Newcastle, the Mournes and Silent Valley Reservoir

Murlough Beach

Panoramic of Murlough Beach in Dundrum to Newcastle

Bloody Bridge River (and Bridge)

Above and below - view from either side of Head Road heading towards Silent Valley 

Above and below - either side of the path along the reservoir wall at Silent Valley

Having lots of fun figuring out the world of blogger and amazed I've finally worked out how to label posts, add in twitter updates and feed blog posts to twitter.

Short Stories are now listed under the Short Story label and having this blog is a great challenge to keep me coming up with new ones.

Next goal is to work out how to add photos so that I can share some of the beautiful Northern Ireland countryside, including spots that have worked their way into completed and ongoing novels.

Waiting For The Sun - short story

Watching from the drawn curtains she saw the post man wend his way up and down the path of the neighbouring houses. She'd waited so long and cursed their street for being the last of the day to receive their deliveries. Anticipation pulled her to the front door and onto her path. When he walked by her gate, not even a wave of recognition from him, she tilted her head towards the sky, eyes squeezed so tight the crease in her forehead funnelled the rain down her nose, the drips collecting into a stream that ran off it and plopped down the front of her t-shirt. Allowing a deep sigh to escape, she collapsed onto her front door step, the slight porch providing some shelter. She thought how rain, water were supposed to be cleansing, instead she felt them seep into her soul, drowning her hopes. She needed to escape, free herself.

'Carole, what the hell are you doing sitting there in the rain?'

Startled by his gruff voice, she jumped up, pushing her drenched hair from her face, before crossing her ams across her chest.

'Locked myself out,' she muttered.

'Bloody typical, head in the clouds as always,' he said, pushing past her to slot his key into the lock on their front door.

'Get inside before anyone sees the state of you.'

Inside the dark hallway, he threw his bags on the floor and marched towards the kitchen.

'Don't suppose you thought to put my dinner on before you locked yourself out?' he asked.

'I was going to but remembered we'd run out of milk for your tea. I was just going to pop to the shops first.'

'Without your purse, or the keys?' he asked. She looked at him but unable to muster a response she let her gaze drop to examine the cracked tile on the kitchen floor.

'I'm heading upstairs for a shower, I'd like my dinner on the table when I get back down.'

Waiting for the confirmation, provided by the creaking floorboards on the upstairs landing, she pulled out the key hidden deep in her pocket and placed it in the drawer, before pulling pots and pans from cupboards to start the evening ritual.

Sated and dressed for his night of karaoke at the pub, he slammed the front door in his usual manner and once the reverberation settled she stalled the circular motion of her arm, let the dishcloth drop from her hand and walked from the kitchen to her bathroom. Stepping over his discarded clothing and wet towels she moved to the bath. Sealing the tub with the plug she turned on the taps and watched as the hot and cold streams collided in the pooling water, steam eventually twirling a path towards her. Reaching to the back of the cupboard, beyond the extra supplies of his preferred deodorant, shaving oil, hair gel, balms and aftershave she found the elusive pot of bath salts. Pouring a stream of it into the water, she inhaled, allowing the scented steam to wrap around her. Fetching the candles, she lit them and undressed before slipping into the hot water. Closing her eyes she rested her head against the bath and tried to lock the world out.

'What the hell's going on in here?'

Startled, her eyes flew open, her heart pumping so loudly in her chest, it echoed in her ears, drowning his words.

It didn't dull the pain, when his hands found the wet hair stuck to her neck and shoulders, when he screwed it into his fist and tugged it upwards, dragging her naked body from the shelter of the warm water. Using her hands to steady herself as he pulled her over the edge of the bath, she tried to put one foot to the hard, cold tiles but her wet skin could find no purchase. She fell.

He released his grip on her hair, transferring it to her arms.

'Why are my clothes still on the floor? Why isn't the kitchen clean and where did all those candles and shit come from?'

Unable to answer and knowing the result was inevitable, she kept her mouth closed and her eyes lowered.

'Look at me when I speak to you,' he demanded, his fist slapping her chin upwards, bashing her teeth against each other.

'Pick those clothes up.'

She gathered them in her arms, cradling them against her for cover.

His hand closed tightly around her arm, he pulled her towards the door, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Pointing at the bundle of clothing, teeth closed as he hissed his orders,

'Now put them in that bloody machine and get this mess cleaned up.'

Her eyes averted from the anger she knew would be distorting his face, she followed each command, trying to forget the exposure of her body, as the clothes left her arms for the sanctity of the washing machine. Lifting the deserted dishcloth, she resumed the washing of the table, before returning to the sink and the scrubbing of the dirty dishes.

