Page 16 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

On the plus side, it seems there’s plenty of financial crime to keep me busy in the UK. I’ve pretty much stopped taking jobs abroad because – despite what she has to say on the subject – I don’t like to leave Gran alone.

After her very mild heart attack last year (her words) I’ve been trying hard to get her to stick to the lifestyle changes that the doctor suggested. Predictably, it hasn’t gone well. Her blood pressure is still too high, and her cholesterol is as well. She might be an expert in the art of hedonism, but she’s not good at taking care of herself. As evidenced by the note she left on the fridge door as soon as I was out of the way.

I’m sorting my clothes out to be taken to the dry cleaners, when my phone rings. Adrian’s name flashes across the screen.

‘Hi,’ his deep voice rings out. ‘You managed to escape at a reasonable hour then?’

‘Yes.’ I put the phone on speaker and place it on top of the bed as I carry on sorting. ‘It was all relatively straightforward in the end.’

‘I’m glad… you’ve really been putting the hours in lately,’ Adrian says sympathetically.

We’ve been seeing each other for about three months now and I think it’s going well. He’s a partner in a law firm with his own busy life and he’s exactly the sort of man I should be dating – steady, reliable, a proper grown up. So far we’ve kept things very casual, and it suits both of us.

‘It’s been a lot of work,’ I agree. I’ve ducked out on more than one date in the last couple of weeks in favour of wrestling with the numbers involved.

‘Now, about tonight…’

‘Sorry, I don’t think I can make dinner. I don’t want to leave Gran on her own at the moment.’ It’s only a little white lie. Sometimes people don’t respond well to the truth: that I’ve spent too much time out in the world, and I need quiet and alone time to recharge my battery. I know it can sound like a brush off, even when it’s not.

‘Oh. Okay,’ Adrian says, but the sympathy is gone and he sounds almost sulky.

‘How was your week?’ I ask, changing the subject, and he embarks on a lengthy description of some obscure piece of contract law that requires little input from me – the occasional hum of agreement or ‘Oh, really?’ – so I can carry on sorting through my laundry.

Eventually, he says he needs to go and jump on a Zoom call with a client in New York.

‘I’ll see you at the weekend?’ he asks.

‘Yes, please. If the weather’s nice we could go for a walk?’ I try to sound conciliatory, making an effort. ‘Pub lunch?’

‘Perfect.’

By the time we hang up I’ve pretty much finished with my tidying and I’m at a blissfully loose end. I stretch my arms over my head and roll my shoulders, allowing some of the tension to run out of me. When I log on to the computer in my office I find an email waiting for me from Tara and I grin at the subject line: SMUTTY MC SMUTFEST.

Tara is probably my closest friend, and despite the fact she only lives a four-hour drive away in York, we’ve never actually met in person. We were first introduced in an online book club during the pandemic when we both hated the chosen – deeply misogynistic – book with the fire of a thousand suns. While everyone else was raving about the powerful imagery, I felt like I must have totally missed the point.

Tara got into a heated debate with another reader, and when he started in on his derision for the entire romance genre, I actually felt annoyed enough to chime in for the first time (camera off, naturally). This only fired Tara up further, culminating in her telling the man he could ‘suck it’. At that point things unravelled somewhat, and Tara and I were ejected from the meeting.

Afterwards, Tara messaged me asking if I wanted to start a new book group with her – one where we read books that were actually fun.

And so the ‘Reading Between the Wines’ book club was born, and it didn’t take long for my friendship with Tara to spill over from the monthly meetings. Now it’s rare for a day to go by without us messaging or calling each other.

I click through to her most recent email and after a lengthy – and very funny – account of her latest online dating disaster there’s a list of suggestions for our next book group read.

Sal has suggested again that we try a monster romance, and I know you don’t think it’s going to be your cup of tea, but I say we give it a go FOR SCIENCE. I can tell them to pick something without too many tentacles or whatever. Monster light?

I grin and dash off a quick reply, commiserating on the terrible date and including a link to an article I read recently about how single women live longer.

Re monster romance – let’s go for it, I add at the bottom, and tell Sal they’re free to choose what they like. If we’re going to do it, let’s COMMIT. All the sexy tentacles!

I scan through the rest of my emails. Mixed in with the usual stuff there are a couple of work enquiries that have somehow found their way to my personal account, and one with the subject line HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

I frown and click through. For the second time in my life, the photo knocks all the air out of my lungs.

Above the picture of me in Nico’s arms, there’s a flashing banner that reads:

HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY!!!!!!!!!

And below it there’s a voucher code for a discount on merch. For only $29.99 I can own a mug with the photograph on it. There’s also the option of T-shirts, socks, tote bags and a mouse mat, all with my stupid, beaming face on them.