Cloudy with a Chance of Love by Fiona Collins

done! It burns about a thousand calories doesn’t it?’
    â€˜Ha, yes, especially if I go on top!’ She was grinning, highly sloshed. I put my arm round her to steady her.
    â€˜Ha, ha.’
    â€˜You didn’t want to then?’
    â€˜No, of course I didn’t! I’d only just met the guy. Then he said it was a joke.’
    â€˜Well, it probably was. Go out with him, Daryl! What have you got to lose?’
    Only my dignity, my sanity, everything. Possibly my knickers.
    â€˜Nothing, I suppose.’
    â€˜Well, there you are then.’
    Yes, there you are. I’d think about it properly once I’d got home and got the bloody Spanx off.
    I dropped Sam off then drove home. It was late, almost midnight. I was very quiet as I locked the car and made my way up the drive. Will’s kitchen light was on. I could see a shadow, moving about in there. Suddenly, he appeared at the window, looking all handsome and a bit dishevelled, in a white shirt. He smiled and did a half-wave; I smiled and did a half-wave back.
    See you tomorrow, I said in my head. Then remembered I had the date with Ben now, too. How was I going to fit everything in? I solved it, easily: Will was coming at half five; I could make the date with Ben later on, say nine. I could fit everything in. And I hope you meant what you said when you told me you were good at decorating, I added silently, to Will, as I got my keys out of my bag and let myself in the house, because I really don’t have a clue.

Chapter Eight
    Tuesday
    My radio alarm went off at seven. This morning I would have been woken by a jaunty Rick Astley number, but I was already awake, as Freya had rung me at six.
    â€˜Mum!’ she’d said, all chirpy.
    â€˜Freya? It’s really early, darling.’
    â€˜Sorry!’
    Freya is almost the exact opposite of me. She’s very organised, has her life super-structured and is always up at the crack of dawn so she can start getting on with things. She was like that when she lived at home and she’s still that way now, living with a bunch of her former Smith’s Economics students at that house in Merton, and working at her first job, as an investment analyst (I know!), in a big company in Hammersmith. She got a first, as I knew she would (Economics! Where did she get that from?) and was doing brilliantly.
    My girl. She’s always been a driven, very motivated spirit. On her first ever day at nursery she’d run in without a backwards glance and it was the same at school. She never wanted me to meet her at the gate; she wanted to walk to the car. She resisted hugs and kisses; she was always too busy. I knew she wouldn’t want to move into my new house with me – my hope that she’d be one of those offspring that stay at home until they’re forty, eating their parents out of house and home and refusing to pick their feet up for the hoover, came to nothing. She’s far too independent. But I had a bedroom here for her whenever she wanted it. Even if it was currently covered in Handy Manny wallpaper.
    She’d looked after me for the last year – mopping up tears, making sure I was okay, doing things for me – but now it was my turn to mother her again. Starting with supporting her at her graduation on Friday.
    â€˜I was going to ring you today,’ I said. ‘About the graduation.’
    â€˜That’s why I’m phoning you , actually, Mum. I need to tell you something.’
    â€˜Uh-oh, that sounds ominous. What is it?’
    â€˜Gabby’s coming.’
    I sat up, violently, knocking my head on the headboard. Ouch.
    â€˜What? She can’t be! It’s only two tickets per family!’
    â€˜I know, but Dad sold the uni registrar’s house for him, didn’t he? So he called him and wangled another ticket.’
    I groaned. ‘I don’t believe this! You have to tell him she can’t come!
    â€˜I’ve tried, Mum, but you