A Year of Chasing Love. Rosie Chambers

special pair of glitter-heeled pumps – brand new, sparkling and not yet sullied by any contact with the pavement or dance floor – next to her on a silk pillow all of their own. She knew that to Rachel these sartorial creations were objects of great beauty, crafted by the hands of artisans. For all her quirkiness, or maybe because of it, Olivia loved Rachel; she was a down-to-earth, straight-talking Lancashire lass – there was no ‘War of the Roses’ between them.

      ‘Why don’t you come with me and Denise to Brighton on Saturday night?’ offered Rachel, the deep concern for her workaholic, neglectful friend and blinkered spouse, but all-round decent human being, evident in her voice. ‘You should see the dress I’ve splashed out on for the Salsa competition on Sunday. It wouldn’t look out of place on a dance floor in Copacabana Beach!’

      ‘Kind, but not really my thing, Rach.’

      A shudder shot down Olivia’s spine as her imagination conjured up an image of herself in one of Rachel’s skimpy bejewelled outfits, her pale, stick-thin legs on public display. In reality though, her main objection was that she was so unfit there was no way she could manage ten minutes of the strenuous dance routines Rachel, Denise and their friends got involved with on the amateur ballroom dance circuit, let alone three hours.

      ‘Hey, hang on. I might just have a great idea!’

      ‘What sort of an idea?’

      ‘Yes, of course, it’s perfect!’

      ‘What’s perfect?’

      Oh, God, she didn’t think she could stomach another of Rachel’s infamous ‘great ideas’!

      ‘So, am I right in thinking that sitting at home for the next few months, missing Nathan and mulling over what life has flung in your path, is not an appetising prospect?’

      ‘What do you think?’

      ‘Oh, I agree with you. I know you better than you know yourself, darling. “Driven” is a kind way of describing your manic work ethic.’

      Olivia thought back to the last time she had set eyes on her friend. Not for a prearranged glass of her favourite prosecco rosé or a warm cinnamon latte at the local trendy café, but at a chance meeting in the local deli at eleven o’clock at night as they both searched for something to keep mind and body together – fast Italian food to replenish the soul, neither of them cared what it was. Whilst Rachel regularly frequented the university’s canteen to eat and augment her social life, ensuring a pleasantly rounded physique with calf muscles that even Bradley Wiggins would be proud of, her own waistline had not fared so well from her frenetic lifestyle.

      Although Rachel would never have uttered such sacrilegious comments, Olivia knew her friend considered her to be unattractively slender and had tried to suggest lunch, an evening out, offered tickets to myriad dance exhibitions and, of course, Olivia had agreed to go, but had subsequently ended up cancelling or simply forgot. She had stopped counting the times she’d stood Rachel up. Their friendship over the last year had been sustained via Nathan or short, to-the-point email bulletins and the occasional random meeting at the deli.

      ‘And you’re not against taking a holiday, per se?’

      ‘No, but who would I go with? It’s February! Hollie and Matteo are saving their annual leave for the Easter holidays next month – Hollie is traipsing down to Cornwall to look after her parents’ restaurant so that they can take their annual break from the hungry hordes of Newquay, and Matteo and Hollie’s brother Elliot are jetting off for a week in the clubs of Ibiza before Elliot takes up his job as head chef, can’t remember where, but it’s definitely somewhere exotic.’

      Hollie’s twin brother, Elliot, was Matteo’s childhood best friend. He’d been ecstatic about landing a prestigious position on his own merits and not because his parents owned a Michelin-starred restaurant. All four of them had celebrated long and hard one Saturday night at their local wine bar so the precise details of his new venture were a little fuzzy in Olivia’s mind.

      ‘What if I had a solution?’

      ‘You mean if we went together? Don’t you have research to do over the Easter break and getting your students ready for their exams?’ said Olivia, scavenging at the edges of her brain for plausible and persuasive protestations.

      ‘Exactly, I do. Not to mention an Argentinian Tango to perfect. Dennie would never forgive me if I went swanning off for a jolly when we could be rehearsing. No, but I do need someone to help me with my project. I can’t hope to be as thorough as I’d like to be without help and who better than a “Top Divorce Lawyer”? Ms Olivia “five-hundred-divorces-under-my-belt” Hamilton. You can be my research assistant! Only, Liv, I can’t pay you anything.’

      ‘Sorry, Rachel, I’m definitely not going to get involved in any academic projects. I don’t think I could stomach any more study.’

      Olivia pushed herself out of her seat and went to look out of the window. On the pavements below, swathes of dark-suited commuters, heads bent, bloodshot eyes averted, jostled with their counterparts to save a few precious seconds in their rush to reach the Tube station at the end of the street. Even the tourists utilised their sharp elbows, impatient to capture the best photographic record of the magnificent London architecture that was studiously ignored by its inhabitants. Culture, art, history, they all oozed from the very fabric of the capital, but those who worked in the City had no time to stop and stare.

      ‘I wasn’t suggesting any study. What I’m talking about is research – a field trip, if you will.’

      ‘What sort of field trip?’ asked Olivia, aware her voice contained a suspicious edge.

      ‘A foreign one.’

      ‘Where to?’

      This time her tone held an uptick of interest, and upon hearing the pique of curiosity, Olivia knew Rachel would be preparing to reel in her catch.

      ‘Well, my research is officially entitled “What causes marriages to break down?” I’m supposed to be looking at domestic abuse, financial difficulties during the recession, alcohol and drug addiction, the effects of the care system. But what I’d really like to focus on are the factors found in marriages that endure. The positives, if you will, rather than the negatives. An integral part of the project is gathering evidence to support the benefits of a “no fault” system in our divorce process, like they have in Denmark. Yes, almost 50 per cent of marriages do end in divorce for all the reasons I’ve been charged with researching, but, on the other side of the argument, that also means that over 50 per cent succeed and I’d like to find out why.’

      ‘Let me get this straight,’ mused Olivia, now that she had patiently listened to the ‘State of the universe’ according to St Rachel. ‘Are you suggesting your heartbroken, “soon-to-be-divorced” friend undertakes a fact-finding mission on your behalf to identify and report back on the elements found in failed marriages? Bit tactless, don’t you think?’

      ‘Not why they fail, why they succeed! Haven’t you just racked up five hundred divorces at Edwards & Co? Well, I am offering you the opportunity to redress the balance of negativity and misery with a shot in the arm for marital harmony and relationship contentment.’

      ‘I’m sick and tired of people referring to that article!’

      ‘All I’m saying is that you are ideally qualified to ask the right questions. You have time on your hands, and I take it you’re entitled to continue drawing your salary whilst you’re on sabbatical?’

      ‘Half, but as you know I’ve never had time to indulge in life’s luxuries, so I do have some savings put by. I suppose I can justify a foreign jaunt. But alone?’

      ‘You’re a big girl, Liv. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities. In fact, you are the ideal person for the role. Not only are you professionally skilled to undertake the research and write up your findings in a cogent and intelligent manner, you will also, unfortunately, have a unique personal insight of the process.’

      ‘Okay,