Placing the last dish on the drainer, she heard the noises that stilled her breathing.

Belt buckle undone, button opened, zipper pulled down.

His weight pressed into her back, his hand held the back of her neck.

His breath on her ear as he whispered,

'Good job I forgot my phone or I wouldn't have discovered what a lazy, deceitful little bitch you really are, but it would be a shame to waste that clean, good smelling body.'

The hand on her neck pressed her forward, pushing her over the sink, his weight pressed harder against her and into her.

'Don't expect me back early,' he said. Buckling his belt before collecting his phone and wallet.

The door slammed.

She fought the temptation to slump to the floor.

She made her way back to the bathroom, afraid to slip back into the bath, in case he should return again, she soaked a cloth and washed his touch from her body.

Dressed, she pulled the bag from the back of the built-in wardrobe. She could wait no longer.

The rattan chair creaked as she sank into the deep cushion. Letting the sandals drop from her feet, she shook the white, sparkling sand from her feet and legs, before curling them underneath her. Lifting the scarlet red, wide brimmed hat from the glass table beside her, she placed it on her head, shading her face from the sun. Removing her sunglasses she took the iPad from her bag and connecting into the hotel's wifi, she logged into her email account. The heat from the sun warmed her, cocooned her and she smiled as she read the letter from her solicitor.

Dear Carole,

We have received confirmation that you are the sole beneficiary and that the probate of your birth mother's estate has been concluded. Taking into account the interim payment previously made to you, the remaining funds will be transferred to us by the end of the week.

We would be grateful for your instructions regarding which bank account you would like us to transmit the funds to.

We have also been contacted by the firm representing your husband. He continues to ask for details of your whereabouts, requesting an opportunity to discuss the divorce. We have refused, as per your instructions and reiterated that you want no settlement from the proceedings.

Please find enclosed details of firms in the Caribbean with whom we have association and who are willing to advise you on the investment of your funds and immigration laws should you decide to make your extended stay permanent.

Yours sincerely,

Wilsons

Progress - short story

Making her way past the mural covered walls and the painted kerbs, Ashley reached the iron gates of the park.

Dense grey clouds reigned the sky, casting an inauspicious gloom over the park. Ribbons of black tarmac crossed through the green lawns, bordered with beds of summer flowers and led through patches of woodland, heavy with leaves. A grey, concrete wall dissected the park, hiding the residents on either side from each other.

Ashley followed the tree-lined path into the open grass area, letting Gem off for her daily run. 

'Here, Gem!' The dog returned, her long ears flapping up and down as she ran, to her owner, Ashley's attention was distracted from the welcome sight, by the commotion at the wall.

Kneeling by her dog's side, wrapping arms around her, Ashley pointed to the people surrounded by cameras and news reporters. They were gathered on a path that disappeared under the wall. 'Look Gem, they're opening the gate today. Shall we watch? I'd like to see what the other side of the park is like.'

Swinging out in opposite directions the thick metal gates, revealed two children in school uniforms, one in a blue gingham dress, the other in green, each girl holding a bunch of flowers. Released by their teachers and given the nod of approval the girls walked towards each other, flowers extended. The dull day brightened by the flash of the cameras catching the moment for prosperity. The children soon hidden from view by the politicians circling them.

'Wait til ya see the news the night, they'll all be shaking hands and telling us how great we are for moving forward.'

Behind the gate, Ashley could see a rainbow coloured playground, identical to the one on her side of the wall. Stretching her gaze beyond it, Ashley saw another woman, standing in the distance, a dog by her side. 'Wonder if they like to play fetch too?' Ashley asked, as Gem whined, pushing the tennis ball at her owner. Ashley took the ball, bouncing it in her hand, 'kinda gives you some hope, doesn't it girl,' Ashley said, throwing the ball in the opposite direction, towards the tree line, watching her dog bounce in rhythm to the beat of the ball as it hit the path. 

Ashley rubbed her swollen belly as the child within drew her attention.

'Kicking me again, little one. Don't worry, won't be long until you're able to chase after Gem.'

The ball once again dropped at her feet and Gem's lead replaced, Ashley joined the path towards the gate. 

'Let's go see what all the fuss is about,' she said, watching as the politicians and children returned to their own sides and journalists began to disperse. Everyone returning to their normal routine.

'Sorry Miss.' The green, uniformed arm of the PSNI officer barred her progress. 

'I was just going to take my dog for a walk round the path,' she said, pointing to the tarmac that snaked through the open gateway and on into the other side.

'Not today.'

'I thought the gate was to be opened throughout the day?'

'Only for a few hours each day and today is just for the officials. Come back tomorrow,' he ordered, marching away from her so that he and his colleagues may close the gates, once again completing the wall.

