Chapter Seven

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On my Tuesday morning bus ride to work, I’m devising a speech. A sort of script as to what I’ll tell Scarlett and Helen about my failure to call Liam.

Since they’re both women who don’t understand social awkwardness, I need to come up with a really good excuse. Preferably something so brilliant it prevents them from ever bringing up the subject again. I could tell them I had a family crisis, which isn’t exactly a lie considering my conversation with Mum. But that won’t stop them from suggesting I try to call him again.

Or I could pretend I did give him a ring and that I did ask him out, but he turned me down. But that won’t stop Scarlett from asking him about it and finding out that it never happened.

What else can I do? I can’t tell Scarlett the truth about why I really bought the new underwear, and why I’m volunteering at Oxfam.

I can’t tell her that I’m too scared to ask Liam out because that step doesn’t even appear until the end of Olivia Bright’s list, after I’ve done all the other confidence-enriching things first.

And I certainly can’t tell her that part of my apprehension about talking to Liam is not because of any social awkwardness or because I think he’s way out of my league. It’s because I’m still calling him Bublé-Face in my head, and I know that I’m going to end up calling him the stupid nickname to his pretty-boy face if I ever speak to him again.

That might be a little bit of an overreaction. Never speaking to him may be difficult if I don’t figure out what my dream job is and I’m stuck working at Window Shine forever.

My bus pulls in the city-centre station, and I realise that I haven’t come up with anything that’s going to help.

When I get to the office, Helen and Scarlett are both already sitting at their desks—our boss nowhere to be seen as usual.

I dump my stuff and head off to make a cup of tea before either of them can say anything. That way, when they do start interrogating me, at least I’ll have a brew to calm me down.

Standing in the little kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, it occurs to me that I do have another option here. It’s possible I could get away with telling Scarlett that the number she gave me for Liam didn’t work.

I could act really nonchalant about it and say something like, “Oh it’s no big deal. He’s probably changed his number.”

And then everyone would forget about it. Even Scarlett might not bother saying anything to him about why he’d changed his number without telling her. They only went on one date.

But then I think about what she said yesterday. What if they’re really close and Scarlett didn’t tell me because she didn’t want me to feel threatened by their relationship?

There’s no escape, is there? I mean, apart from throwing myself out the emergency exit and legging it down the stairwell, never to be heard from again.

Actually that might not be such a bad idea…

Oh God. I can’t believe I’m considering this.

I stir my tea and take a deep breath before carrying it back to my desk.

The two women are deep in conversation about a new quick-drying nail polish. Hopefully that will keep them distracted long enough for me to think of something to say. Or maybe they’ve forgotten entirely?

I switch on my computer and check my email, then sneak a glimpse at my daily online horoscope. When I eventually get to the pile of papers in my in-tray, the office has fallen silent.

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