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Carly laughed and started the car before sense caught up with her. The drive took less than ten minutes. Every house she passed had its curtains shut and the telly on. By the time she reached Lauren’s street, Beth’s bottle had rolled into the footwell twice.
“Merry Christmas,” Carly said, holding up the rescued Gevrey-Chambertin.
Lauren looked at the bottle, then at her, and stood aside to let her in.
Carly got as far as the hall before she said it. She hadn’t planned to. Her coat was still on, the bottle was still in her hand, and Berkeley was leaning his whole weight against her legs.
“I didn’t want to be on my own tonight,” she said. “And I’m tired of pretending I do.”
Lauren took the bottle, then the coat, and hung it on the hook above Berkeley’s lead, next to her own.
“Good,” she said. “Neither did I.”
They drank the Gevrey-Chambertin out of mugs, because Lauren owned two wine glasses and one of them had a crack in it. It was almost certainly the best wine Lauren had ever had, and she drank it out of a mug that said WORLD’S OKAYEST GOALKEEPER, curled into the corner of the sofa with her feet tucked under her and the telly on mute.
Carly told her about the day. All of it, down to Samantha crying over a label, and the car park she’d sat in and driven away from. Lauren listened. When Carly ran out of words, Lauren didn’t try to fix any of it. She just lifted her arm, and Carly moved into the space under it without thinking.
Lauren’s jumper smelled of washing powder and toast and, faintly, of dog. Her heartbeat was slow under Carly’s ear. Down by their feet, Berkeley let out the long sigh of a dog whose people were finally in the same room.
“You can stay,” Lauren said into her hair. “If you want. No terms.”
Carly thought about her flat. The quiet. The alarm set for six.
“I want,” she said.
She was asleep before the second mug was finished.
37
Lauren
Lauren shoved through the clubhouse doors and stopped stock-still. Had she missed something? It was nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve, and the place was a morgue. Empty tables, bar staff restocking glasses rather than serving customers, and only a few small crowds dotted around. All from the team. It didn’t take long to notice that Carly wasn’t here either, though she’d planned to head up ages ago.
Not that Lauren was keeping track. Since Christmas night, one of them had ended up at the other’s most nights, and Boxing Day had come and gone without Jenna finding out, which Lauren was choosing to treat as a personal victory.
“Did I get the night wrong?” Lauren asked when Jenna beckoned her over to the snug.
“Nope,” Jenna replied, shuffling over to let Lauren sit on the bench. In front of them, Abi and some others were at the start of a pool game. “The men went elsewhere this year. For some reason.”
The way she raised her eyebrows implied a story.
“What’s happened?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
Jenna started reeling off a long rap sheet of strange happenings. Lauren caught the bit about kit going missing, but then the side door swung open. When Beth and Carly walked in, all she heard from Jenna was white noise.
“Are you listening?” Jenna asked, digging Lauren in the ribs.
She tried to control her smile and look innocent. She failed. “What was that?” Lauren asked, face warm. It spread down her chest when Carly nudged her over and sat down, their legs pressed together.
“Invoices. I was promised a discount for the engagement party, and it never happened. That’s when it started. But now I’m noticing all sorts of things off.”
Lauren scanned the thin room again. “Where’s Jax? If ever there was a night for one of her morale speeches nobody asked for—”
“With her partner’s family. They do a big New Year spread, and apparently there’s a family quiz.” Jenna shrugged. “She offered to come down anyway. I told her not to be daft. At least someone’s absence has a decent excuse.”
“It’s weird without them.”
