Running in Heels by Anna Maxted Page A

she’s all we talk about. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m a big fan of hers, she’s a smashing girl. But this never-ending chat about her relationship, it’s made me realize there’s no us . However”—a consoling pat on the hand for the loser—“if you want, I’d be happy to remain friends.” I am so shocked that my eyes itch. He’s so indifferent that he’s happy to remain friends!
    â€œChin up,” he murmurs. “This Chris of yours sounds like a good chap.”
    I could burst out crying but I’m damned if I’m doing it in the Oxo Tower Brasserie. My suddenly ex pours me a tall cool glass of water and suggests that if I’m feeling “under the weather” perhaps he should call me a taxi. I nod snufflingly, and mutter that I’m going to the ladies’ to wash my face. Saul pauses for an appropriate second, then adds, “Now, are you going to eat that sole, or can I have it?”
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    â€œ C heer up, love,” says the cabbie, “it might never ’appen.”
    I smile my gratitude for this fabulous rare jewel of insight and think, It just did.
    I can tell he’s dying to talk at me, so I dig out my mobile and ring Tony.
    â€œSpeak,” he says imperiously. There is a fuzz of blurry chat and shrill laughter.
    â€œIt’s Nat,” I holler. “Saul just dumped me!” I await his condolences.
    â€œWhat champagne you got, darlin’?” he says.
    â€œWhat!” I squeak.
    â€œAw, floozie,” says my brother. “Bowcock was never going to set the world alight. You’ll have forgotten him by tomorrow. You’ll be fine. You always are.”
    I nod gratefully into the phone.
    â€œI wouldn’t tell Mum, though—she’ll be gutted,” adds Tony. “Keep the change.”
    I sigh. “Thanks,” I say, beeping off.
    I flop in my seat, and the cabbie says, “Hard day? You finished work, ’av ya? Day over for ya?”
    I reply, “Not quite,” and ask if he wouldn’t mind taking me to Holland Park. Then I ring the speaking clock and affect animated chat. When the driver swerves to a sulky halt outside the smart green door, I shove notes at him and leap out. As I press the buzzer it strikes me I haven’t even checked if she’s in. When she opens the door in an apron I’m so relieved, I burst into the tears I prepared earlier.
    â€œOh my god,” gasps Babs. “What happened to your chin? Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine, but it’s all gone wrong!” I wail. “Chris hasn’t rung and I’ve just been dumped by Saw-haw-haw-haaul!”
    I plan to sink weeping into her arms, but she pats me briskly and sidesteps my trajectory.
    â€œSorry for not ringing first,” I sniff, stumbling. “I was in a state.”
    Babs looks at me. “You’re all right,” she says. “My hus band—oh, ha ha, I can’t get used to saying that—is playing rugby. My brother’s here though. Come in. Mind the boxes.” My pleasure at Simon’s absence is canceled out by Andy’s presence. I pick my way past the Kilimanjaro of Selfridges merchandise clogging up the hallway and follow Babs into her steel and wood kitchen. Andy sees my mascara-streaked face and leaps from his chair.
    â€œShall I go in the other room?” he says. I cover my chin with my hand and will Babs to say yes at the instant she says, “No.”
    I ignore Andy and sit down.
    â€œYou look like you’ve just joined the SEALs,” he says in a remarkably ill-conceived attempt to cheer me up.
    â€œNo she doesn’t,” says Babs immediately.
    â€œNo you don’t,” agrees Andy, as my smile turns to mush. “I meant that your, um, eye shadow has run. I’ll be in the other room, shall I?”
    He exits the kitchen at a swift trot. I glare after him. Babs prods lovingly at a slab of raw