LITMIR.BIZ

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the microphone and booming that it was time for everyone to be seated.

      ‘Good timing,’ Yvonne said.

      As the table filled up around them, Nicola put her handbag on the next chair to save it for Scott. She removed it when she noticed he’d sat at the next table over. Bastard.

      She smiled at a nervous looking young woman in a dress with shoe-string straps who claimed the seat.

      ‘I’m Bianca,’ said the young thing in barely more than a whisper.

      ‘Hi, I’m Nicola,’ Nicola said, offering her warmest smile as she gripped the limp hand. The girl couldn’t be more than twenty; still a child, she thought, suddenly feeling very old.

      She was about to ask if it was Bianca’s first time at one of these functions. The answer was obvious but she wanted to help erase the startled rabbit look from the poor kid. Who was she with?

      She peered past Bianca and offered her hand to her companion, an equally startled looking young lad. ‘Hi, I’m Nicola.’

      ‘Tim,’ he said, ‘Tim Robinson. I’m with KLR – started a month ago. Learning the ropes of futures at the moment; mind blowing.’

      Nicola nodded and smiled while wishing he’d shut up and let go of her hand, but at the same time feeling a surge of sympathy for him. If he didn’t toughen up quick he’d get eaten alive. She’d heard enough from Scott to know what a cut-throat world share trading was. Perhaps he wasn’t going to be an actual trader, but someone’s assistant.

      ‘Hey, aren’t you on television?’ Tim asked with a flushed face.

      ‘Yes I am. Excuse me,’ she said, as she felt a gentle bump from Yvonne. She sat back to allow the waiter to put a bowl in front of her.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, picking up her spoon to tackle pumpkin soup, complete with an artistic swirl of cream and sprig of parsley. Standard mass-produced convention centre fare. No doubt the next course would be a choice of either chicken or beef. She pitied the vegetarians; their meals always looked like ghastly afterthoughts.

      While they waited for dessert, a fifteen minute presentation was given. Nicola and Yvonne couldn’t see the screens from where they were sitting, and neither could be bothered shuffling around. But both Tim and Bianca dutifully moved their chairs. You’ll learn, Nicola thought to herself.

      While everyone’s attention was fixed on the speaker, Yvonne gave Nicola a gentle nudge and whispered into her ear. ‘Hey, have you got yourself one of these yet?’

      Nicola peered down into the handbag Yvonne was holding open below the edge of the table, out of sight from everyone else. Inside was a long glowing green stick. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what it was, but then she realised, and had to clap a hand to her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud. Of course! This was one of those ‘little friends’ she’d overheard a couple of the girls talking about in the office toilets a few times.

      ‘Jesus, put that thing away,’ she wanted to cry, but at the same time she was curious to get it out and have a damn good look. But that just wasn’t something you did in a room full of boring old accountant types. And, ew, it had been, ew! She cringed at the thought.

      ‘Don’t worry, it won’t bite.’ Yvonne chuckled. ‘My friend’s selling them; apparently they’re the best thing since sliced bread. Even comes with batteries so you can put it to use right away. Thirty-nine ninety-five including postage,’ she added with a wink.

      Jesus, Nicola thought, she could be talking about Tupperware. Were lots of women really buying them? Was no woman being sexually satisfied anymore? She leaned over for another look, trying not to attract attention.

      ‘Um, have you …?’

      ‘Not yet.’ Yvonne snapped her handbag shut just as a waiter appeared beside her carrying a tray full of wedges of lemon meringue pie with generous knobs of thick cream. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ve given it a whirl.’

      Turning to her dessert, Nicola dug her spoon in. ‘Yum, one of my favourites.’ And a fine example it was. Hmm, a perfect balance of sweet, savoury and bitterness. Not that she could cook; she just knew what she liked.

      As she ate, her thoughts were still with Yvonne and the ‘little friend’. God, wouldn’t Scott freak out if he found one in her bedside drawer – especially if she went with one of the extralarge versions. It would almost be worth it to see his reaction, she thought, running her tongue around the spoon in her mouth.

      Perhaps there was a story in the waning of sexual interest in upwardly-mobile corporate couples. Maybe it wasn’t a conscious decision at all for her demographic to be putting off having children. She looked at Tim and Bianca, wondered what they saw when they looked at her: a successful career woman? Or someone who had let the chance for a family slip through her fingers?

      Finally the tempting aromas of coffee were wafting around the table – a sure sign the evening was winding up. She longed for a cup of the silky, bitter tar but knew she’d never get to sleep if she did.

      ‘You wouldn’t happen to have peppermint tea, would you?’ she asked the waiter.

      ‘Oh, peppermint tea, yes please,’ a chorus around the table chimed.

      ‘I’ll check,’ the young man said through gritted teeth.

      ‘I’d really appreciate it,’ she said, beaming her best television smile. Thank God the night was almost over; Nicola wasn’t sure she could play partner and interested wallflower much longer.

      Scott hadn’t said two words to her all night; why the hell had he insisted on her even coming?

Chapter Five

      Nicola woke to a headache of disappointment. She’d always felt that a hangover was only worth suffering if a worthy investment had been made, but last night she’d only had two glasses of white with dinner. That was the trouble with bad wine.

      She rolled over to find further disappointment. Scott’s side of the bed was empty.

      Kitchen clatter informed her he was making coffee. The small carriage clock confirmed she’d managed to sleep in. It was eight-thirty.

      She picked up the small wooden picture frame from beside the clock. It held a copy of the same faded polaroid as the one in her office. She stroked the baby’s innocent sleeping face, her face, which showed nothing of the impending abandonment.

      Why had her mother given her up? Had she done it voluntarily or under duress? What about the man or boy involved: did he know he had a daughter who had been given up? Maybe her mother had been raped. Jesus, Nicola couldn’t bear that thought.

      When her adoption information eventually arrived, it would only give her names; not these more emotional details. For that she’d have to meet her, whoever she was.

      The thought sent a shiver down Nicola’s spine. But what if she was dead? Nicola had always refused to believe that. No, somewhere out there she had another mother, and hopefully a father too. She’d felt sure of it right from the start, and would continue to believe it until she knew otherwise.

      Scott’s frame filled the doorway. ‘Don’t forget we’re meeting Bob and Sandy for breakfast at Becco at ten – you’d better get cracking.’

      ‘Come back to bed,’ Nicola cooed, patting the emptiness beside her.

      ‘There are some emails I need to deal with.’

      ‘Surely they can wait.’

      ‘No, Nicola, they can’t – they’re important.’

      And there it was; that tone she hated. Nicola felt like pointing out that she was important too, but cautioned herself. The effects of last night’s below-average wine were probably making her overly sensitive. It was easier

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