'Come on Gem, I'm tired, let's go home.'

Opening the black glossed wooden door, Ashley and Gem entered the red brick terraced house.

'We're back Mum.'

'I'm in the kitchen. Put that dog into her bed and go sit down. I've made you a spot of lunch.'

Thanks, Mum, but there's no need.'

'Let me look after you when I'm here, dear. You should rest when you get the chance.'

'I've weeks to go yet and I'm fine.'

'Dad rang and he wants me to go back up home this afternoon.'

'Everything okay?'

'Yes, he's just fed up reheating the dinners I left for him,' her mother said, tutting as she set two bowls of soup and a plate of toast on the table. 'Listen, we both wondered if you'd come back up to the coast with me. It's so much nicer up there, this time of year and I hate the thought of you here alone during the day.'

'I'm not alone, I have Gem and Marty's home from work by 6 o'clock,' she said, slurping the hot soup.

'But darling, it's so dangerous here.'

'Mum, it's Belfast not Damascus,' Ashley said, raising her voice with her eyebrows, 'and I just watched them opening a gate in the Peace Wall down in the park.'

'You dad and I still think you should move back near us, would be a much better place for that wee baby to grow up.'

You know, Marty grew up in this street and he'd never live anywhere else, says they're the best neighbours in the country and they all watch out for each other.'

'It's not the watching that bothers me.'

'Mum, come 'ere, the park's on the news,' Ashley called, watching as the gate opened again, this time on her television screen. 'Look,' she said to her mother when she entered the room, 'see, this is a good area and that's progress for you.'

'I suppose it's a step in the right direction.'

As the two women watched, and the politicians declared the historic moment a symbol of peace and commitment to the political process, the front door opened and slammed shut.

'Ash, you here,' Marty's voice echoed in the narrow hallway.

'In the living room.' As he barged through the door and she started to explain about the gate and the park that morning, he interrupted her.

'You know those sirens we heard last night? They were for Tommy's young fella, he was bloody knee capped last night.' 

'Progress,' her mother said, shaking her head as she walked from the room.

No Strings - short story

'Cup of coffee, or something stronger?' he asks, standing over her.

'I didn't come up here for a drink,' she says, taking his hand and pulling him down on the sofa with her. 

As his hand moves along her thigh, pushing her dress up, she unbuttons his crisp, blue shirt and pushes it from his shoulders. Sitting up she raises the short, black dress over her head, relishing the feel of his lips as they find hers again. Fingers tease nipples, taut against the material of her thin, lace bra. When she frees him from his jeans, he groans, standing up and pulling her with him.

She follows his lead to a masculine black and silver bedroom, in the centre of which is a large iron bed, the metal intricately entwined in a gothic design. Removing his remaining clothes, he begins to trail kisses, from her mouth to her shoulder, he unclips her bra and lays her on the bed, his mouth turning its attention to her breasts.

Tilting her face to meet his, he lowers his lips to hers again. The kiss is intoxicating, hands firing every nerve cell in her body and she arches her naked body to meet his.

Unable to ignore the incessant beeping and vibrating, Jenna answers her mobile, 'Hi Lou.'

'Don't “Hi Lou” me, why didn't you text me this morning or return my calls? I've been worried sick about you.'

'Sorry, been manic, and I'm a big girl, you don't need to check up on me.'

'You left us in the club to go home with a total stranger. He could've been a serial killing maniac, all I wanted was one text to know you're still alive.'

'He's no serial killer and I'm very much alive and kicking, just a bit tired.'

'Is that your way of telling me you got no sleep last night?'

'Possibly.'

'Oh come on, stop stalling, dish the dirt on tall dark and sexy.'

'I'm in work, not the best place for a phone call dissecting my sex life.'

'Fancy coming round to mine tonight then?'

'Not tonight.'

'Got plans with Sexy Stranger have you?'

'No, I don't think I'll be seeing him again.'

'Why not, he's bloody gorgeous and looks like he's got a few quid?'

'I didn't give him my number and I didn't stay the night.'

'I knew he was too hot to be good. He made you leave, didn't he?'

'No,' Jenna says, 'I left when he fell asleep.'

'Hang on a minute,' Lou says, 'Am I speaking to Jenna Williams? The Jenna who never has one night stands, who practically needs a CV and references to go out with a bloke and who's always berating me for my bad taste in men?'

'It's me and I'm not that bad.'

'It's not bad,' Lou says, 'you just like to play it safe. I guess I'm a bit shell shocked, that's all. You sure you're okay?'

'I'm fine, just needed to do something different, he was in the right place at the right time and we had an amazing night but I don't need any complications.'

