Free A Hopeless Romantic by Harriet Evans Page A

working with the government. I honestly thought you could do whatever you wanted. Be someone who made a real difference…”
    Laura stood up and held the handle of the door, in tears. She shook her head at Rachel, wordlessly. Rachel sighed.
    “There’s a boy somewhere at the bottom of all this, isn’t there?” Laura heard her say as she ran out. “There always is….”

chapter seven
    L aura didn’t go to Yorky’s birthday dinner. She didn’t tell him the truth. She lied and said she’d been sick and come home from work early. She looked so forlorn and pale in the heat that Yorky obviously believed her, as he stood there fiddling with his keys, looking down at Laura as she lay on the sofa.
    “Are you sure you’re going to be all right on your own?” he said anxiously.
    Bile flooded Laura’s stomach at her deception, at how she was deceiving and lying to those who loved her the most. How could she do it? She clutched her stomach and winced with real pain, and Yorky looked at her with compassion.
    “Oh, babe,” he said. “Poor thing. Look, call me any time and I’ll come home early if you want.”
    “It’s your birthday,” Laura said grimly, clenching her teeth. “Go away. Have a great evening. Give the others my love. I’ll see you later.”
    “Okay,” said Yorky. “Really sorry, babe.” He tightened the thin, patterned tie he was wearing and shook his head. “Well, I’m off. Ladies, watch out. The birthday boy’s a-comin’!”
    He yelped and tried to moonwalk out of the sitting room. Laura heard him yelp again as he crashed into the hall table, and then the door shut behind him and the flat was silent again. She lay staring up at the ceiling, quite still, for a long time. At last she reached down to the floor and picked up the phone and dialed.
    “Dan,” she said. “Yes, I know…. Yes, I know…. Listen! Can we meet tomorrow?…I know…. Yes, me too…. No, not for that. Yorky’s in…. No, he’s in tomorrow, we can’t. I want to talk to you. About the holiday. And things…. Oh, okay, then. Is it on Rathbone Street?…Yep. Okay, see you—yes, see you there.”
     
    The following evening, the heat of the day hung over the city. It was inescapable, both in Laura’s flat, which was airless and oppressive, and out on the street, which was dirty and smelled stale.
    Laura stood against the upholstered pad by the stairs of the bus as it lurched its way from the cooler, leafier roads of North London down into the heart of the city. The bus was sweltering, crowded, uncomfortable, and she grew angrier and crosser as it jolted down Oxford Street.
    She was late to meet Dan—even though she’d had nothing to do all day, even though no one knew she wasn’t at work, not even Yorky. No one had called; no one had noticed her absence from e-mail or the phone. She had sat in the flat all day, talking to no one, eating nothing, smoking a lot, and thinking about this evening with an increasing sense of dread. There was no one she could talk to, anyway. No one who knew how badly she’d fucked up, and she’d wanted it to stay that way. No, she’d sort this situation out first, and if it worked out—a big if, but she knew it would, it had to this time—then at least, no matter what else happened, she and Dan Floyd would finally be able to tell everyone they were in love, they were a couple, Amy was history, and everything in the garden was finally fantastically rosy.
     
    The Newman Pie Room was above a pub, the Newman Arms, tucked away off Oxford Street on Rathbone Street. It was one room, decked out in old-man’s-pub traditional style, with a few tables and a board on the wall announcing what pies were on offer that particular day. It was one of Laura’s favorite places—Dan had taken her there on one of their first evenings out together. It was a great hidden secret, and certainly not the kind of place you’d ever catch Amy in, more to the point.
    Laura’s legs shook slightly as she climbed