New Year at the Ritz. Nikki Moore
'Well, it sounds cool, but who do you think is behind it?' Kate's voice was cautious and Frankie was reminded of their teenage years in Southampton, the mornings they'd sit in the back of Kate's mum's people carrier, Kate's younger brothers chattering away while the girls talked about school and boys and Kate's mum would add in dry, no-nonsense comments. They were fond memories and sometimes Frankie missed those years, when life had been simpler, though they hadnât known it back then. As teens, everything had felt intense and dramatic and like the world would implode if the boy they had a crush on didnât like them back or the Topshop dress they were after wasnât in stock, or if they got a C grade for an essay instead of an A.
âYou still there?â Kate asked.
'Yes, sorry. I don't know who it is.' Frankie frowned, opening her eyes.
'Oh, come on! It'll be someone you know, it has to be. Delivered to your home address, your favourite perfume? And that donât be late comment.'
'What do you mean?'
'Come on Frankie, you're late for everything. Whoever sent it knows you.' Pausing. 'D'you think the letter could be from Christian?'
Frankie's short square gold nails dug into her palms. 'Unlikely. I haven't heard from him since we broke up. Even when I went to get my stuff once I was up to it, he wasnât around. He wasnât interested in seeing me. I think he took me ending it with him pretty badly. So I doubt it very much. Besides, he's in Bali at the moment.'
'Oh, yes. You missed out there on the holiday in paradise. But then again, money isnât everything.'
'Yes, thatâs what I keep telling myself.' Frankie muttered, scowling at the peeling ceiling above her head.
'Whatâs that? Is everything okay?â
Yeah, just hunky-dory. I live in a rough part of London, have no money, a job I can barely tolerate, debts coming out of my ears, and will probably end up with severe pneumonia because of the insane damp climbing my walls. But apart from that, itâs all good.
âFrankie?â Kateâs voice was strained, âYouâre worrying me.â
Self-pity is not attractive! Frankie gave herself a proverbial kick up the arse. You have your health back, your independence and the freedom to make choices. More than some people have. She made her voice breezy. âIgnore me, everything is fine.â
âOkay. If you say so.â Kate said dubiously, but let Frankie off the hook. âIf itâs not Christian, who else could it be?â
âI donât know. Davey?â
âI thought he was gay?â
'Oh, he totally is, but it could be his idea of a joke.â She sucked in her cheeks, considering the options. âOr maybe a way to remind me romance isnât dead?â
âSounds a bit mean to me. Or a bit extreme, sending you on what could be a wild chase across the city. Do you really think heâd do that?â
âI- hmmm, maybe not. I donât know. The hand-writing doesnât look like his though.â Her side was aching, so she repositioned the cushion behind her head and crossed her ankles, resting them on the opposite arm of the sofa.
âAny other likely suspects?' Kate quizzed.
âNo, I-,â she hesitated.
âWhat?'
'There is a guy at work. Butâ¦no.â
âWho? And why not?â
âZack. He started a few months ago. Heâs a sweetheart and we get on really well. But there isnât a spark, and Iâm not sure if the letter is his style.' Shaking her head, âNah, I canât see it. We're just friends and Iâve not given him any reason to think otherwise. Besides, itâs too soon.â
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