Free Love Letters by Katie Fforde Page B

pay him to look picturesque,’ said Monica.
    ‘He does his job very well,’ said Laura. ‘He looks perfect.’
    ‘And if we can’t find Cove Road, we can ask him, but I think it’s all Cove Road, so it’s just a case of finding the right house.’
    It was surprisingly straightforward, only, on the doorstep, the ridiculousness of the whole thing hit Laura and she got the giggles. ‘Oh God, Monica, I’m so sorry, I can’t do this. You’ll have to do it on your own.’ She could hardly speak. ‘It’s just so silly! We’ve ridden bikes, for goodness’ sake, to meet a man who may not even live here. We’re grown women, not thirteen-year-olds!’ She went off into another fit of laughter and crossed her legs, just in case.
    ‘Really, Laura, I thought you were the sensible one of us! I’m flighty, you’re sensible: those are our roles. We must stick to them.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Laura spluttered. ‘I just can’t knock on the door and say, “Can Seamus come out to play?” I just can’t! And I can’t stand behind you while you do it.’ She swallowed, took a deep breath and got a grip at last. ‘Tell you what, we’ll get the bikes out of sight at least. I’ll look after them, and you can do this on your own.’
    ‘Don’t be silly!’ Monica was indignant. ‘How sad will that make me look?’
    ‘Not much sadder than if we’re both here, me giggling and both of us holding bicycles as if we’re kids from school. What are you going to say anyway? “We were passing so we thought we’d drop by?”’
    Monica humphed in irritation. ‘Well, why not? It’s true!’
    ‘No it’s not. We cycled bloody miles, we were not “just passing”.’ She sniffed, found a bit of old tissue, blew her nose and then said, ‘But I’ve stopped giggling now, so go ahead, look a fool. I’ll look one with you.’
    ‘Thanks, Laura, you’re a good girl.’
    Monica lifted the knocker and banged hard. There was no answer. ‘Well, now what do we do?’ she said after a minute and another knock.
    ‘Write your mobile number on a bit of paper and post it through the letterbox. Although you may have to write a short essay reminding him who you are,’ said Laura.
    ‘Not at all! He’ll remember exactly who I am, but the mobile number’s a good idea. Oh, do you think it’ll work in Ireland?’
    ‘Mine did. I phoned the shop while you were in the Ladies.’
    ‘Don’t you mean Mna ?’
    ‘Oh, shut up and write your note. I want to get back to the b. and b. I may need a bit of a lie-down before tonight.’
    She was briefly aware of a flutter of anxiety and then dismissed it. She was enjoying herself and didn’t want any nerves about the coming evening to spoil this delicious feeling of freedom.
    ‘Lightweight,’ muttered Monica, writing.
    Laura’s giggliness continued for the journey home even though she was now exhausted.
    ‘I’ll never ride a bike again,’ she said as they finally made it back to the b. and b. ‘In fact, I don’t suppose I’ll ever sit down again comfortably.’
    ‘Shut up moaning. It was downhill all the way.’
    Their landlady provided a huge plate of sandwiches with a monster teapot full of strong tea. They ate every scrap and drained the pot. The sandwiches were followed by two sorts of cake, both home-made, both utterly delicious.
    ‘I can’t believe we ate all that!’ said Laura as they tottered from the dining room back to their room. ‘I’m going to need some indigestion tablets or something.’
    ‘Good idea,’ said Monica. ‘Top tip: before a big night out, take a Zantac, stops you throwing up afterwards.’
    Laura paused, her hand on the bedroom door. ‘We’re not having a big night out, Monica,’ she said. ‘We’re going to worship at the feet of a great writer and persuade him to come to our literary festival. Throwing up is not on the To Do list.’
    Monica laughed, obviously not convinced. But now it was nearly upon her, Laura suddenly felt the weight of