Cover

Dedication

This one’s for the Free Range Chicks, with special mention to Jo Pestell, Pearl Moses and Vicky Warnes

1

Arriving home on Valentine’s Day, after a slog of a day, to find a bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates and the enticing fragrance of a homemade curry is a lovely surprise.

For me, however, currently single and living with my mother, this was neither lovely, nor, unfortunately, that much of a surprise.

‘Surprise!’ she cried, popping the cork off a bottle of Prosecco once I’d slipped off my sopping wet trainers, shaken the rain out of my hair and found her standing beside a dining table laid for two.

‘What’s this?’ I asked, trying to sound grateful rather than utterly dismayed.

‘Well, we can’t spend this evening sitting about feeling sorry for ourselves, can we?’ she gushed. ‘Team Tennyson, our favourite chicken balti and all the sides. Who needs a man?’

While I agreed with the sentiment – if I needed a man I’d be in big trouble, because I’d not had one for years – I had, in fact, arranged to meet one, that evening, for dinner. In an Indian restaurant.

Crap.

My first date in forever, and I was going to have to cancel.

Mum’s smile had begun to waver in the two-second hesitation while I tried to summon up the appropriate response.

‘Wow, it looks fantastic. The flowers are gorgeous. Thank you so much, Mum.’

Appeased, she tugged her hand-knitted jumper – pale grey with tiny love hearts in every shade of pink – down over teal cropped trousers that had been stylish ten years ago but now appeared faded and shabby. She’d blow-dried her chin-length salt-and-pepper bob and even added a swipe of lipstick to brighten her sharp features.

Inside, my heart drooped.

‘I’ll quickly get changed, if that’s okay?’ I worked for ReadUp, an adult literacy charity, and had spent all day in a grubby community centre on the other side of Nottingham. I was pretty sure the stink of stale sweat had followed me home.

‘Here.’ Mum handed me a glass of Prosecco. ‘Take your time. I’m not going anywhere!’

The second I got upstairs, I undressed, pulled on a dressing gown and messaged Steph, my best friend of eighteen years.

HELP!! Mum has cooked dinner and bought flowers and chocolates! What do I say to Mark?

Steph’s reply seemed to ping through before I’d even pressed send.

Tell him you’re looking forward to seeing him later AS PLANNED A WEEK AGO