A Night In With Audrey Hepburn by Lucy Holliday

Author:Lucy Holliday [Lucy Holliday]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2015-04-10T16:00:00+00:00

As Walks of Shame go, this is a pretty bad one.

It’s eight in the morning, the height of the rush hour, and I’ve just endured a tube ride all the way from Angel to Kennington, still wearing my little black dress, cocktail-smelling trench, pearl necklace, can’t-walk-in-them heels and smudged eye make-up from last night.

Oh, and a pair of Ray-Bans I grabbed from Dillon’s bedside table before I left, because my left eye, courtesy of Cass, now looks as if I’ve gone a couple of rounds with a world champion heavyweight boxer. Or, more likely, that I got myself into a horribly messy situation with whatever random man I went home with last night, showing poor judgement as well as some seriously loose morals. And the sidelong glances from my fellow Northern Line passengers have been quite judgey and pitying enough as it is, thank you very much.

(Well, the female passengers’ sidelong glances have been judgey and pitying; the pinstriped City Boys, on their way in to testosterone-fuelled jobs, yelling at each other across the trading floor, are giving me longer, more lingering looks from behind their copies of the Financial Times, presumably spicing up their morning commute with fetid imaginings of exactly what I might have got up to before the Walk of Shame.)

I’ve never been more relieved to get off a tube train, let me tell you. Even the agonizing totter from the station to Olly’s flat is a picnic in comparison, no matter how much the soles of my feet are burning, or my ankle aching, or how furiously my toes are screaming at me to put on a pair of sheepskin moccasins and give them a break.

I didn’t actually plan to head to Olly’s flat, by the way, when I got on the tube back at Angel. I just realized (whilst staring very intently at the tube map on the wall of the train in an attempt to ignore all the staring) that my route back home was about to take me through Kennington station, only a five-minute walk (or ten-minute agonizing totter) from Olly’s place just off Kennington Park Road. And once I’d twigged that, I also twigged that there’s nothing, right now, that I want to do more than sit at Olly’s kitchen table, drink a nice, hot cup of tea, and try to let the cosiness wash over me.

Besides, I hate leaving things the way they are between us, and I’ll feel even shittier all day unless I can actually speak to him face to face and apologize, again, for lying to him last night.

As I head round the corner to the side-street his flat is on, I finally give up torturing myself and stop to take off my shoes for the last few steps along the pavement.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

It’s bliss. Sheer, mind-blowing bliss.

Almost as blissful as the things I was doing with Dillon in that rumpled, enormous bed, until the wee small hours of this morning.

Oh dear God, it was good.

No, it was more than good.

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