Nearly Almost Somebody by Caroline Batten Page A

disaster and it’s not even half-seven.’ Libby leaned against the bathroom door, pulling her socks off. ‘Are you going to be long? I’m going to be late for work’
    Zoë opened the door, dripping from the shower, her hair still coated in conditioner. ‘Heaven forbid I’d be the one to get you sacked. What happened?’
    ‘I got lost.’ How, still mystified her.
    At the end of the back garden, the little wooden gate opened onto a bridleway, meaning Libby only had to run for fifteen minutes, following the track wherever it took her, turn around, and head back – the sensible plan for her first day in the area and her first day at work.
    Instead, the luxury of running on grass rather than concrete seduced her into running for a little longer, a little further. After twenty minutes, she stopped to size up the valley around her, the wine-blurred memory of the OS map she’d studied the night before giving her false confidence. Surely, she’d thought, if she carried on the same track, it’d take her back to the village.
    After twenty-five minutes, she’d realised the track was heading up to Lum Crag, not to Gosthwaite. Her only option was to double back. But that was okay. Until the track started to bear little resemblance to the lane she’d headed out on. Where had she gone wrong? There were no turns, no alternatives, no options. Eventually, she’d clambered a few gates and scampered home across the fields, anything just to get home.
    After a hasty shower, Libby pulled on the cream jodhpurs and black polo shirt she’d worn the previous afternoon, before pulling her still wet hair into a scruffy bun and applying three layers of mascara. Ideally she would’ve had time to put on some eyeliner and dragged a brush through her hair, but she couldn’t be late. Not on Day One.
    She checked her watch. Quarter to. If she left now, she’d even be a few minutes early. A cigarette on the way and all would be fine with her world. Hyssop sat by the door, watching her like a mother sending her child off to school as she grabbed her jacket, pulled on her boots and threw her cigarettes in her bag.
    She stopped to kiss his head. ‘This is still going to be a good day.’
    He meowed as the doorbell rang.
    ‘Zoë? I’ll be late.’
    ‘Naked. Deal with them.’
    Libby swore but opened the door, grinning when she saw who was on the other side. Grace. Sadly, she didn’t appear remotely pleased to see Libby. Tapping her foot, she stood in an over-sized t-shirt, jersey shorts and Ugg boots, pulling off just-climbed-out-of-bed sexy-chic with aplomb. Libby maintained a pleasant smile.
    ‘I see Hyssop came home,’ Grace said, glancing behind Libby.
    ‘Oh, is he your cat now?’ Libby stroked him, disappointment coursing through her. ‘He came in about midnight. Scared the life out us.’
    Unsmiling, Grace thrust the box forwards. ‘His stuff. He’s only been with me for a few days because Patrick’s gone away.’ She nodded to the house on the corner next to them. ‘But he’ll have him back when he gets home. It’s just a couple of months.’
    Libby took the box, trying not to grin. ‘That’s fine. I think he’s fabulous.’
    ‘Everyone does.’ Grace crouched down to stroke a purring Hyssop as he rubbed his head against her knee. ‘See you round, Hyssy. He’ll be back soon.’ She glanced up at Libby. ‘Seriously, please look after him and if you need anything, I work at the vets.’ Again, Libby nodded. ‘And stay away from my boyfriend.’
    ‘ Boyfriend ?’ Libby paled. At the pub, she and Zoë had eaten their goat cheese salads outside, avoiding the drunken men, but twice Jack had come out, blatantly flirting. She’s done nothing to encourage a guy she’d just met, but from Grace’s wasp-chewing scowl, Libby might as well have hopped on his knee and snogged him.
    ‘Jack and I have been together for ten years. I don’t need a peroxided bag of bones–’
    ‘Grace, I’d never–’
    ‘But he would.’
    As