in anticipation. ‘Quick glass? You can fill me in.’
‘OK.’ She could do with some wine to steady her nerves. ‘But there’s nothing to tell.’
They perched on the stools in the kitchen.
‘What do you know about him?’ Flora asked, after giving Prue a verbatim account of her very brief phone call from Jake.
‘Not much really, except that he’s single.’ Prue laughed. ‘All you need to know really.’
‘Why isn’t he married?’
Prue shrugged. ‘Why aren’t you married?’ She must have seen Flora’s face fall, because she hurried on. ‘He’s only thirty-seven. Lots of men aren’t married by then. Plus he never stops working.’
‘So you don’t know about any girlfriends?’
‘Doh! He wouldn’t be asking you out if he had a girlfriend, now would he?’ Prue did one of the eye rolls she kept specially for anything to do with Flora’s frustratingly single status.
‘I certainly hope not.’
Prue frowned. ‘You will go, won’t you? I know you, Flora Bancroft. You’ll invent some feeble excuse and cry off at the last minute.’
How perceptive, thought Flora. ‘OK … just one drink. But I reserve the right to not like him enough and not go out with him ever again, no matter what you say.’
‘Christ, darling! You’d think I was forcing you on a date with Quasimodo … or worse, Simon Cowell. Jake’s a poppet. How bad can it be, having a drink with a cute guy in a cool bar of a Thursday night?’
‘Put like that,’ Flora grinned.
‘No helping some people,’ her sister chuckled, looking pleased with herself.
*
By Thursday, Flora was a bag of nerves. The old lady had recovered her spirits over the course of the week, and they had settled back into their normal routine – but neither Flora nor Mary had managed to get to the bottom of what had been bothering Dorothea.
Flora was meeting Jake at nine. She could have gone straight from work, but that would have meant changing and getting ready in Dorothea’s flat. Instead, she raced home and had a shower, threw almost her entire wardrobe on the bed before deciding on black jeans, a lacy cream top and black pumps. It would do, she told herself.
He was already there when she arrived, sitting at a table in the corner of the room. The bar was manic: loud and drunk and young and very Thursday night. Flora wasn’t used to the noise or the crowded space, but she was grateful for it nonetheless. It masked her nervous tension.
Jake, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease. He rose to greet her, his boyish face breaking out into a big smile.
‘Hi, there. Great you could make it. What’ll it be?’ He pulled a face as a guy stumbled drunkenly into the table as he went past, clutching an empty cocktail glass. ‘Bit crazy in here. Would you rather go somewhere quieter?’
Flora shook her head. ‘No, it’s fun.’ She didn’t want to seem her age, even if she felt it in this melee of twenty-somethings. She asked for a beer.
‘Nothing stronger? How about a cocktail? They do fantastic margaritas here.’
She hesitated. She hadn’t eaten, but the thought of a heavy shot of alcohol right now was very appealing. ‘Oh, OK. Make it a margarita then.’
Jake smiled approvingly. In for a penny, Flora thought.
‘You look great,’ Jake said later, eyeing her over his drink, a flirtatious smile hovering around his mouth.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered, not believing a word and concentrating hard on the purple tortilla chip in her hand, a bowl of which had been delivered with the order.
‘Where has Prue been hiding you?’ he asked. ‘You weren’t in the basement when I was doing the kitchen, were you?’
‘No, I was living in Brighton at the time.’
‘Why did you move back? Not sure I’d swap life by the sea for a basement in Ladbroke Grove.’
He was very direct with his questioning, but she didn’t mind. It was better than just making small talk about who they knew and what they did.
‘I had a breakdown,’ she said,
‘OK.’ She could do with some wine to steady her nerves. ‘But there’s nothing to tell.’
They perched on the stools in the kitchen.
‘What do you know about him?’ Flora asked, after giving Prue a verbatim account of her very brief phone call from Jake.
‘Not much really, except that he’s single.’ Prue laughed. ‘All you need to know really.’
‘Why isn’t he married?’
Prue shrugged. ‘Why aren’t you married?’ She must have seen Flora’s face fall, because she hurried on. ‘He’s only thirty-seven. Lots of men aren’t married by then. Plus he never stops working.’
‘So you don’t know about any girlfriends?’
‘Doh! He wouldn’t be asking you out if he had a girlfriend, now would he?’ Prue did one of the eye rolls she kept specially for anything to do with Flora’s frustratingly single status.
‘I certainly hope not.’
Prue frowned. ‘You will go, won’t you? I know you, Flora Bancroft. You’ll invent some feeble excuse and cry off at the last minute.’
How perceptive, thought Flora. ‘OK … just one drink. But I reserve the right to not like him enough and not go out with him ever again, no matter what you say.’
‘Christ, darling! You’d think I was forcing you on a date with Quasimodo … or worse, Simon Cowell. Jake’s a poppet. How bad can it be, having a drink with a cute guy in a cool bar of a Thursday night?’
‘Put like that,’ Flora grinned.
‘No helping some people,’ her sister chuckled, looking pleased with herself.
*
By Thursday, Flora was a bag of nerves. The old lady had recovered her spirits over the course of the week, and they had settled back into their normal routine – but neither Flora nor Mary had managed to get to the bottom of what had been bothering Dorothea.
Flora was meeting Jake at nine. She could have gone straight from work, but that would have meant changing and getting ready in Dorothea’s flat. Instead, she raced home and had a shower, threw almost her entire wardrobe on the bed before deciding on black jeans, a lacy cream top and black pumps. It would do, she told herself.
He was already there when she arrived, sitting at a table in the corner of the room. The bar was manic: loud and drunk and young and very Thursday night. Flora wasn’t used to the noise or the crowded space, but she was grateful for it nonetheless. It masked her nervous tension.
Jake, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease. He rose to greet her, his boyish face breaking out into a big smile.
‘Hi, there. Great you could make it. What’ll it be?’ He pulled a face as a guy stumbled drunkenly into the table as he went past, clutching an empty cocktail glass. ‘Bit crazy in here. Would you rather go somewhere quieter?’
Flora shook her head. ‘No, it’s fun.’ She didn’t want to seem her age, even if she felt it in this melee of twenty-somethings. She asked for a beer.
‘Nothing stronger? How about a cocktail? They do fantastic margaritas here.’
She hesitated. She hadn’t eaten, but the thought of a heavy shot of alcohol right now was very appealing. ‘Oh, OK. Make it a margarita then.’
Jake smiled approvingly. In for a penny, Flora thought.
‘You look great,’ Jake said later, eyeing her over his drink, a flirtatious smile hovering around his mouth.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered, not believing a word and concentrating hard on the purple tortilla chip in her hand, a bowl of which had been delivered with the order.
‘Where has Prue been hiding you?’ he asked. ‘You weren’t in the basement when I was doing the kitchen, were you?’
‘No, I was living in Brighton at the time.’
‘Why did you move back? Not sure I’d swap life by the sea for a basement in Ladbroke Grove.’
He was very direct with his questioning, but she didn’t mind. It was better than just making small talk about who they knew and what they did.
‘I had a breakdown,’ she said,
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