Free The Chocolate Run by Dorothy Koomson Page B

totally honest, Jenna,’ I said gravely, then checked she wanted the truth by adding: ‘Total honesty, right?’
    She nodded, bit her lip, her eyes cloaked in apprehension and terror: we had this habit of asking for total honesty of each other and then being struck with fear because we knew we’d get it.
    ‘I never thought he’d do it. I never thought he’d make such a bold move, it’s so unlike him. I know, I know, I’ve spent two years telling you I thought he would but that’s because it was what you wanted to hear. Deep down, I thought he’d never do it. But he did, so that’s great. Fantastic, even.’
    Jen tossed her wavy blonde hair, exposing her beautiful face. I didn’t think she was beautiful simply because she was my best friend, but because she was. Her skin was naturally blemish-free, her slightly prominent cheekbones only needed a hint of blusher. And her eyes were such an unusual shade of blue you could never be sure what colour they really were. Sometimes they were pale blue, sometimes sapphire blue, sometimes topaz blue, and other days, like today, they were summer sky blue. If anything let her down, though, it was the shape of her eyes. They, no matter how well she shaped her eyebrows, seemed slightly too big. They were oval and not pinched enough at the ends to make them perfect, like the rest of her face. I often wanted to lend her my eyes – mine were the shape of bay leaves with finely tapered edges and huge, black-brown pupils – because she’d be ‘finished’, 100 per cent perfect with them.
    Jen sipped her wine. ‘Neither did I,’ she replied and pulled her legs up under her on the sofa. ‘I never thought Matt would settle down because he’s like you.’
    ‘ Excuse me?! ’ I replied. If someone was going to fling the ultimate insult at me, that was it. Me, like Matt. Me, like that proverbial lump of toffee?
    ‘You and Matt are so alike it’s scary. Whenever the future’s mentioned you both get cagey. You’ll either clam up or make a joke out of it, anything to avoid thinking or talking seriously about settling down. It used to infuriate me because I never knew where I stood when it came to getting a house or booking a holiday, but then I was glad you were like that when I met Matt. I realised he wasn’t going to run away because even though you made no plans for the future you stuck around.’
    ‘You know what, I’ll let you off because you’re my best mate, any other person would get kicked out for that.’
    ‘Oh, you want examples?’ Jen said. ‘Sean.’
    ‘We do not talk about Sean,’ I reminded.
    ‘I have never known a man adore a woman like he did you,’ Jen continued as though she hadn’t heard the warning note in my voice. ‘He was sooooo in love with you, the way he gazed at yo—’
    ‘We are not having this conversation,’ I cut in.
    Jen observed me long and cool, trying to calculate if she could say what else was on her mind. She opened her mouth.
    ‘And if you do try to have this conversation you can piss off home.’
    She shrugged, sat back on the sofa. ‘I reckon it’s because your family’s as deformed as mine,’ Jen said.
    ‘Listen, teacher features, just because you sort out five-yearolds’ problems, don’t think you can analyse me. I’m the one with the psychology degree, remember?’
    ‘Doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two about it. Or, for that matter, Ambs, that I don’t know you.’
    Jen and I met in the first year of college. I was in Room 29, she was in Room 30 in our halls of residence.
    I remember the exact moment I saw her walking from her room to the kitchen on our floor: she was tall, wearing a stone-washed denim skirt and sensible black polo neck. Her hair, pinned back with an Alice band, cascaded down her back, stopping at her waist. She had a perfectly oval face with cheekbones that threatened to make an appearance the older she got. She walked with the kind of straight-backed poise they taught in finishing