Actually, he probably didn’t. Sally softened and gave him the benefit of the doubt. And she’d never know anyway, because you weren’t allowed to ask complete strangers personal questions like that. Which was, as far as she was concerned, a big shame. Why couldn’t there be a law passed, making it compulsory? Imagine meeting a man for the first time, finding him attractive and being allowed to inject him with a truth drug:

‘You seem very charming, Mr X. But if we were to have a relationship, how long would it be before you started treating me like a piece of poo on a shoe?’

‘Well, usually about a month.’

‘Thanks. Next!’

The taxi driver gave her an odd look. ‘You all right, love?’

‘Me? Oh yes, fine.’ Sally hastily collected herself ... ooh, though, how about if you could also wire them up to a machine capable of delivering painful electric shocks when the response warranted it? ‘Sorry, miles away. How much do I owe you?’

When he’d left, Sally shrugged off her coat, pushed up her sleeves and set to work opening the first couple of cases. She was going to be happy here in Radley Road. Happier still, once she’d made the flat her own.

Left standing at the altar was a lonely place to be. It sounded like a line from a country and western song. Worse still, when it had actually happened, it had felt like being trapped in a country and western song. Some memories faded but humiliation on that scale was never going to go away.

And that bad just been Barry the Bastard. There’d been loads more over the years, more than any girl should have to endure, ranging from Tim the Tosser whom she’d lived with in Ireland for over a year, to Pisshead Pete seven Christmases ago. Culminating, needless to say, in her latest calamitous choice, William the Wanker. And in truth he was no great loss; the dental nurse he’d run off with was welcome to him. His gleaming, too-white teeth had looked weird anyway, like something out of a Disney cartoon.

‘Hellooo?’

Sally was looping multicoloured fairy lights around the fireplace when the bell buzzed and she heard Lola’s voice. Eagerly she rushed to open the door.

‘Wow,’ said Lola, gazing around the living room. Wow was an understatement. ‘This is ...

different.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Sally beamed with pride. ‘I can’t believe how much I’ve got done in three hours!

Nothing like a splash of colour to cheer a place up! You know, I really think I have a flair for interior design — I should do it for a living. The world would be a happier place if we all did our homes like this.’

The world would definitely be full of people wearing sunglasses. The floor was littered with empty bags and cases, not to mention several packets of biscuits. There were bright paintings adorning Gabe’s cool cream walls, with five ... no, six ... no, seven sets of fairy lights draped around the frames. The brushed-steel lampshade from the Conran shop had been taken down; in its place was a hot-pink chandelier. The ivory cushions on the sofa sported new fluffy orange covers. A sequinned pink-and-orange throw covered the seat below the window. And a fountain of fake sparkly flowers exploded out of a silver bowl on top of the TV.

‘Good for you,’ said Lola. ‘If Gabe could see this, he’d have a fit.’

‘Good job he’s in Australia then.’ Unperturbed, Sally reached into one of the cases and pulled out a swathe of peacock feathers awash with iridescent blue and green glitter. ‘Pass me that gold vase, over there, would you? At the weekend I’m going to paint my bedroom to match these!’

‘Paint the bedroom?’ Lola felt she owed it to Gabe to look dubious; he’d spent a fortune having his flat redone just three months ago.

‘It’s too plain as it is! Like being in a prison cell! I’m here for a whole year,’ said Sally.

‘Anyway, it’s only a couple of coats of paint — if your friend really hates it, I’ll slosh some cream over the walls the day before he gets back.’

‘Sorry. Gabe’s a bit fussy, that’s all. He had the colour specially mixed.’

Sally’s eyebrows shot up. ‘This colour? Are you serious? How hard is it to go down to B&Q and buy a vat of emulsion?’

‘I know, I know.’ Lola raised her hands, disclaiming responsibility. ‘He’s just ... particular.’

‘Is he gay?’

‘Trust me. Gabe’s the opposite of gay.’

‘He’s also fifty zillion miles away. So what I think is, you don’t mention to him that I’m repainting his flat, and neither will I.’

‘Go on then.’ Relenting, Lola opened her bag. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

‘Oh my God, champagne!’

‘Not quite. It was either one bottle of the proper stuff or two of pretend.’ Lola held one bottle in each hand.

‘And we wouldn’t want to run out.’ Seizing them, Sally said joyfully, ‘Come on, let’s pop these corks — whoops, don’t step on the Garibaldis!’

’... I mean, I’m thirty-six years old and this is the first time I’ve been able to do out a room just the way I like. How crazy is that?’

