Free Three Amazing Things About You by Jill Mansell

been.’ Did she sound hopelessly neurotic? ‘He’s on his way up to Edinburgh.’
    ‘Ah well, maybe there isn’t any signal.’ Moira, in her forties, was sympathetic, chatty and good company. ‘Is he flying?’
    Tasha shook her head. ‘No. Riding up there on a Harley-Davidson motorbike.’
    ‘What? Oh God!’ Pulling a horrified face, Moira said, ‘No wonder you’re all of a faff. All that way? And bikes are so
dangerous
. My neighbour’s son had the most dreadful accident last year, came off his motorbike and nearly died. Ended up having to have both legs amputated.’
    ‘Oh dear.’ Sometimes Moira could be a bit
too
chatty. Tasha felt her insides curdle at the thought.
    ‘Then there was my friend’s auntie, she crashed her moped into a wall and she’s had a withered arm ever since!’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘And Alan from the golf club went under a bus on his motorbike. Killed outright. Oh, sorry.’ Moira clapped a hand over her mouth, evidently realising that her comments might have been less than tactful. Belatedly she said, ‘I’m sure your boyfriend’s
fine
.’
    The shoot, for a women’s magazine, dragged on interminably. First one o’clock, then two o’clock went by, with still no word from Rory. Tasha’s stomach continued to tighten with fear. On the outside she carried on applying make-up to models, while on the inside her brain conjured up terrifying images of an accident on the motorway . . . bits of broken motorbike strewn across three lanes . . . blue flashing lights . . . sombre-faced paramedics shaking their heads at each other . . .
    ‘Tash! Has my forehead gone shiny? Could you sort me out with some powder?’
    Moira again. Tasha went over to deal with the shine.
    ‘Any news from your boyfriend?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘Oh well, I’m sure he’s OK!’ Eager to make up for her earlier faux pas, Moira patted her arm. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing.’
    ‘Why?’ The photographer was busy setting up a different backdrop. ‘Is he in hospital?’
    ‘We hope not!’ Moira shook her head vigorously at the photographer. ‘No, definitely not! He was riding his motorbike up to Edinburgh this morning and poor Tasha hasn’t heard from him since he set off. Not a word! She’s worried sick that he’s had a terrible accident!
    Only because you practically told me he had.
Tasha resisted the urge to bop Moira on the head with the powder brush.
    ‘Ah, don’t panic, love, he’ll be all right.’ The photographer picked up his camera and winked at Tasha. ‘If he’s too busy to call you, it’s probably because he’s in bed with another woman.’
    ‘Great, thanks, that makes me feel so much better.’ Tasha marvelled at his lack of subtlety; luckily, she wasn’t the jealous type.
    He grinned. ‘Or another man.’
    Which had been, to give him his due, quite funny.
    By five o’clock, Tasha had long stopped laughing. This was ridiculous. In the last few hours, she’d used up a week’s worth of heartbeats. Convinced that Rory must be dead, she tracked down the number of Joe’s dental practice and insisted on being put through to him.
    ‘Look, have you heard from Rory? He said he’d call me, but he hasn’t. And I know it’s ridiculous, but I can’t stop wondering if he’s had an accident.’
    ‘Let me try his phone.’ Evidently taking out his mobile, Joe pressed buttons. ‘No,’ he said a few seconds later, ‘it’s gone straight to answerphone. Maybe his battery’s flat.’
    ‘Do you think I’m being neurotic?’
    ‘Honestly? A bit,’ said Joe. But in a kind way.
    ‘I’m worried.’ Tasha took a deep breath; was it just her? ‘Really worried. What if he’s in hospital on life support?’
    ‘OK, just a thought,’ said Joe, ‘but don’t hospitals go through phones and contact the next of kin?’
    ‘But I’m not next of kin! They wouldn’t call me!’
    ‘Whoa, calm down. They’d call his next of kin and then
they’d
call me. But nobody has. So I think you