Thank You, Next - Sophie Ranald Page 0,71

there’s nothing to worry about, is there? Unless you’d like a tarot reading, just to be sure?’

‘Maybe next time,’ I said. ‘But I’d love to hear more about your art. That painting is amazing – you’re seriously talented.’

And that was the end of the mysticism talk, thank heavens. Indigo chatted away, a lot more normally, about how she sold her paintings online and at car boot sales, and even asked me a bit about my work, and Jude listened and occasionally made a flattering comment about one or the other of us. We finished the cava, Indigo opened a bottle of red wine and Jude suggested ordering a takeaway, but it turned out Indigo was on one of her fast days, so we didn’t.

And at about nine o’clock we finally said goodbye and left.

‘Do you think she was right, about us not really being compatible? In terms of astrology, I mean?’ I asked Jude, as we started the long descent of the stairs.

He laughed. ‘Oh God, don’t give it a second thought. Ind loves a bit of drama. Besides, it’s…’

‘All bollocks really?’

‘Exactly! Although I’d never say that to her, because she’s a mate and stuff. But the main thing is, you and me, we’re good, right?’

‘Well, I will be, once I’ve had something to eat.’

So we stopped off at a Turkish restaurant on the way home and had loads of falafel and chips and salad, and then we went back to my flat and were both too knackered to do anything other than fall into bed and hold each other close.

But once Jude was asleep, I found myself wondering what Indigo had really meant. Maybe she genuinely believed what she’d said was true. But I doubted that, somehow. I’d noticed her looking at Jude with something like hunger, which might of course have been down to the fast day. (I mean, really. The longest I’d ever gone without food had been twenty-four hours, when I’d had a killer stomach bug, and by the end of that I’d practically been climbing the walls.) I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was as suspicious of me as I was of her, and for the same reason.

That only strengthened my resolve. Jude and I were together. I was going to make this work. I was going to keep the flame of passion burning in our relationship, whatever it took. I had a boyfriend, and I wasn’t going to let some eyebrow-raising, tarot-reading, high-cheekboned rival come between us.

Nineteen

Peace and happiness may be found today in nature, but don’t forget that the tides have power and tigers have teeth.

It was ten o’clock and I was still in bed – my first morning off in ages and, crucially, what felt like the first free time in ages that I didn’t have to spend combing the internet for potential dates. It had been three weeks since Jude had… not moved in, exactly. But moved in. And I still hadn’t quite got my head around the fact that I was no longer single.

It seemed Jude had moved in with me permanently. His laptop was on my coffee table, his guitar was propped up against the wall, his clothes were… well, pretty much everywhere. Task one for my morning off was going to have to be putting on a load of washing – or more like three, judging by the amount of stuff there was draped over the sofa, half under the bed and covering most of the floor.

When I’d suggested to Jude that we do a bit of cleaning together, he’d said that he had work to do and wasn’t housework a ridiculously bourgeois construct, anyway? And to be fair to him, he was working brutally long hours, often leaving the flat before seven and not returning until nine or ten at night. And it was all for virtually no pay – as an intern, his transport costs were covered and he got an allowance for lunch, but that was it.

His commitment to the cause impressed me, but I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have a live-in boyfriend who I actually saw sometimes, as opposed to just seeing his stuff.

At the window behind me, open to the warm, breezy morning, I heard Frazzle give his familiar chirrup of longing. The blackbirds that had been nesting in the beer garden had kept him fascinated for days: he perched on the windowsill, his fluffy orange tail twitching with frustration, his whiskers bristling, as he watched the

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