Bookends by Jane Green

says happily. ‘You cooked, you serve. That’s the deal.’
    ‘So let me get this straight. You’re thinking of leaving your super-duper, high-powered fantastic job that pays you a fortune, to set up your own business with…’ and at this Si pauses. ‘Lucy?’
    ‘What’s wrong with Lucy?’
    Si begged and pleaded for me to meet him for a drink after work in Soho, and, even though it’s a pain, I succumbed, because, as Si often moans, I have become horrifyingly suburban in my old age. I remember thinking nothing of going straight out after work in my twenties. In fact, if I didn’t hit the bars, pubs or clubs, you could be certain there was something wrong with me. Every afternoon, about half an hour before the end of the day, you’d find a pack of us in the loo, all hastily reapplying make-up, putting on spare clothes, hairspray, perfume, from the seemingly endless caverns of our handbags, ready to flirt with City boys until we were too drunk to stand up.
    I used to think nothing of spending every night in ‘town’. Of course, I tell myself now, those were the days when you could actually find a black cab when it was going home time. Unlike now, when friends of mine have been forced to walk home to West Hampstead from Piccadilly Circus, turning round every few feet, just in case they should experience a minor miracle and spot an orange light in the distance.
    ‘So get the tube,’ Si says. ‘Mix with the common people for a change. See how the other half lives.’
    But I spend enough of my working day crammed in with people on the tube. At least my salary should enable me to afford the luxury of a black cab when we go out. It’s not my fault they all seem to desert the West End after seven p.m.
    But tonight I thought, what the hell, I could do with a fun night out. Is this a sign of getting old? That going out for dinner now means popping up the road to a comfortable, cosy local restaurant? That I never have to even consider making an effort with my clothes? That not only am I always home by eleven o’clock, but that if I weren’t I might possibly die of exhaustion?
    I wasn’t always like this. Honestly. In the early days, post-Martin, I threw myself into the club scene with wild abandon. Si would come and pick me up at midnight, and we’d hit the one-nighters all over town, ending up sipping coffee at Bar Italia in the early hours of the morning.
    To be honest, I’ve been feeling for some time that I’m slightly stuck in a rut. I love my friends. Would die for them. But part of me would quite like to meet a man, and unless I manage either to convert Si or to steal Josh from Lucy, neither of which is a particularly appealing option, I think it’s highly unlikely, unless I drastically change my life. Do something to meet more people.
    And Lucy’s plan seems to have come at exactly the right time. Think of all the new people I’d meet! Think about what it would be like to have my own business! To – oh joy of joys – go to work almost on the doorstep of my home!
    Do you know what I thought today? I sat at my desk thinking what the hell am I doing still working here? Because although the events of yesterday feel like a bit of a whirlwind, I do think that if anyone could make it work, it would be Lucy and I.
    Lucy of course doesn’t have a clue about business, or bookshops, but – and I swear I’m not making this up – on the rare occasions I venture into coffee shops and order cakes, even if they’re home-made they’re not half as good as Lucy’s.
    And Lucy doesn’t think it should be just cakes and home-made biscuits. She thinks easy sandwiches, beautifully presented on fresh ciabatta bread, slabs of basil and garlic focaccia with roasted aubergine and grilled mozzarella… even hearing her descriptions made my mouth water.
    It was all I could think about at work today. Work? I didn’t do any. I sat in my office, closed the door and fantasized the day away. By mid-morning I’d planned the