Read Online Out Late with Friends and Regrets by Suzanne Egerton - Free Book Online
Authors: Suzanne Egerton
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obvious you fancy the pants off me, dear!”
“Sadly, not nearly as much as I fancy my aerobics teacher, even though you’ve got ten times her personality!”
“That’s my girl,” said Ellie, winking, “you’ll be a joy to coach!”
The conversation flowed. Fiona was savvy enough to be aware that Ellie was very skilfully drawing information from her, without pressure and without seeming to be anything but a good listener; and realised she didn’t actually mind. Normally so close about the past, tonight she found it good to unburden a few difficult things to someone who neither criticised, nor belittled her with sympathy.
“You know what?” said Ellie, eventually, “I don’t really see you as a Fiona. Do you mind if I call you Fin, for short?”
“You don’t like Fiona?”
“No, don’t get me wrong, it’s a good name. But it’s a bit... sensible and ladylike, if you know what I mean,” said Ellie.
Fiona guffawed.
“I’ve never particularly liked or disliked it myself,” she admitted, “but you just never think about that sort of thing, do you? I used to get called Fee at school, but - Fin’s got real possibilities... Yeah, let’s go for it!”
It was buzzy, it had a finger-clicking feel to it; it fitted the person she was ready to be. New life, new name; it worked.
By this time she had relaxed to the extent of being quite unfazed when Ellie asked where she lived.
“Two miles beyond Cantlesham, down a quiet lane -”
“Cantlesham?” exclaimed Ellie, “As in, ‘Disgusted of Cantlesham?’ The town adrift in its own dreams of English niceness? Natural home of the pastry fork? And you live two miles beyond the back of beyond?”
“God, you’re so rude , Ellie!”
“Rude? Young lady, I am never rude!” said Ellie, sucking in her cheeks.
“How about offensive and obnoxious?”
“OK, offensive and obnoxious I accept. Honestly though, It’s hardly the hippest spot on the planet for a seeker after Sapphic satisfaction, is it?”
Fin was sniggering, a little muzzed at the edges from a lot more to drink than she was used to.
“’Tis, so! On Gay Pride day all the lavender-scented old biddies and retired colonels go jigging through the pedestrian precinct in Xena breastplates and backless trousers!” she declared.
“’So gay the music, so giddy the measure’, eh?” said Ellie.
“Not. Actually, I think I may have to move away from Cantlesham.”
“I’d say it was a priority, Fin.”
At this point Ellie turned her head, and hollered, “Oi, Benno!” above the hub-bub. As he approached, she asked Fin, “Fancy some home-made lasagne? Benno’s lasagne is to fah-h-h-hkin’ die for!”
“I say Professor,” slurred Fin, “isn’t that a teensy-weensy little split infinitive in there, hmmm?”
“Pipe down, junior, I’ll speak to you later – hi Benno, how’s the lasagne tonight?”
Benno’s principal feature was a heavy walrus moustache, beneath which a gleaming smile could just be detected.
“Why you have to ask, Mees Van Zandt? My lasagne always beautiful, like your mama never make! Fan-ficky-tastic!”
“That’s two, then, Benno, and say Hi to Dotty for me.”
Benno turned and made for the Staff Only door, all tight black trousers and swervy gait.
“That man has a peach of an arse,” Ellie commented loudly. A small movement of his shoulders indicated that he had heard.
“Case in point,” resumed Ellie, turning back to her pupil. “You could just imagine Benno in all the chains and leather gear, but he and Dotty have been happily married for years. Got a smashing pair of twin boys. The accent’s a dead fake, too. Born in Hackney.”
“It’s an incredible bar,” commented Fin, looking up at the stark pipework.
“Yeah, been like this since the millennium. Everyone keeps telling Ben to give it a makeover, but he can’t bear to close long enough to get it done up!”
The lasagne was indeed
“Sadly, not nearly as much as I fancy my aerobics teacher, even though you’ve got ten times her personality!”
“That’s my girl,” said Ellie, winking, “you’ll be a joy to coach!”
The conversation flowed. Fiona was savvy enough to be aware that Ellie was very skilfully drawing information from her, without pressure and without seeming to be anything but a good listener; and realised she didn’t actually mind. Normally so close about the past, tonight she found it good to unburden a few difficult things to someone who neither criticised, nor belittled her with sympathy.
“You know what?” said Ellie, eventually, “I don’t really see you as a Fiona. Do you mind if I call you Fin, for short?”
“You don’t like Fiona?”
“No, don’t get me wrong, it’s a good name. But it’s a bit... sensible and ladylike, if you know what I mean,” said Ellie.
Fiona guffawed.
“I’ve never particularly liked or disliked it myself,” she admitted, “but you just never think about that sort of thing, do you? I used to get called Fee at school, but - Fin’s got real possibilities... Yeah, let’s go for it!”
It was buzzy, it had a finger-clicking feel to it; it fitted the person she was ready to be. New life, new name; it worked.
By this time she had relaxed to the extent of being quite unfazed when Ellie asked where she lived.
“Two miles beyond Cantlesham, down a quiet lane -”
“Cantlesham?” exclaimed Ellie, “As in, ‘Disgusted of Cantlesham?’ The town adrift in its own dreams of English niceness? Natural home of the pastry fork? And you live two miles beyond the back of beyond?”
“God, you’re so rude , Ellie!”
“Rude? Young lady, I am never rude!” said Ellie, sucking in her cheeks.
“How about offensive and obnoxious?”
“OK, offensive and obnoxious I accept. Honestly though, It’s hardly the hippest spot on the planet for a seeker after Sapphic satisfaction, is it?”
Fin was sniggering, a little muzzed at the edges from a lot more to drink than she was used to.
“’Tis, so! On Gay Pride day all the lavender-scented old biddies and retired colonels go jigging through the pedestrian precinct in Xena breastplates and backless trousers!” she declared.
“’So gay the music, so giddy the measure’, eh?” said Ellie.
“Not. Actually, I think I may have to move away from Cantlesham.”
“I’d say it was a priority, Fin.”
At this point Ellie turned her head, and hollered, “Oi, Benno!” above the hub-bub. As he approached, she asked Fin, “Fancy some home-made lasagne? Benno’s lasagne is to fah-h-h-hkin’ die for!”
“I say Professor,” slurred Fin, “isn’t that a teensy-weensy little split infinitive in there, hmmm?”
“Pipe down, junior, I’ll speak to you later – hi Benno, how’s the lasagne tonight?”
Benno’s principal feature was a heavy walrus moustache, beneath which a gleaming smile could just be detected.
“Why you have to ask, Mees Van Zandt? My lasagne always beautiful, like your mama never make! Fan-ficky-tastic!”
“That’s two, then, Benno, and say Hi to Dotty for me.”
Benno turned and made for the Staff Only door, all tight black trousers and swervy gait.
“That man has a peach of an arse,” Ellie commented loudly. A small movement of his shoulders indicated that he had heard.
“Case in point,” resumed Ellie, turning back to her pupil. “You could just imagine Benno in all the chains and leather gear, but he and Dotty have been happily married for years. Got a smashing pair of twin boys. The accent’s a dead fake, too. Born in Hackney.”
“It’s an incredible bar,” commented Fin, looking up at the stark pipework.
“Yeah, been like this since the millennium. Everyone keeps telling Ben to give it a makeover, but he can’t bear to close long enough to get it done up!”
The lasagne was indeed
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