City Girl in Training Read Online Free PDF Page B

attention,’ I said. ‘And he was more interested in chasing his umbrella. In fact I should make sure he found it. Which side does he live on?’
    Not that I intended to do more than put my apology—along with an offer to pay for repairs or a replacement—in writing and slip it beneath his door. He would undoubtedly take the hint and respond in kind. After that, if we ever passed in the hall, neither of us would have to do more than nod, which would be a relief all round, I told myself.
    â€˜Out of the door, turn right. End of the hall. Number seventy-two.’ Then she grinned and said, ‘Don’t wait up.’
    â€˜ Gorgeous George?’ I repeated as the door banged shut behind Kate and Sophie. Trying to get my headround the idea. Trying to work out quite why my heart was sinking like a stone.
    Clearly it had nothing to do with the man who lived next door. It had to be because I was alone on a Friday night in a city where I had no friends. My parents were thirty thousand feet above terra firma in another time zone and the man in my life, if he wasn’t cosied up with his beloved car, was down the pub having a good time without me.
    So I did what I always did when I felt down. I opened the fridge.
    What I needed—and urgently—was food. But Sophie could relax; her cottage cheese was safe from me. I wanted comfort food.
    A bacon and egg sandwich. Or sausages. Something warm, and satisfying and packed with heart-clogging cholesterol. If it was clogged, it wouldn’t feel so empty.
    But no such luck. The fridge was a fat-free zone.
    Then I opened the dairy drawer and hit the jackpot. Either Sophie had a secret vice, or Kate was a girl after my own heart.
    There was a pack of expensive, unsalted butter—the kind that tasted like cream spread on bread—and a great big wedge of farmhouse Cheddar cheese from a shop near Covent Garden that I’d read about in the food section of the Sunday paper. I broke a piece off to taste. And drooled.
    I passed on the butter. I didn’t need butter. Cheese on toast would do very nicely.
    It wouldn’t be a hardship to take a trip to CoventGarden in the morning and replace it. I could buy my own supply at the same time and take a look around. Cheered at the idea, I turned on the grill and put the bread to toast on one side. Then I hunted through the cupboards until I found some chilli powder.
    Excellent.
    It was past its sell-by date—well, Kate had said they didn’t cook. From the state of the cupboards, she did not exaggerate. But I wasn’t going to get food poisoning from geriatric spice. I’d just have to use more.
    I turned back to the stove to check the toast, but the grill hadn’t come on and, realising that the cooker was turned off at the main switch, I reached across the worktop and flipped it down.
    Several things happened at once.
    There was a blue flash, a loud bang and everything went dark. Then I screamed.
    It was nothing really over the top as screams went.
    It was loud, but nowhere near the ear-rending decibels expected of the heroine in a low-budget horror movie. I was startled—knee-tremblingly, heart-poundingly startled. Not scared witless.
    It was also pointless since there was no one around to respond with sympathy for my plight.
    I was on my own. Totally on my own. For the first time in my life, there wasn’t a soul I could call on for help. I stood there in total darkness, gripping the work surface as if my life depended on it, while my heart gradually slowed to its normal pace and I made a very determined effort not to feel sorry for myself.
    I’d blown a fuse. It wasn’t the end of the world.
    It just felt like it.
    Beyond the windows, on the far side of the river, the lights of London twinkled back at me, mockingly. They knew I was out of my depth.
    Back home all I’d have to do was pick up the phone and call Don. Not that I’d need him to mend the fuse, but his