Bella Summer Takes a Chance by Michele Gorman Page A

illuminated against the deeply shadowed vaulted ceiling.
    ‘Nothing is wrong, Spatzl . I’m just telling you not to be so naïve. You’re like a baby in the forest. In real life it’s not fairy tales–’
    Her admonishment was cut off when Faith pounced on us. ‘So sorry I’m tardy,’ she sang, obviously not sorry at all. ‘I was waylaid. And I had to drop my bags at the cloakroom. Long queue. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.’ She meant she’d been shopping. Faith was a marketer’s dream, wielding her credit cards in the face of all drama. Misadventures in her job ensured she was always on fashion’s cutting edge. On her salary, it was a good thing her parents had a city flat that they let her live in for nearly nothing. Otherwise she’d have to hang her latest purchases in the cardboard box she’d call home under London Bridge.
    ‘Hello, Faith,’ Kat said. ‘Nice to join us. Sorry to hit and run but I promised James I’d be home by eight to look after the children. Tonight’s poker night. Good night, Suesse , have fun, Faith.’
    ‘But Kat,’ Faith moaned. ‘You can’t leave now, we haven’t had a chance to talk!’
    ‘That’s because you are an hour late.’ Kat could imagine no higher sin. It was a good thing she loved Faith. ‘I forgive you but I must go. We’ll see each other again soon.’ She kissed us both, gathered her things and hurried off to relieve her husband.
    ‘Did you already go to the talk?’ Faith asked, watching Kat hurry to the tall glass doors. ‘Tsch, it’s a shame I couldn’t get here earlier. Though I found the most divine skirt, and it was virtually free, so that’s some consolation. Clare’s not here yet?’
    I confirmed that she was due any minute.
    ‘Good. How bad was your day?’
    It was our standard introduction to nights out together. My job was boring and therefore my bitching was boring. But Faith had one of the world’s most interesting awful jobs.
    It was her lifelong dream to be an investigative reporter. At first she contributed stories to a local weekly, which had a circulation around the size of a seven-year-old’s paper route. She got her break three years ago, landing a staff job at a larger paper, but her euphoria was short-lived. As the most junior of cub reporters, her assignments were not career-building.
    ‘We had our presentation yesterday,’ I said. ‘As predicted, the clients’ eyes glazed over. Of course, it was really gratifying to feel like I was talking to the walls. But at least they didn’t ask any questions. Clare was right, once again. We could have screwed everything up and they’d only care that we didn’t go over budget. We’re just overpriced scapegoats. They’re happy whether we make their business better or worse. When it goes well they take all the credit for making the change, and when it doesn’t they blame us for the change, even though we only implemented their decisions. Anyway, it’s over, one more month tying up loose ends, and then I’m off to live amongst the Oompa Loompas at the chocolate factory.’
    ‘Lucky girl. I’d love to live amongst the Oompa Loompas with you. I could run their newspaper, investigating the Everlasting Gobstopper innovations and allegations of Willy Wonka’s impropriety. Not that my current article isn’t equally thrilling.’
    ‘What is it?’ Try as I might to settle my expression into one of sympathy, my anticipatory glee must have been obvious.
    ‘I’m investigating whether a restaurant is illegally dumping food in LIDL’s bins.’
    ‘You’re kidding.’
    ‘Deadly serious. I spent last night hiding behind a dumpster with a camera.’
    ‘Why don’t they just look at the CCTV footage?’
    ‘Thanks for belittling my already shitty career path.’
    ‘Sorry, that was rubbish of me.’
    ‘Very funny.’
    ‘I’m sure it’s bin very hard for you.’
    ‘Please shut up.’
    ‘Seriously, sorry. Tell me. Did they do it? Did they dump?’
    ‘They dumped.