Free Dream a Little Dream by Sue Moorcroft Page A

to go out and find business.
    ‘There will be no guaranteed pay cheque at the end of the month. Nobody to do your work when you’re away. Bank holidays might be a thing of the past. Whatever your business is, you have to make that product or service sell, collect the money and do all the paperwork.’
    He grinned. ‘But I like a challenge. I’m sure I can make a business work – it’s just a case of finding the right business.’

Chapter Seven
    Liza had agreed to meet Rochelle and Angie in Peterborough at a wine bar on Friday evening.
    ‘I know that pubs are in your comfort zone, but they’re too weekday,’ Rochelle had pre-empted her protests. ‘Friday counts as the weekend. It’s only Ruby’s on Thorpe Road. That’s not even properly in the city, Liza, and it does food so it’s not binge drinky. Don’t worry – we won’t make you enjoy yourself too much.’
    At least Liza knew where there was parking on Thorpe Road. And it was good to wear something other than her uniform or jeans, even if she’d gone for a cover-up, but mildly sexy, option of musketeer boots with silky leggings and a floaty blue-checked overshirt with a waterfall hem that swished around her hips. She’d even had time to apply lilac smiley transfers to her nails.
    And when she burst in from the cold, Rochelle and Angie were waiting on chrome-back, tall stools with an air of expectation; their hems high and their necklines low.
    ‘Here’s Liza. Whoop! Squee!’ Angie sometimes talked like a Twitter update. She waved at the stubbly young barman. ‘What are you having, Liza?’ All in white, except for a green tartan bow tie, the barman hovered for Liza’s reply.
    ‘I’ll have a sparkling mineral water, please.’
    ‘No, she won’t, she’ll have a little pinot,’ Angie said to the barman.
    Rochelle snorted. ‘Don’t say things like “little pinot” to a man, Ange. You’ll give him a complex.’ She exaggerated the two syllables,
pee-noh
, and giggled.
    Angie began to giggle, too. ‘OK, she’d like a large pinot, then.’
    ‘Fizzy water,’ Liza repeated to the barman, who had the hunted look of a man being teased by politically incorrect women.
    By then, Rochelle had grabbed the wine list. ‘Look! A
big pink
pinot! We’ll have that.’
    ‘Yeah, quality
and
quantity!’
    The barman’s colour heightened. Liza took pity on him. ‘They mean that they’d like a bottle of pinot grigio frizzante blush, please.’
    Rochelle leaned off her stool to plant a kiss on Liza’s cheek. ‘Spoilsport,’ she said as he busied himself with selecting the bottle of pale pink wine from the chiller, polishing three flutes and standing them on the bar.
    Angie snatched one up. ‘Wow, you’re only going to be able to put a really tiny pinot in there, aren’t you?’ Without answering, the barman flourished his cloth and popped the cork, splashing a taster into her glass. Angie downed it and motioned him to splash more. ‘Fantastic. It’s pretty and it matches my outfit.’ She sat up to give him a view of her pink crocheted dress and the body it took three gym sessions a week to maintain. Then, when he stood the frizzante in a wine cooler, looking more embarrassed than enticed, she sighed and turned to Liza. ‘C’mon, Lize. Just half a glass.’
    ‘Water, thanks.’ Liza smiled at the barman, who smiled back, probably in relief that she wasn’t intent on teasing him for entertainment.
    Rochelle rolled her eyes, outlined with jade green eyeliner and gold shadow, and snatched up a menu from the bar. ‘I hope you haven’t gone all boring with food, too? Because we’re doing desserts.’
    ‘Excellent! What do they have that’s chocolate?’ Liza grabbed the menu to dispel the impression that a ‘wet blanket’ sign flashed above her head. Doing desserts with Angie and Rochelle was harmless. If you considered subjecting your body to an entire meal of sugar did no harm.
    Rochelle and Angie emptied and replenished their glasses with