Free It's Raining Men by Milly Johnson

ridiculous notion. She had to trust James – not all men were the same. Even if all the ones she
had been out with seemed to be of a very similar design.
    ‘Lud okay?’ Lara asked. Now he sounded like a nice man. She liked the look of the big square-shouldered Ludwig on Clare’s photos so much. It was clear from what Clare had told
them that he adored her.
    ‘He’s good, yeah,’ said Clare, with a forced lightness to her voice. She flicked her eyes to the clock. ‘I’ll tell you about him when I see you. Have to flee
– got a meeting in ten.’
    ‘Ha, me too,’ said Lara. They said:
Have to flee – got a meeting in ten
to each other so much, it was almost a stock catchphrase.
    Lara had a lot to do before she left for her holiday, especially as her second in command, Elise, wasn’t as competent as she would have liked her to be – probably because her heart
wasn’t in it at all. Mind you, Lara could hardly blame her. Working here was like appearing in a seventies sitcom: the men were sleazy and gropey and the women were second-class citizens,
even those as high up in managaement as she was. Giles Billingley saw anything in a skirt as fair game.
    ‘I’ll pick May up first then we’ll drive around for you.’
    ‘Lovely,’ said Clare, her mouth now full of a bacon and Brie sandwich. The canteen was too far up itself for her liking. Everything had to be complicated: boiled egg and caramelized
onion, beef, Stilton and walnuts, quiche slices with leek and cranberry. It was just wrong; someone was trying far too hard to fuse together ingredients that didn’t want to be mixed and
totally cocking up the tastes. They should have got their fundamentals right and concentrated on the bread first, she thought. She could show them how to make a proper loaf, given half the chance.
She wished she had more time to bake. Although there was no one in her life to do any baking for now. ‘See you tomorrow evening. Time?’
    ‘I’m picking May up at about eight so we’ll ring when we set off from hers.’
    Lara then pressed the speed dial for May, but she had to ask if it was May when she picked up because her voice sounded drier than a sand pit.
    ‘May?’
    ‘Yes. Hi, Lars.’
    ‘You okay? You sound rough.’
    ‘Me? I’m totally fine,’ May lied. She had just had to take two tablets because she had the stirrings of a migraine from holding in all that stress, and she hadn’t had one
of those for a long time. She wanted to run away from the paperwork on her desk, search out Michael and face him head on with the thousands of questions which were fermenting in her brain. She
didn’t want to phone him or text him. She needed to look into his eyes when she spoke to him. She needed to see him chuckle and say, ‘What the fuck was that matron talking about? If you
don’t believe me, I’ll take you to see Susan and then you can find out for yourself which one of us is telling the truth.’
    ‘I’ve just been speaking to Clare. She’s getting quite giddy about tomorrow,’ said Lara, hoping that May wasn’t coming down with something. She sounded very
croaky.
    ‘Me too,’ May answered, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. ‘I’m packed and ready. Have been for days.’
    ‘That’s good,’ nodded Lara, then she chuckled. ‘I have the sneaking suspicion that Clare will be taking a few bottles of bleach with her. And her slow-cooker. And her
stain removers.’
    ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ smiled May. ‘Bless her. Mind you, if Clare can’t get ketchup out of a shirt, no one can.’
    Clare made them both laugh with her obsession with all things cleaning and cooking. But not unkindly so. Lara was convinced there was a TV programme in it – the Domestic Accountant. Clare
didn’t mind them taking the mick out of her in the slightest. Especially when she could chalk points up in the air for things like successfully advising Lara on the best way to get chewing
gum out of her step-son’s