'I've got enough of those to do us both, but I'll tell you about that later. I better get on with some work. See you Saturday? Not going to change that pattern too are you?'

'No,' Jenna says, 'I'll see you there, same as always.'

'Must I go to this meeting tomorrow?' Jenna asks.

'You know I need you there. It's taken months to negotiate this merger and the whole point of it is to get us a piece of Steadmans market share,' John says. 'You're the head of the department, in the one area we most need their influence, and it's going to take time and patience to merge our teams. I need you there to hammer out the finer details of how it's going to work.'

'Fine, but I have a trial at the end of the week and if we aren't prepared I'm blaming you.'

'You'll be prepared, you always are.'

'Wish that was true,' Jenna says.

'You know how valued you are here,' John says, 'and we've promised to support you through this, I wouldn't be pushing this extra work onto you, if I didn't need you there.'

'Fine, leave the agenda with me.'

Unpacking the case files she'd brought home, Jenna spreads them out on the floor of her study, her cat interrupting her thoughts, by rubbing against her and meowing loudly.

'Is it dinner time Maisy?,' an even louder purr resounds, followed by head butting against Jenna's bent knee, 'okay, I suppose sorting through this lot can wait for five minutes.'

Following Maisy to the kitchen, she fills a bowl with the desired kibble.

'Right, that's you happy. What about me? What's going to satisfy me? That's the burning question.'

Back in her study, Jenna studies the file in front of her whilst pushing her microwaved ready meal round a plate, with a fork. Maisy, curled up on a bed at her feet, purring in contentment.

'I'm really going to have to start looking after myself a bit better now, aren't I girl?' Jenna asks, reaching down to rub Maisy's head, 'This merger couldn't have come at a worse time, if only John could manage without me tomorrow. Wish I could tell him that after fifteen years, his youngest equity partner, has lost her enthusiasm for the job, but don't think he'd appreciate that, especially in the current circumstances.' 

Jenna waits in the foyer with John, to greet the Managing Partner of Steadmans.

'Mark, good to see you,' John says, walking towards the man entering the door, reaching out a hand in greeting. 

'Jenna, this is Mark Steadman.'

She steps forward, and the two shake hands. 

'Right, let's head up to the conference room and then we can take a tour round,' John says.

'My brother, Zac, will be joining us as well, but afraid he got caught up in traffic.'

'No problem,' John says, 'Jenna, I'll take Mark upstairs, would you speak to reception please and make sure they show Zac up to the conference room, when he arrives?'

'Zac is the head of litigation in Steadmans,' Mark explains to Jenna, 'so, when he gets here, he'd like to discuss the structure in your department, what sort of case management system you have, so we can work out how to bring our teams together.'

'I can take him down to the department, show him round, introduce him to the other solicitors and show him an example of how we use case management.'

'Great, he's supposed to be bringing samples with him of how we work, and we're hoping you'll visit our offices as well to undertake the same exercise.'

'Jenna's time is particularly limited now and for the next few months,' John says, 'but I'm sure we  can work something out.'

A knock at the door interrupts the conversation and Marie, one of the receptionists, opens it, 'Zac Steadman,' she says, stepping aside.

Mark and John stand up but Jenna remains seated, unable to force her legs into action.

'Sorry I'm late,' Zac says.

'This is John, the Managing Partner,' Mark says, 'and Jenna, your counterpart here.'

She gathers herself, smoothing the fabric of her dress over her stomach as she stands up. Zac reaches out his hand and Jenna accepts it, unsure whether to answer his look. She tries to draw her gaze from those lips she had so enjoyed, and when she reaches his eyes she finds them fixed on her swollen belly.

Feeling the child within kick, as if in recognition, Jenna tries to concentrate on John's words.

'We're hoping you two will work closely to amalgamate your departments. We need it sorted and cover provided for Jenna, before she takes her maternity leave.'

'And when are you due to leave?' Zac asks, 'So I know what sort of timetable we're working too.'

'I'll be here for another eight weeks, so plenty of time resolve any issues,' she says.

'Let's hope there won't be any issues to resolve,' Zac says, stepping back and taking a seat.

Two hours later, and, after a coffee break, Jenna is desperate for the meeting to end, 'if that's all for today, I better get back to my department.'

'Take Zac with you,' John says, 'Mark and I will be along in a few minutes.'

In the corridor, Jenna marches towards the stairs with as much speed as her body will allow, but there is no escape.

'Jenna, stop,' he says placing a hand on her shoulder. 'It is you, isn't it?'

'Depends on who you think I am,' she says.

'A woman I spent an amazing night with, but who disappeared like Cinderella, except my Cinders didn't leave any clues.'

'That was months ago. Can we just forget it?'

