GrahamLeeton.

‘That depends, I suppose. Aren’t you married?’

‘Divorced,’ he replies. ‘Although I’ve kept that under wraps. I tend not to share my personal life with my staff.’

I glance at his ring finger and see that it’s bare. How did I not notice that before?

‘That’s a good start.’ I say, and although I’m pleased to hear this, I’m not letting him off that easily. ‘It also depends on your explanation for disappearing like that.’

‘OK, let’s deal with that straight away.’ His voice has that clipped tone to it again.

Despite feeling a level of attraction to him I hadn’t previously, I find myself wondering: how he could really be the man who was so open and chatty, and shared so much with me for all those weeks? It seems incomprehensible.

‘Works for me,’ I prompt him, sensing that his intention to talk about it is genuine; making it a reality appears more difficult.

‘Actually, slight diversion.’ He sits forward. ‘I can see you’re wondering how I’m so different in person to who you have gotten to know online.’

‘Is it that obvious?’ I shift in my seat, embarrassed that my innermost thoughts are so transparent.

‘Yes, it is.’ He thumbs his napkin. ‘But that’s OK. It’s a perfectly reasonable question.’

‘Aaron, you don’t have to—’

‘Liv, I do.’ He looks me directly in the eye. ‘I want you to know who I am.’

‘OK, sure.’ I gesture to him to continue.

‘I’ve always been a bit awkward socially. It’s nothing more than a confidence thing – I think. I need to get to know people properly to feel at ease with them and be myself.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’ I feel the urge to put a reassuring hand on his, but unsure as to how he’ll react, I hold back.

‘You’re right. There’s not.’ He waggles his head from side to side in a gesture of weighing things up. ‘But it would be a damn sight easier if I had the natural charisma of someone like Josh or Amir.’

I flinch at mention of Josh’s name, now realising that while Aaron has a disappearing act to explain, having two blokes on the go at once has just been added to my list.

‘Charisma only takes a person so far.’ I shrug.

‘It does.’ He nods. ‘You’re right. But it makes for an easy start with people. How many people ignore first impressions?’

‘Fair enough.’ I have to concede this point. ‘So, it’s easier for you to be more open online when you’re anonymous, I get that. Probably the same for a lot of people. But none of that matters, Aaron. Now that I’ve gotten to know the real you, charisma has fallen to the bottom of my list.’

‘You have no idea how pleased I am to hear that.’ He smiles at me, and seems to relax ever so slightly. ‘Breadstick?’

He offers me the basket and I take a breadstick from it. He then starts to pour me a glass of water from the jug on the table.

‘Thanks. So, you were going to explain why you cut all contact?’ I prompt him once more.

‘It’s very simple.’ Aaron takes a sip of water. ‘When your blog became public, you were fired. There was a lot of talk about how you’d been having an online relationship with someone else behind Josh’s back.’

I flinch again at the mention of this.

‘I realised that I needed to back off,’ Aaron continues. ‘I’d created a mess for you. Also, if it had come out that I was involved, my job would have been at risk. I have a daughter, so I just couldn’t let that happen.’

‘Of course,’ I murmur.

Aaron pauses for a moment before explaining further. ‘As I couldn’t meet you in person, and you were becoming – quite understandably – frustrated by this, I thought it best to disappear. I wasn’t sure I could live up to your expectations. I was an image built up in your mind; I realised that from the blog post you wrote about me and Josh.’

‘Oh, hell. That bloody blog post.’ I put my head in my hands. ‘I’m so sorry about that. I should never have written it.’

‘I thought it made me come across quite well,’ says Aaron. ‘Other than physically.’

Lost for words, I simply chew my lip in embarrassment.

‘I know I hurt you, Liv.’ Aaron looks me straight in the eye. ‘But I didn’t have much choice. I’m sorry for that.’

‘And what’s changed now?’ I crunch my breadstick absently. ‘Why are you suddenly out in the open with this?’

‘Because I’m leaving the hotel.’

