Bella Summer Takes a Chance by Michele Gorman Page B

I’ve just written the shocking exposé: Mr Singh is putting his chapattis where they don’t belong. My career is meteoric. There’s no other word for it. What about you? You’re really going to Zurich. Any news on the flat?’
    I shook my head. They really were cutting it fine.
    ‘Then maybe you’ll get to stay! I don’t like it when you’re away.’
    ‘I know but it’ll only be during the week, like when we worked in Leeds, remember? I’ll come back on Fridays so it’ll be nearly like normal. I need to go, Faith.’
    She rubbed my hand. ‘I know you do. It’ll be good for you, a reset button, as you’ve said. And who knows what Swiss delicacies you might sample while you’re there. A little Swiss roll, maybe?’
    ‘A little Swiss roll is the last thing I’m looking for, thanks.’
    ‘You’re right. We are far too fabulous to suffer any snack-sized baked goods.’ She sighed. ‘Although at this stage, a slice of anything would be welcome. I broke up with Ben last night. The Teacher,’ she clarified, anticipating my question. ‘He wasn’t the one.’
    ‘I’m sorry, what happened?’ I wanted to sound surprised, but couldn’t manage it. Faith suffered from a serious flaw intolerance when it came to men. The tiniest taste of imperfection sent her into a full-blown adverse reaction. The list of irritants grew by the month: The Publican (bad breath), Chuckles (hummed when he read), The Banker (mother issues), Foreplay…
    ‘Do you remember Foreplay?’ I asked. ‘What was wrong with him?’ That was one I wouldn’t have given up so easily.
    ‘How can you have forgotten? He was lactose intolerant. And don’t make light. You know my views on cheese.’
    ‘I know. It’s the West’s most civilising factor.’ Naturally, hearing about the latest unforgiveable offence gave Clare and me hours of entertainment, and made us wonder how she remained so optimistic despite constant disappointment. She’d have been forgiven for resigning herself to living with cats, but she wasn’t that sort of person. Her glass wasn’t just half full. It spilled on to the table. That made her a tremendous if often unrealistic friend. ‘So, The Teacher?’
    ‘His feet smell. He took his shoes off at my place, when he came over for dinner. We were having a nice time. He’s very easy to talk to, and we’ve got so much in common. He even likes romcoms and he’s not ashamed of it.’
    ‘Are you sure he’s not gay?’
    ‘Not judging by his kissing, no. He is good, mmm, I could spend hours kissing him.’
    ‘So, his feet?’
    ‘Ugh. He asked to take off his shoes when I put the DVD on. The smell. Like yogurt that’s gone off.’
    ‘That is bad. But maybe it was just that night. What if he’d stepped in a puddle or something, and they hadn’t dried properly? You know, a good kisser who’ll watch Sleepless in Seattle shouldn’t be dismissed lightly.’
    She wasn’t convinced. ‘I’m sure his shoes all reek.’
    ‘Foot spray?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Different socks?’
    ‘Uh-uh.’
    ‘New shoes?’
    ‘B., I can’t. You know how sensitive I am to smells. I couldn’t even think of spending my life with that odour.’
    ‘But you got along so well. And the kissing.’
    ‘Doesn’t matter. It’s over.’
    ‘Did you tell him?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Reason?’
    ‘Irreconcilable differences. I’m not a monster. I couldn’t very well say it was because he smelled like he had Stilton between his toes.’
    ‘But what about the next woman?’
    ‘I’m not interested in fixing men for other women. Let them do their own work.’
    Clare arrived just in time to hear her proclamation. ‘Amen to that!’ She punctuated her statement with faux praise-Jesus jazz hands. ‘Hello, my little chihuahuas. Good days?’ Faith rolled her eyes and I shrugged. In my case it was a rhetorical question since Clare and I shared a desk at the client’s offices. ‘What are we talking about?’
    ‘Faith was just saying that she’s