'Six and a half months to be exact.'

'You've got a good memory,' she says.

'Some things are hard to forget,' he says, reaching out to touch her face.

'Stop it,' Jenna says, stepping back, 'this isn't appropriate.'

'Why? Is there someone else? You must have found him quickly, or maybe I was just one of many?'

'It's not, I'm not, like that.'

'What is it like then?'

'Do you really want to know? Do you really want me to stand here and say I felt like taking a risk, got caught up in the moment, had a one night stand, no strings attached sex. But, turns out there were lots of strings attached.'

'What are you two doing, still up here? Thought we'd find you downstairs by now,' John says, walking along the corridor towards them. 'Come on, let's get you two down to litigation, it's your baby after all.'

A Bit Of Water - short story

'I am not going out in that,' she declared, pointing at the rain hammering the window, 'to do some boring report on dam safety.'

'A bit of water never hurt anyone and the sun will be shining by the time you get there.'

She pivoted on her stiletto heels to make her exit.

'Do this and I'll give you the music awards.'

Sensing weakness she moved for the kill.

'All areas and sole presenter.'

'Well...I'm not sure...'

'I'm not sharing.'

'Fine, just get the dam report done and there's a few more local interest stories I need you to cover.'

'Bridget, carry my bag,' she shouted, throwing the weighty tote at the newest crew member. Tapping furiously at her phone she redialed the number again. 'Connor, finally, I've been ringing you all morning.'

'Yeah, sorry Julie, I'm in a meeting, just stopped for a coffee break.' 

'Good, in that case you'll be free to get on the phone and reserve a table at Diva for tonight.'

'We'll never get a table on such short notice.'

'You will and you better.'

'I'm with clients, I can't. Why don't you do it?'

'Because I'm in the middle of shooting a report about the imminent danger of this dam bursting, a bit more pressing than your clients.'

 'Tonight's no good anyway, I've got that corporate do.'

'If your clients are more important to you than me, you needn't think I'm going to put in an appearance at a boring office with your suits.'

'Give me a break.'

'Sounds good to me, get your stuff out of my flat, tonight.'

'Jules, this will do. Good lighting and background.'

'It's Julie and I'm reporting from over there, make it work.' Bloody camera-men, think they know everything, she thought, clipping along the tarmac path that surrounded the top of the dam wall. Glowering at the dark clouds nestling over the surrounding mountains she warned them not to top-up the reservoir until she'd escaped it's cold, gloomy clutches. Wrestling with the wind-blown papers, she memorised the script, only part of the UK with no regulations for dams and she was standing atop the largest of them. She was counting the days until the music awards and the moment a national network discovered her. Who cared about dams that had been there for a hundred years? Celebrities, that's were the real news was.

The lights glared, the cameras flashed, crew and presenters jostling in their cattle pen for the best position and chance to grab the A-list celebrities parading in front of them. Julie watched from her  tower, the princess she knew she was born to be, positioned above those who considered themselves her peers, but she was beyond their reach now, spotted by the sponsors and elevated, there would be no more shivering in the rain or smiles for nobodies from nowhere, her provincial nightmare was over. Turning her back on them, she used her compact mirror to rehearse the questions for the exclusive interviews only she would get to present. Dreaming of the moment she'd finally get to meet her peers and joining the A-list she knew she belonged to, she didn't hear the roar, didn't see the people below scatter, didn't see the water that hit the scaffolding on which her glass box was perched.

Alone in the studio, the editor viewed the memorial reel, beginning with the news of the unprecedented flood after the Victorian dam broke, footage of the water following the man-made channel through the city, missing the redeveloped quays and emptying into the docks. The anchor  explaining how the event organisers failed to consult the city plans and erected the scaffolding too close to the channel. Julie, the only casualty when gallons of water caught the edge of her metal and glass tower, pulling it into the churning mass. Then a segue to Julie's last report, the one on the lack of regulation and concerns over dam safety, before flicking to a series of clips and finishing on a still of her. Pulling up the dam report he listened to Julie's final comment again, a smile teasing the corner of his lips.

'The reservoir is full and, despite the saturated ground and current heavy downpours, I'm assured it's as sound as the day it was built. So take my word for it, this dam will be around longer than me.'

Twisted Truth - Chapter One

PART ONE

Chapter One

London, September 2000

This is what happens when your best friend disappears, your mother is driving you loopy and work is taking over your life. You go out with a group of crazy friends, drink far too much, especially when it's only mid-week, and wake-up to find you aren't in your own bed and all you're wearing is yesterday's make-up and some hairy arm. Trying to peel the offending arm off my stomach and roll out off the bed undetected, I cursed Katie for lining up all those shots and myself for not making a 3 am flit. Picking up my clothes I tip-toed from the room, steadied myself against a sofa and dressed. I couldn't make a walk-of-shame into work wearing the same clothes as yesterday so I'd have to make a dash home and change first. Whichever battle I went for, over-stuffed Tube or taxi stuck in rush-hour traffic, I was going to be late and that was the last thing I needed.