By ten o’clock the first bottle had been upended into the waste bin (parrot-pink, trimmed with marabou) and the second vas three-quarters empty. Sally was cross-legged on the rug (purple, speckled with biscuit crumbs), waving her glass dramatically as she ran through her life history.

With the chandelier switched off, the many strings of fairy lights gave the room the kind of festive multicoloured glow that had Lola half expecting to be given a present. She frowned, puzzled by Sally’s statement. ‘What, you’ve never been allowed to do it before? What about when you were a teenager?’

‘God, especially when I was a teenager! My mother sent the cleaner into my bedroom every morning to tidy everything up and make my bed. I was allowed to have three posters on my wall.’ Sally paused to scoop another biscuit from the packet on the floor next to her. ‘As long as they were posters of horses. I was more of a Spandau Ballet, Duran Duran kind of girl, but she wouldn’t let me put them on the walls. Ghastly creatures, she called Duran Duran. And Spandau were yobs. I think she was terrified I’d find myself a boyfriend who wore ruffled shirts and make-up.’

Lola pictured Adele’s horror at the prospect. ‘So what happened next?’

‘Daft question. I found myself a boyfriend who wore ruffled shirts and make-up:

‘And you were how old when you left home?’

‘Eighteen. But I’ve never lived on my own, it’s always been either flat-sharing or moving in with boyfriends. Which means there’s always been someone around to moan about my decorating plans. I’ve spent the last eighteen years having to compromise. Well, not any more.’ Sally’s exuberant gesture encompassed the room and caused the contents of her glass to spill in an arc across the rug. ‘From now on I’m going to do what I want to do and no one’s going to stop me.

No more Tim the Tosser, no more Pisshead Pete, no more boring men telling me I can’t have leopard-print wallpaper in my kitchen. Bum, my glass is empty.’

‘That would be because you just swung it upside down.’

Did I? Bum, now this is empty.’ Tipsily aghast, Sally gave the second bottle a shake. ‘OK, don’t panic, I’ve got a bottle of white burgundy in the fridge — whoops, my foot’s gone to sleep, I hate it when that happens.’

‘Shall I get it?’ Lola jumped up, because Sally’s attempts to stand were of the Bambi-on-ice persuasion.

‘Excellent plan. But you’ll have to hunt around for a corkscrew.’

In the kitchen, Lola took out the chilled burgundy and rummaged through drawers in search of Gabe’s corkscrew Surely he hadn’t taken it with him.

The doorbell rang and she heard Sally say perplexedly, ‘Who can that be?’ But she must have limped over to the intercom because twenty seconds later the door to the flat was opened and Sally exclaimed, ‘I wasn’t expecting you here tonight!’

Friend?

Mother? Please no.

Old boyfriend?

Lola’s hands froze in mid-corkscrew search as she heard the visitor say, ‘I know, but I have to meet a client in Oxford tomorrow morning, so this was the only time I could bring the stuff over.

I tried to call but your phone’s switched off.’

Oh, that voice, it was like warm honey spreading through her veins. Not one of Sally’s old boyfriends then, thought Lola. One of mine!

‘That would explain why George Clooney hasn’t rung. Thanks, just dump the cases against the wall.’ Bursting with pride Sally said, ‘So what d’you think of my new flat?’

Lola listened, holding her breath.

‘Bloody hell. It’s like a cross between Santa’s grotto and a Moroccan souk.’

‘I know, isn’t it fantastic?’ Sally clapped her hands. ‘I can’t believe how gorgeous it looks!’

Doug said drily, ‘I can’t believe you’re my sister.’ Evidently spotting the empty wine glasses on the coffee table he added, ‘Drinking for two now? Or has someone else been round?’

Sally giggled. ‘Someone else is still round.’

OK, enough skulking in the kitchen. Lola stepped into the living room. ‘Actually I wouldn’t call myself round, more curvily girl-shaped.’

Chapter 14

’Oh, for God’s sake.’ Dark eyes narrowing, Doug said impatiently, ‘Not you again.’

It hurt, but as far as he was concerned, Lola knew she deserved it. Just as well she was the optimistic type; maybe she could win him round. Dougie, I’ve already said I’m sorry’

‘I know you have. But what are you doing here?’ he demanded.

Dougie, don’t be so rude,’ wailed Sally. ‘Lola’s my friend.’

‘I’m more than her friend.’ Lola flashed him a playful smile and saw the split-second look of horror on his face ... Jesus, surely not ... ‘I’m her next door neighbour.’

Doug shook his head in disbelief; being a neighbour might not be quite as alarming as being a predatory lesbian but it was evidently a close-run thing. He looked over at his sister. ‘You didn’t mention this.’