‘You are? No one’s said anything.’

‘That’s because they don’t know yet,’ says Aaron. ‘I’ve got a new job – another general manager role. What happened before won’t matter anymore. Especially if you’re willing to wait till I move on before we go public… and we make up a different story about how we got together.’ He suddenly looks nervous again. ‘That is, Liv, if you even want to continue where we left off after all this?’

I take in his apprehensive face. Everything he’s just shared has obviously been really hard for him, and the middle ground he’s found tonight to be able to be a bit of who I met online, while still battling with his demons. I know my answer. But my own list is still not clear.

‘Do you still want to date me, given I was juggling you and Josh at the same time?’ I’m unable to look him in the eye as I ask this. Instead I stare out the window on the other side of the room, where the snow is now coming down heavily in huge cotton-wool-like puffs.

‘I do.’ Aaron looks me straight in the eye once more. ‘I don’t care about that. You were confused. And to be honest, I was trying to confuse you, so you wouldn’t fall head first for that charismatic bugger Josh.’

I laugh, as Aaron leans in and takes my hand. It’s like a bolt of electricity surges through me at his very touch.

‘Anyway,’ he continues, suddenly looking slightly uncomfortable. ‘The real question is whether… now that you know I have a personality… you’ll kiss me?’

‘Oh hell, you did hear us!’ My face turns beetroot. ‘I can’t believe you overheard me and Reyes playing Snog, Marry, Push off a cliff.’

‘I heard a lot more than you realise.’ Aaron smiles and strokes my hand affectionately. ‘Like you and Reyes chatting about your blog – the two of you weren’t as discreet as you thought. How else do you think I knew about it?’

‘I see.’ I smile sheepishly.

‘And like Amir talking to Reyes about his plan to meet you in Hanover One tonight – do you think I just happened to turn up?’

‘Of course.’ I groan. ‘That was obviously no coincidence. But how can you overhear so much in the hotel? You’ve got a busy job.’

‘I don’t hear it all directly.’ He grins. ‘I have eyes and ears all over that place.’

‘Wait a minute.’ I eye him suspiciously. ‘Clara? Was that really an urgent internal transfer?’

‘Can’t say either way.’ His poker face is back in place.

‘You got rid of her – for me.’ My hand flies to my mouth in realisation. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Let’s just say – hypothetically – that if I were to hear of bullying in my hotel, particularly of somebody I care about, I would deal with it.’

‘Aaron, wow, I can’t believe you did that for me. Thank you.’

‘As I said, I cannot confirm, nor deny.’ Aaron does the non-committal head bob again.

‘That’s not the only thing I need to thank you for,’ I say suddenly. ‘You helped me move on from stuff I’ve been running from for years. I went back to the estate yesterday – back home. Not only did I face up to my past, I actually enjoyed it, as well. I was welcomed. I even saw my mum, and she’s sorting herself out. I’m going to visit her again in a few weeks, as long as she stays sober. I have you to thank for all that. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have done it.’

‘I’m so glad to hear that, Liv.’ Aaron caresses my fingers, one at a time. ‘But don’t give me all the credit. You took the difficult step. I just nudged you along a bit.’

‘I think it was a bit more than that.’ I smile at him. ‘It’s weird. I never knew you grew up the way you did. I always assumed because you were so successful so young, that you came from a comfortable background.’

‘You should never assume.’ Aaron shakes his head. ‘Actually, if you’d read the article you helped me with, you would have learned a bit more about me – and you might even have guessed that I was GrahamLeeton.’

‘Oh, I never saw it in the end. For obvious reasons. I hope you did yourself justice?’

‘It was certainly a lot better after your input. I’ll let you read it. You can be the judge. So, are you going to answer my question or not?’

At first, I have no idea what he’s talking about, then I clock the uncomfortable look on his face.

‘Oh, what are you… I would have kissed you anyway!’ I laugh and lean in towards him.