I confronted the multi-coloured files piled on the floor, some bound with layers of elastic bands to keep their contents contained, all looking as precarious as the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Groaning as I did so, I downed another two paracetamol, and faced the task in front of me. It was time to enlist some help. Lifting several files, I carried them into the main room of the litigation department, where identical desks filled the centre of the room, divided into cubicles with low partitions. Each contained a paralegal, secretary or office junior and the soft beat of fingers on keyboards and reassuring calls being made to clients, could be heard all around me. Then one voice sounded above the others, sterner, negotiating with an opposing firm. Catching the eye of the negotiator, I made a silent check that she was okay and, on receiving a thumbs up and an assured nod, I continued with my task.

'Got a few jobs for you this morning,' I said, dumping the files on the desk of Carl, my trainee solicitor. 'The trial's looming on this TMC case and we're far from ready. I want you to go through these documents that Alex faxed over from Malaysia, highlight every mention of the product specification, then do the same with this list TMC (UK) gave us. Once you've done that ring our barrister and let him know if there are any conflicts in the spec.'

'Can I do it this afternoon?' he asked. 'I've already been asked to check a disclosure list on another case.'

'Absolutely not,' I said, leafing through the pages of the file.

'But, I was told this other list is urgent.'

'I don't care. You're my trainee and TMC takes precedence over everything. Don't forget that.'

Carl opened his mouth and for one moment I thought he was going to implore me again, but then he closed it and turned his attention to the pages in front of him.

As I explained the rest of the task, giving him time to take notes, one of the paralegals, sitting by my office door, interrupted me.

'Charlotte, your phone's ringing.'

Leaving Carl, I rushed to answer the call.

'Good morning, Brightman Russell, Charlotte Gordon.'

‘Zara Lawrence for you,’ the receptionist said.

‘Thank God. Put her through.’

‘Where the hell have you been?' I said, reaching across and slamming the office door, 'I've been calling you for over a week.’

‘I can't wait to fill you in on all the details,’ she began.

'You can start by explaining where you've been,' I interrupted, 'do you have any idea how much grief I've had for the last week? Your mum has been hassling mine, who's been driving me mad every day asking if I've heard from you. If I hadn't checked with your office and found out you'd told them you were going on holiday, Sally would have reported you as missing.'

'I know. When I got back and turned my phone on there were about a thousand messages from her.'

'So where have you been,' I asked again, 'and why didn't you answer your phone?'

‘I've been with Toby. Can you believe it? He took me to Mauritius for a week on a last minute holiday. I actually went on holiday in October, one of the busiest times of the year for any label. I must be mad.’

I sat back in my chair, trying to comprehend what she'd said.

‘Charlotte, are you still there?’

I broke out of my stunned silence and realised I was sitting with my mouth agape, ‘Yes, I'm here. You went to Mauritius with Toby, Toby Matthews?’

‘It was wonderful. Such a beautiful island, not that we saw that much of it.’

'That's so typical of you, make some rash decision without a second thought to anyone else. You need your head read.'

'That's not fair. I'm entitled to a life and I don't have to answer to you.'

'No you don't,' I said, pacing up and down the room, 'but a one-second phone call before you went would have been nice.'

'I don't need this. I've already had the lecture from mum.'

'Considering how much earache she's given me this week I hope she ate you,' I said, slipping into the Northern Irish accent in my annoyance.

'Please, can we not row? I've had the most amazing time but since I came home everyone's been yelling at me.'

'Look, I'm sorry,' I said closing my eyes briefly and rubbing my temple. 'I'm under a lot of pressure with this case and I could have done without our mothers stressing out. Besides, you kind of deserve it for just disappearing, especially as you went with someone you've only known for two weeks.’

'Who knew throwing you a birthday party would give me such a great present?' She said, daring to giggle.

'You don't know him. How could you go on holiday with a stranger?'

‘You trust him. You've worked together for so long and you're the one who told me he's a nice bloke. I'm completely head over heels about him, love at first sight.’

‘Zara, you don't seriously believe that. It's just a rush of hormones and we both know the trouble they can get us into.’

‘Do you have any romance in you?’ she said, making it easy to picture the pout she would be pulling at me.

‘No, and I thought you had more sense,’ I said, perturbed at the level of glee in Zara's voice. It was always my job to be the rational one, to pick up the pieces after she rushed into the world's greatest love affair.

