quite right. Juliet wouldn’t have been surprised had she looked up and seen a big black cloud over
her new friend’s head. And her eyes looked a bit glassy, as if she’d been crying recently.
‘I’m fine,’ said Floz, switching on an instant 3,000-watt smile so bright and perfect it was as plastic as Barbie’s knockers.
‘Well, you obviously aren’t,’ said Juliet. ‘But I shan’t pry. Even though I want to. Glass of red?’ She got up from the couch just as the Emmerdale music started and headed for the drinks cabinet.
‘I’m just a bit tired,’ Floz explained. ‘I’ve been doing a really awful brief about sending . . . sending cards to people who are dying.’ She tried to hold it
together but burst into tears. Her stocks of them had been replenished, it seemed.
‘Oh bloody hell. What an awful thing to have to do!’ said Juliet, whose curiosity was now totally satisfied. She had sensed almost straight away that Floz was a softie and yep, that
must have been truly harrowing for her. She made short work of opening up the bottle of wine and poured two large glasses.
‘Thanks,’ said Floz, and smiled at her warm concern. She opened her mouth to tell Juliet about Nick, then snapped it shut straight afterwards. It was a miserable subject and a
strange one. Juliet might not have understood how close you could grow to someone you had never met, and she didn’t want Juliet to think ill of her.
Plus, coming from a military family that moved from house to house, country to country, Floz found it hard to trust and keep friends, having grown accustomed early on to being ripped away from
them. But here at Blackberry Court, Juliet felt like the first friend in her life who would be a constant – and as such, her opinion mattered.
‘That’s lovely,’ said Floz, taking a long sip and trying not to think of what Nick’s reaction would be to her email, and if he would reply. Her emotions were so raw, it
was as if the top layer of her skin had been ripped right away, and it hurt for even breath to brush past.
‘I’ve got something that will cheer you up a bit,’ said Juliet. ‘I had a text from Guy. He’s cooking Sunday lunch at Mum’s for us – his flat is far too
poky. Steve will be there as well, alas.’ Again she huffed on that name.
‘Lovely,’ said Floz, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Food was the last thing on her mind. And the re-emergence of Nick Vermeer had driven all thoughts of
the hunky, Heathcliff-like Guy Miller from her head.
She began to feign tiredness early on so she could make a legitimate break for her computer and write another email. It had started to play on her mind that the one she’d written was
pitched wrong. Juliet had plans of her own too, and bade Floz goodnight.
Dearest Nick
I knew as soon as I hit that send button this afternoon that I’d be reprimanding myself all day – have I said
too much, have I said enough, have I said the right thing?
I pray I read your email wrong and there is more hope than you can see. And if it makes it easier for you to contact me again, do. Likewise if it
doesn’t – don’t. I understand.
I just wanted to say that my affection for and fascination with you stays with me. Despite the fact that we didn’t meet, I feel I know you so well. You
were always a hard act to follow. No one even came close, to be honest.
I hope your sisters and your family are giving you comfort and love – I’m sure they are. And I am, of course, just at the end of an email or a
phone if there is anything that I can do for you.
Love, Cherrylips xxx
Floz only hoped that the walls were thick enough in the flat for Juliet not to hear her sobbing. Or her heart breaking, because she was sure she had
just felt it crack loudly within her chest.
Juliet logged straight onto singlebods.com when Floz turned in. She thought she might have a trawl through the site and see if there was anyone living within a ten-mile
her new friend’s head. And her eyes looked a bit glassy, as if she’d been crying recently.
‘I’m fine,’ said Floz, switching on an instant 3,000-watt smile so bright and perfect it was as plastic as Barbie’s knockers.
‘Well, you obviously aren’t,’ said Juliet. ‘But I shan’t pry. Even though I want to. Glass of red?’ She got up from the couch just as the Emmerdale music started and headed for the drinks cabinet.
‘I’m just a bit tired,’ Floz explained. ‘I’ve been doing a really awful brief about sending . . . sending cards to people who are dying.’ She tried to hold it
together but burst into tears. Her stocks of them had been replenished, it seemed.
‘Oh bloody hell. What an awful thing to have to do!’ said Juliet, whose curiosity was now totally satisfied. She had sensed almost straight away that Floz was a softie and yep, that
must have been truly harrowing for her. She made short work of opening up the bottle of wine and poured two large glasses.
‘Thanks,’ said Floz, and smiled at her warm concern. She opened her mouth to tell Juliet about Nick, then snapped it shut straight afterwards. It was a miserable subject and a
strange one. Juliet might not have understood how close you could grow to someone you had never met, and she didn’t want Juliet to think ill of her.
Plus, coming from a military family that moved from house to house, country to country, Floz found it hard to trust and keep friends, having grown accustomed early on to being ripped away from
them. But here at Blackberry Court, Juliet felt like the first friend in her life who would be a constant – and as such, her opinion mattered.
‘That’s lovely,’ said Floz, taking a long sip and trying not to think of what Nick’s reaction would be to her email, and if he would reply. Her emotions were so raw, it
was as if the top layer of her skin had been ripped right away, and it hurt for even breath to brush past.
‘I’ve got something that will cheer you up a bit,’ said Juliet. ‘I had a text from Guy. He’s cooking Sunday lunch at Mum’s for us – his flat is far too
poky. Steve will be there as well, alas.’ Again she huffed on that name.
‘Lovely,’ said Floz, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Food was the last thing on her mind. And the re-emergence of Nick Vermeer had driven all thoughts of
the hunky, Heathcliff-like Guy Miller from her head.
She began to feign tiredness early on so she could make a legitimate break for her computer and write another email. It had started to play on her mind that the one she’d written was
pitched wrong. Juliet had plans of her own too, and bade Floz goodnight.
Dearest Nick
I knew as soon as I hit that send button this afternoon that I’d be reprimanding myself all day – have I said
too much, have I said enough, have I said the right thing?
I pray I read your email wrong and there is more hope than you can see. And if it makes it easier for you to contact me again, do. Likewise if it
doesn’t – don’t. I understand.
I just wanted to say that my affection for and fascination with you stays with me. Despite the fact that we didn’t meet, I feel I know you so well. You
were always a hard act to follow. No one even came close, to be honest.
I hope your sisters and your family are giving you comfort and love – I’m sure they are. And I am, of course, just at the end of an email or a
phone if there is anything that I can do for you.
Love, Cherrylips xxx
Floz only hoped that the walls were thick enough in the flat for Juliet not to hear her sobbing. Or her heart breaking, because she was sure she had
just felt it crack loudly within her chest.
Juliet logged straight onto singlebods.com when Floz turned in. She thought she might have a trawl through the site and see if there was anyone living within a ten-mile
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