Chapter 5

Chapter Five

L ater that evening, after Kiera had had her tea and Mr Chips had curled up on her lap, Hannah messaged back, talking about her long day teaching English to grumpy teenagers. They exchanged a few messages, and it became apparent that they had things in common, including a penchant for a nice café and good coffee. Feeling emboldened by the contact, Kiera quickly typed a message before she could change her mind:

“There’s a great coffee place by me. I’d be delighted to introduce you to it, if you’re free some time?”

Her stomach lurched as she pressed send, and she laid the phone face down on the coffee table. She put an episode of Grey’s Anatomy on and tried to resist the urge to pick the phone back up. The last thing she wanted was to come across as desperate. She was just as terrified by the prospect of Hannah’s response – if it ever came – as she was keen to see it. And it wasn’t a comfortable balance.

“Look, Mr Chips,” she said, ten minutes later, pointing at the TV. “They clearly aren’t following safeguarding protocols there.”

Part of the joy of watching medical dramas for Kiera was shouting at them every time they did something ridiculous. “And now look, they’ve breached that patient’s confidentiality. Idiots. Who writes this stuff?” But then Meredith Grey strolled into the operating theatre and saved the day, inevitably, and just as inevitably, Kiera happily forgave every absurdity.

She had managed to leave her phone alone, instead watching a patient having a lightbulb removed from a compromising place by a Hollywood star in scrubs. In preparation for picking the phone up again, Kiera went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Once she had settled herself back down, feet tucked underneath her on the sofa, she finally picked up her phone.

Two messages from Hannah. Two! Kiera smiled to herself. That was a good sign, surely?

Hannah: “That is an offer I will take up.”

Hannah: “How are you fixed Wednesday evening?”

Kiera put the phone down and clutched her tea to herself, smiling. Wednesday evening, only a few days away. Then she frowned. Could she really do this? Was she ready?

She picked the phone back up and called a familiar number. “Lou, you still up?”

“It’s only nine, I’m not that lame,” replied Lou with faux indignation.

“I bet you’re in your pyjamas already though, right?”

“Guilty as charged. How are you? And more to the point, how is the woman off the app?”

“That’s why I’m calling,” said Kiera, failing to keep the smile from her voice.

“Oh, I see. You haven’t had sex, have you? ”

“God no,” said Kiera, spluttering on a mouthful of tea. “I’d have to actually meet her first. And I don’t know if I can go through with it.” Mr Chips crossed the room languidly, and with perfect economy of motion, leapt back onto her lap.

“Look, how am I supposed to live vicariously through you in all this if you won’t actually meet these women?”

“Woman. One woman. And she wants to meet me. This Wednesday,” replied Kiera, running her hand down Mr Chips’ silky back.

“You have to do this. You owe it to yourself,” said Lou, with a seriousness Kiera was unused to from her friend.

“Mmm. Yes, I know. Ok, yes. We’re meeting at the Jam Pot.”

“Good,” said Lou. “Goodnight, bachelorette.”