‘Stop being such a grump. I thought at least you'd be pleased for me?’

‘I just don't want you to rush headlong into this and end up regretting it.’

‘Please trust me, I know what I'm doing,' she said, the plea in her voice obvious.

'I'm not convinced you do.' I said.

‘We're hoping you would come over to my flat tonight and have dinner with us?’ She said, ignoring my last remark.

Oh great, a cosy dinner party with a loved-up couple, plus one, just what I needed. Could I get out of it?

‘Dinner.' I said. 'You mean you're actually going to cook?’

‘I can cook when I want to, I've just never wanted to very often.’

‘Are you going all domestic goddess on me now?' I asked, sighing as I collapsed into my ergonomic chair.

‘Come over tonight, please? I really want you to spend time with us and see what Toby means to me.’

‘Okay, if you insist but I'm warning you if the food is burnt I won't pretend that it's mouthwatering.’

‘My place at half eight sharp then.’ She hung up before I could protest or tease her about her horrendous cooking any further.

Having stayed in the office until seven o'clock I was in a rush to get from Holborn to my flat in Marylebone so that I could change out of my stifling, tailored work suit into something more comfortable. A confrontation with another solicitor in the department, who'd been the one responsible for trying to poach Carl's time, left me needing to wind down. Searching my wardrobe I found my favourite jeans, a casual top and threw them on the bed, collapsing alongside them. Come on Charlotte, I thought trying to motivate myself to move. Forgetting my earlier grouchy behaviour towards Zara, I put a smile on my face, dressed and headed for my small kitchen and its well stocked wine rack.

The tube ride from Marylebone to Farringdon was a short one. It was too early for the Friday night revellers and late enough to have given the rush of commuters time to escape the city for the weekend, so the stations and train were quiet. No rush for the carriage the second the doors swooshed open, no nose shoved into the armpit of the next person, even empty seats, but still the requirement to look downwards for the fear of catching the eyes of the person sitting opposite me, whilst clutching my wine bottle. By the time I made the short walk to Zara's Clerkenwell flat I was a few minutes late. After leaning on the buzzer and getting no reply I tried Zara's mobile number, it rang and rang. I was giving up on her, and my smile fading, when an answer finally came over the intercom. I was surprised to hear Toby's voice. It made him seem very at home in her flat.

‘Come on up, Charlotte, Zara's just doing her hair, again.’ Toby laughed in a way that hinted at a private joke.

When Zara opened the front door, she was adjusting her clothes, making it obvious what the private joke had been. Clearly it was a good job I hadn't arrived on time.

‘Getting a bit hot in the kitchen was it?’

‘Perhaps a bit hot and steamy. That's why I've had to chain Toby to the hob and let him make dinner tonight.’

‘See, I'm bewitched and enslaved already,’ Toby shouted from the kitchen.

I handed Zara a bottle of wine and followed her, noticing how she slipped her arm around Toby's waist, when she reached across him to place the bottle on the kitchen counter.

'So, Mauritius?' I asked them.

'It was amazing,' Zara said, 'so green, gorgeous, quiet beaches, everyone was so friendly, although football mad, they even have a town called Arsenal.'

'Shame about their choice of teams,' Toby grumbled.

'It's given me so much inspiration for a new line,' she continued with enthusiasm, 'come and see the drawings I've been working on.'

Zara took me to her study, where the walls, floor and desk were littered with sketches of clothes, coloured in a variety of rich, vibrant colours.

'I'm picturing them teamed with denims and whites for the summer.'

'But I thought you'd just shown your summer range at the fashion shows.'

'I did, but Frivolous have been asked to do a range for the High Street, aimed at the teenagers and twenty something market. I think these would be perfect.'

'They look amazing, as always.'

She started shuffling through drawings and a silence hung between us.

'Listen, about this morning...' I began.

'It's okay, I understand why everyone is upset with me. It was stupid not to let someone know where I was going.'

'Has Sally calmed down yet?'

'You know mum, always a crisis to get hysterical over. She's busy stressing about Toby now.'

'Who's stressing about me?' Toby asked, appearing in the doorway.

'I told you mum's been quizzing me about you. She threatening ringing you now,' she said, looking in my direction.

'Me? What have I got to do with it?'

'I told her you were trainee solicitors together and stayed at the same firm, she thinks you'll be able to reassure her I've not gone crazy.'

'Sounds like I've got some bribing to do,' Toby said, smiling and ushering us to the table with outstretched arms, 'dinner is served.'

'So how long have you known each other?' Toby asked, as we sat round the table.

'Too long,' we both replied, smiling at the well worn response.