As our lips meet, I feel like a thousand bolts of electricity are shooting through me, letting off fireworks in my mind. Aaron’s touch is gentle, but at the same time surprisingly firm, and I find myself lost in him very quickly.

After a minute or so, I pull back as something pops into my mind.

‘Why GrahamLeeton? Why did you use another actual name when you could have made up some smooth username?’

‘I did make up a smooth username.’ He grins.

‘What? No, you didn’t.’ I look at him incredulously. ‘My friends thought you were a mass-murderer-slash-paedophile-slash-balding-late-middle-aged man.’

‘Give me your notepad.’ Aaron instructs me. ‘I’ll show you.’

I reach down, pull my notepad and pen from my bag, and hand them to him. He finds a fresh page and writes the name GrahamLeeton down in capital letters. Then, using the pen to score through one letter at a time and rewrite it underneath, he rearranges the order. I gasp as I eventually realise what he’s doing: when he’s finished, there on the page, plain as day, are the words HOTEL MANAGER.

‘It was an anagram!’ I cry.

‘Indeed, it was.’ He gives me a smug look. ‘I wondered at first if you would figure it out, but then it dawned on me that only nerdy people like me would look for things like that.’

‘I can’t believe the answer was there all the time.’ I rub my forehead in frustration.

‘Now we’ve got all that cleared up,’ says Aaron. ‘Can I buy you dinner? And a Gin Fizz to celebrate? It is your favourite, isn’t it?’

‘How did you guess?’ I give him a knowing look.

‘Eyes and ears, Liv. Eyes and ears.’ He taps his nose conspiratorially as I laugh and launch myself on him for another kiss, unable to believe that the man of my dreams was right there in front of me the whole time.

Acknowledgements

What a lot of work it takes to get a book over the line! Huge thanks to all who were instrumental in this process: my superb editors, Olivia Barber and Victoria Oundjian; and the rest of the team at Orion DASH. I’d also like to express my sincere gratitude for my ‘big break’ into the world of commercial publishing, and the honour of being one of your DASH launch authors.

To my amazing literary agent, Kate Nash. Thank you for taking me under your wing, relentlessly championing me to the publishing industry and patiently answering all my (sometimes daft) questions.

Also, to my ‘unofficial’ editor, my Dad, who despite being more accustomed to English Literature, has diligently read through my drafts and offered his ever so constructive feedback. I do apologise for making you blush at the more romantic scenes. Had I been writing anything more steamy, I might have needed to redact some sections so we could still meet each other’s eye over the table at Christmas dinner.

To James, my husband of one year (hooray!). You have been my biggest supporter, and without you, my writing dream might never have become a reality. Thank you for putting up with me, and for your input and ideas. Should the internet ever ‘break’ you’ll be very much in demand as a substitute to Wikipedia.

To my whole family, thank you for your incredible support through my ups and downs over the last five years - and not just in relation to my writing. I truly couldn’t have done it without you.

Finally, to all my wonderful friends and colleagues; thank you for coming on this journey with me. It’s much easier to take the inevitable knocks when you have so many people cheering you on from the side-lines.

One final point: to family, friends and acquaintances reading this. You are not in this book and neither am I. Though I obviously take inspiration from my experiences and surroundings, this work is very much the product of my overactive imagination - to which all my readers are kindly invited to respond with feedback.

About the Author

Nina Kaye is a Romantic Comedy author who writes fast-paced, entertaining reads with a deeper edge. Nina started writing her first novel when she was seventeen (and locked in her room, supposedly studying for her future). It was a short-lived experience that ended as soon as Nina’s exams did, but the dream of writing never left her.

Nina lives in Edinburgh with her husband and much adored side-kick, James. In addition to writing, Nina enjoys swimming, gin and karaoke (preferably all enjoyed together in a sunny, seaside destination).

Copyright

AN ORION EBOOK

First published in 2019 by Dash, an imprint of Orion Fiction

Copyright © Nina Kaye 2019

The right of Nina Kaye to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978 1 4091 9616 7

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