The Other Us: the RONA winning perfect second chance romance to curl up with. Fiona Harper

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      Becca looks at me over the rim of her mug. ‘Disappointing.’

      ‘He was no good?’

      ‘Never got that far,’ Becca says darkly. ‘His mate Dave was throwing a party so we ended up at his flat. Ten minutes after we arrived, I went in search of a drink and when I’d got back Stevo had disappeared.’

      ‘No!’ I say with my best attempt at disbelief. Becca seems to buy it, but probably because she’s so wrapped up in retelling her tale she hasn’t noticed my lousy performance. ‘Where did he go?’

      ‘He skipped off to one of the bedrooms with Adrienne Palmer, that’s where! All those years dreaming he was the perfect guy, and thinking, if only he’d notice me my life would be sorted!’

      I don’t remember much about Stevo Watts, but I do remember that as a third-year student, he’d had a reputation for prowling round the freshers. ‘Fresh meat’, I’d heard he’d called them.

      I realise my best friend’s strategy with men hasn’t changed much: she finds the most good-looking, alpha jerks to swoon over, is completely bowled over if they notice her and then falls at their feet and does anything they want. That’s how she’d ended up with the horrible ex. I’ve been crossing my fingers hard that the lovely new man back in our real life is going to break that pattern.

      ‘You need someone who loves you for you, not just because you’re their devoted follower,’ I tell her. ‘Someone who is ready to do as much for you as you are for them.’ I have no idea if she’ll listen to me, or if she’ll even remember this next time she spies one of her ‘guys’, but at least I’ve got to try.

      ‘I know.’ She sighs. ‘I wish I could find someone like Dan – faithful, capable of a proper relationship. Not a total turd, in other words.’

      I hold my tongue. University Dan might fit that description, but present-day Dan might be giving it a run for its money.

      ‘That man is gold dust, Maggie. You’re just lucky you nabbed him before anyone else did!’ she adds, laughing.

      I ignore the comment and lean forward. I’ve been guilty of taking present-day Becca for granted, not looking hard enough, so now I study her counterpart. ‘Are you OK? Really?’

      She sighs again. ‘Yeah. Nothing much damaged but my pride.’

      ‘Hey, why don’t I treat you to breakfast? To cheer you up?’

      Becca grins. ‘At Al’s?’

      I stand up. ‘Where else?’

      How could I have forgotten Al’s Cafe? He served the best greasy fry-ups in south-west London. There’s no Starbucks, no Costa, here and now, I remind myself. No organic cafes where you can get porridge and compote or chia-seed smoothies. If you want to go out for breakfast, a full English or a bacon buttie it is.

      Before I head off to my bedroom I run my fingers through my fringe. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any spare hair grips, have you?’

      ‘What on earth for?’

      I flatten the short hair of my fringe to the side of my head. ‘I want to pin this back.’

      Becca just laughs at me as she fetches a couple of grips she’d left on the bookshelf. ‘You only had it cut like that on Saturday! Honestly, Mags, one of these days you’re going to have to make your mind up and decide what you really want – none of this flip-flopping between different options until the rest of us want to smack you senseless.’

      I smile at her, but I take the grips from her open hand. ‘Thanks. I’ll be back in two secs …’

CHAPTER SEVEN

      I look down with glee at my two sausages, bacon, beans, and eggs with bursting yellow yolks. It’s been almost twenty-five years since I’ve had one of Al’s breakfasts and I can’t wait. I take a bite of the bacon, a bit with crinkly brown edges, close my eyes and let out a moan of satisfaction.

      ‘Steady on,’ Becca says, with a mouthful of egg, from across the table. ‘I don’t want you going all Meg Ryan on me!’

      ‘It’s a distinct possibility,’ I mumble as I shove another mouthful in. ‘Oh, my … It’s every bit as good as I remember.’

      Becca frowns. ‘We were only in here on Wednesday!’

      I shake my head. ‘I really shouldn’t eat so much junk.’

      ‘We’re young. What else are we going to do?’

      I chuckle, because I realise she’s right – I’m young again. No more boring forty-something life! No more ties and responsibilities! I’m free. I’ve got at least another ten years before my metabolism slows and I have to start worrying about piling on the pounds.

      The thought floats through my mind quite benignly, but then it slams against a brick wall and I go cold all over. What am I talking about? This isn’t real. I’m not staying. I don’t even want to start thinking like that in case I jinx it and don’t wake up.

      Oh, God. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m in a coma! And this is just my subconscious having a field day while my family stand around my hospital bed and cry.

      ‘Dodgy sausage?’ Becca asks, seeing the look on my face.

      I shake my head, but I don’t explain.

      ‘So what’s the plan for today?’ she asks.

      I pause. Maybe I am in a coma or having a psychotic break, but I look outside the cafe window, where the sun is shining, announcing the promise of an empty, unspoilt day; I feel Al’s breakfast warming my belly, and I can’t quite bring myself to believe it. It all seems so real.

      Isn’t this what I wanted? To wind back the years? I have no idea how long it’s going to last, when I might wake up with a tube down my throat or wearing a fetching white jacket with straps and buckles, so I might as well make the most of it.

      ‘We probably should be revising,’ I say. Finals start next week. I know that much.

      Becca makes a face and I laugh. Usually, I’m the sensible one and she’s the one who’s the bad influence, but today I sense we’re going to have something of a role reversal. I’m not going to waste this glorious day stuck indoors bent over a textbook.

      ‘I think we ought to start with shopping,’ I say. ‘Serious shopping.’

      Her eyes twinkle. ‘Kingston?’ she asks hopefully.

      I shake my head. ‘Oxford Street.’

      The twinkle in Becca’s eyes reaches her mouth and she grins at me.

      ‘And after that, whatever we want to do, whatever takes our fancy. As long as it’s fun!’

      ‘Good plan,’ she says, then snaps to attention and does a Benny Hill backwards salute at me. ‘Reporting for Maggie and Becca’s Day of Fun!’

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