'I lived a quiet life with my mum and dad, happily ignorant of the madness in this world, up until the age of four,' I said, looking at Toby and not daring to let my eyes dart to Zara, one look would have spoilt my calm exterior, 'then this rowdy family moved in next door, and my innocent life was changed forever.'

'You mean, thank God Zara moved in next door and brought some excitement into my life,' she said.

'Excitement? Mayhem and trouble, more like.'

'Do you remember that time I used mum's mascara on your Sindy doll?' Zara asked.

'Do I ever, she was my favourite and you gave her a mask of scratchy black lines. Reminded me of a spider every time I looked at her.'

'And you just love those eight-legged horrors,' she said wiggling her fingers upside down in my face.

'So, Toby said, 'you'll be able to fill me in on all of her deep, dark secrets.'

Before I could answer, Zara replied.

'Not a chance.' Throwing me a warning look she continued, 'I know all the skeletons in her past, she can't reveal mine without risking her own re-appearing.'

'So, there are some then?' Toby asked.

'No way,' I said, 'we've been single in London for over ten years, we're as white and pure as fresh snow.'

'Okay, I get the hint, don't start a conversation that could lead to stories about ex-boyfriends.'

'I've nothing to hide from you,' Zara said, smiling at Toby, 'and Charlotte doesn't do boyfriends so there are no exe's, well apart from one,' she said looking in my direction again.

'Who's the mystery ex then?' Toby asked.

'Mark...'

'We are not having that conversation,' I said, stopping Zara.

'I thought the whole no relationships thing was for the benefit of the office, no mixing work and pleasure.' Toby said.

'Does that mean the rumours are true?' I asked.

'What rumours?' Toby asked, unable to meet my stare.

'They were taking bets on whether I was a lesbian, because I go to the office parties alone and won't go out with anyone at work.'

'You heard about that?'

I nodded.

'I stopped it when I found out,' he said. 'Told them they didn't know anything about you.'

'So now they call me The Ice Queen. So original.'

'Are you serious?' Zara asked.

I raised an eyebrow at her but Toby explained for me. 'Everyone in work knows how driven you are and I'm the only one left who trained with you, who remembers the girl who likes a drink, a party and can smile at people other than clients and senior partners.'

'Do me a favour and keep those memories to yourself in the office,' I said.

'Right, goodbye Ice Queen Charlotte,' Zara interrupted, a well-aimed tap to the shin emphasising her point. 'I'd like you to stop scaring my boyfriend and allow nice, happy, friendly Charlotte back in the room please.'

'No more work talk,' I said lifting my glass and chinking it against Toby's. 'Let's just enjoy the rest of the evening.'

Having filled ourselves with good food and rich wine, I stood to help clear the table .

'We'll do that,' Zara insisted, putting her hands on my hips and propelling me towards an armchair. Toby set my wine glass on a table beside me and returned to help Zara. Having seen their ease with each other throughout the evening, little gestures, such as the way he would brush the hair from her face, and watching as she now playfully tickled his sides as he carried the dishes to the kitchen, it was difficult to deny their happiness.

Toby returned from the kitchen with another bottle of wine, and was about to refill my glass.

'No more wine,' I groaned placing a hand over the top of it,' I've got to go home, too much to do in the morning to have another stinking hangover.'

'Another?' Zara asked.

'Don't ask.' I replied, not wanting to start a conversation that would reveal my whereabouts last night, or this morning.

'Just one more?' Toby asked, the bottle hovering over my hand and the covered glass.

'Much as I'd like to, no.'

I drank the last mouthful of wine and stood up, reaching for my coat and bag.

'But, before I go I want a word with you,' I said turning to Zara.

'Why? What have I done now?'

'Girl talk time,' I said.

'That's got to be my cue to get out of here,' Toby said, before hugging me and running for the safety of the kitchen.

I headed for the door with Zara following me.

‘Okay, this is me climbing off my high horse and admitting it. You look happy,’ I said.

‘Do I see a chink in that cynical armour?'

'Not a chance. I still think love is all hormones and fairy-tales.'

'One day it will catch you again and then you'll understand.'

'Better keep-up the training then, so I can outrun it.'

'Well I'm going to lie here and soak it up,' she said.

'I know this is new and exciting but please don't start dreaming of weddings and castles. I don't want to see either of you nursing a broken heart.'

'I'll try,' Zara said, 'but it's easy to daydream, he's so important to me already and it feels right.'

'I knew it was a bad idea when you read that Bridget Jones book,' I replied. 'Listening to that heart of yours gets you into trouble too often.'

She wrapped her arms around me and I returned the familiar gesture. Before wishing each other goodbye, she whispered, 'I wish you could remember how to listen to yours.'