Free Cocktails for Three by Madeleine Wickham Page B

earnestly. “Candice, look at everything you’re doing for me. A job, a place to stay . . .”
    â€œWell, you know,” said Candice awkwardly, “I do have two bedrooms. And if your other place was grim . . .”
    It had been purely by chance that, during their lunch together, Heather had happened to start talking about the flat where she lived. As she had talked, making light of its awfulness, Candice had suddenly hit on the idea of asking Heather to move in with her— and to her delight, Heather had agreed on the spot. Everything was falling wonderfully into place.
    â€œIt was like a hovel,” said Heather. “Six to a room. Utterly sordid. But this place . . .” She put down her suitcases and walked slowly into the flat, looking around incredulously. “Is this all yours?”
    â€œYes,” said Candice. “At least, I had a flatmate when I first moved in, but she moved out, and I never got round to—”
    â€œIt’s a palace!” interrupted Heather, looking around. “Candice, it’s beautiful!”
    â€œThanks,” said Candice, flushing in pleasure. “I . . . well, I like it.”
    She was secretly rather proud of her attempts at home decoration. She’d spent a long time the previous summer stripping down the brown swirly wallpaper left by the previous occupant of the flat and covering the walls in a chalky yellow paint. The whole thing had taken rather longer than she’d imagined, and her arms had ached by the end of it, but it had been worth it.
    â€œLook—the flowers I brought go perfectly with your walls,” said Heather, and her eyes danced a little. “We obviously think alike, you and me. That’s a good omen, don’t you think?”
    â€œAbsolutely!” said Candice. “Well, let’s get your luggage in and you can . . .” She swallowed. “You can see your room.”
    She picked up one of Heather’s cases and hefted it down the hall, then, with a slight tremor, opened the first bedroom door.
    â€œWow,” breathed Heather behind her. It was a large room, decorated simply, with lavender walls and thick cream-coloured curtains. In the corner was a huge, empty oak armoire; on the night-stand beside the double bed was a pile of glossy magazines.
    â€œThis is fantastic!” said Heather. “I can’t believe this place.” She looked round. “What’s your room like? Is it this door?”
    â€œIt’s . . . fine,” said Candice. “Honestly . . .”
    But Heather was too quick for her. She had already opened the door, to reveal a much smaller room, furnished with a single bed and a cheap pine wardrobe.
    â€œIs this yours?” she said in puzzlement— then looked slowly back at the lavender-painted room. “That one’s yours, isn’t it?” she said in surprise. “You’ve given me your room!”
    She seemed astonished—almost amused—and Candice felt herself flush with embarrassment. She had felt so proud of her little gesture; had hummed merrily the night before as she’d transferred all her clothes out of her own bedroom to make way for Heather. Now, looking at Heather’s face, she realized it had been a mistake. Heather would, of course, insist on swapping back. The whole incident would bring an awkwardness to their arrangement.
    â€œI just thought you’d want your own space,” she said, feeling foolish. “I know what it’s like, movinginto someone else’s home— sometimes you need to get away. So I thought I’d give you the bigger room.”
    â€œI see,” said Heather, and looked again at the lavender room. “Well— if you’re quite sure.” She beamed at Candice and kicked one of her suitcases into the room. “It’s very good of you. I’ll love being in here.”
    â€œOh,” said Candice, half relieved, half secretly discomfited.