Me, You and Tiramisu. Charlotte Butterfield

plates of nibbles really.’

      ‘We also put a little stand in the deli recently with second- hand books on, where you leave one and take one, so it’s sort of like an informal lending library,’ Jayne added, ‘It just encourages people to spend a bit longer in the shop and have something to eat with their coffee.’

      ‘Except the only people to really use it are us and that homeless bloke that sits outside the station who comes in every week to get a book for free.’

      ‘Richard?’ Jayne replied, ‘He does love his science fiction. Bless him.’

      ‘But in answer to your question, I do sell hampers and stuff for Christmas, you know with some handmade biscuits, cheeses and chutneys, they’re always a nice little earner, and I was thinking about doing Valentine’s hampers, so you can pick up a little basket of stuff, with maybe a bottle of bubbly in it too and go straight to the river or the park for a picnic.’

      ‘Awww, that’s lovely – is that what you’re going to do for me?’ Jayne asked.

      ‘No, darling, that’s what you’re going to do for me.’

      ‘Dammit,’ Jayne thumped the table sighing melodramatically, ‘I’ve just put a deposit on a troop of singing dwarves who paint themselves blue and pretend to be smurfs. Do you not want that? I wish you’d said, it cost me a fortune.’

      ‘No, that sounds much better than a crappy romantic picnic, champagne is so last year anyway, whereas dwarves never go out of fashion.’ He put his arm around Jayne’s neck and pulled her close to him before planting a kiss on her forehead.

      Jayne grinned as Abi gave a low whistle and said, ‘Wow, you two really are made for each other. You’re both bonkers.’

       Chapter 6

      Rachel held her hair-straighteners in mid-air, steam curling softly upwards. ‘He wants us to move in with him?’ She paused. ‘Both of us?’

      ‘Yes, as lodgers. Sort of. He’s got two spare rooms and is a bit short of cash, and thought we might prefer to live in Richmond rather than Twickenham – the commute’s shorter for both of us and the deli’s downstairs so we’d always have food, and he can cook for us, so no more nasty kebabs, and I stay round there most of the time anyway, and I don’t want you to be lonely here by yourself, and … and … I sort of love him. Sort of.’

      Rachel started running her GHDs through the length of her bob again, and then smiled at their reflections in the mirror. ‘That sounds bloody lovely. Say yes.’

      Two weeks later the sisters sat in the middle of their living room with a screw-top bottle of wine, surveying the emptiness that surrounded them. They’d spent most of the day painstakingly peeling blu-tac off the walls where a map of the world and some Jack Vetriano prints had once been. Their drawers and cupboards had been squashed into brown boxes labelled STUFF R and STUFF J and yet neither of them was in any hurry to lock the door for the last time.

      This flat had been the place of their dreams once; the refuge that they’d talked about since their early teens. It was more than just a place to live for them; it was a symbol of their success. Whenever Jayne had passed a new shop with the signage being hoisted up outside, she’d always pictured the hope of the new owners, the moment when they would gather their family and friends outside on the day of opening and proudly unveil the shop front, switching on the lights to delighted ahhs and oohs, to backslapping and chinks of plastic glasses and short speeches about dreams being fulfilled and new beginnings. This poky flat above a takeaway was that place for the Brady twins. On the day they moved in, they’d sat in exactly the same position on the floor, surrounded by very similar boxes, with another screw-top bottle of wine, elatedly rejoicing their escape from a future of no potential.

      Moving to Will’s home was a mere postcode upgrade for Rachel, but for Jayne it was huge. Much like those faith-filled shopkeepers who only had a vague plan and blind optimism to help them sleep at night, she mentally ricocheted between gung-ho whooping at her good fortune and rocking back and forth, head in hands, wondering whether she was making a monumental mistake.

      It wasn’t that she doubted Will in any way – she knew he was pretty darn perfect from that first cider-swilling afternoon in the park when they were fifteen, but she couldn’t help feeling that things like this didn’t happen to people like her. Surely it would only be a matter of time before the bubble burst, or the other shoe dropped, or some equally baffling phrase that describes the moment it all goes wrong.

      But while Jayne waited for that to happen, they had some shopping to do. And that’s how the three new housemates found themselves in Ikea on a Friday night negotiating over how many tea lights is too many and what they were going to put in the hundreds of box photo frames that were stacked in the trolley. Family photos were overruled by all of them on the reasoning of not wanting to be reminded of their genetic origins – through shame and the desire to forget them for the girls, while Will was content keeping his own photos in his memory box under his bed. He didn’t need to walk past pictures of his parents in the hallway every day to know they were with him. So the consensus was to leave much of the décor up to Rachel, who was describing a jigsaw effect she wanted to create by painting a huge abstract, and cutting it up into rectangles that fitted into each individual frame, ‘art that reminds us to look at the big picture,’ she’d said, or something like that.

      ‘And a peace lily, we definitely need one of them.’ Will said as he wedged a rather sorry-looking plant into the gap between a new toilet brush and a set of six wooden hangers.

      ‘How the mighty have fallen.’ Rachel yawned, automatically picking up a white wicker basket and tossing it in. ‘It’s Friday night, people. Friday night. I hope this isn’t an indicator of what life with you will be like, Will, because, truth be told, I don’t think I can cope with this level of hedonism.’

      ‘I wanted to warn you quite how close to the edge I live, but neither of you would have believed me.’ Will put his hand on top of Jayne’s as she steered the trolley past the woks. ‘And if you both behave, I may well treat you to a £3 plate of Swedish meatballs.’

      Later that night Will and Jayne were sprawled on his old leather sofa – which was now beautifully adorned with vibrant throws – and Rachel was slumped in a newly acquired Fatboy beanbag when Jayne judged the moment to be right to casually mention that she was heading down to Devon to see their granny the following Saturday and would anyone like to join her. By anyone she meant both of them. By would they like to join her, she meant they would join her. From the stunned silence that ensued you would have thought she’d said, ‘so I was thinking of draping myself in a Union Jack and going camping in the mountainous region between Pakistan and Afghanistan – is anyone keen on tagging along?’

      Will purposely didn’t move his eyes from the television, he had very little inclination to revisit the place where his last days with his mum were played out. ‘Um … next weekend? Saturday’s my busiest day in the shop, um … sorry, sweetheart, you know I’d love to otherwise.’

      ‘It’s okay, I thought of that and Abi said she wouldn’t mind holding the fort for the day.’

      ‘Oh. Well the pricing system’s quite complicated and the till is a bastard to work if you don’t know how.’ He shrugged apologetically, ‘Sorry, darling.’

      ‘She’s coming round on Wednesday after work so you can show her how it all works. Next excuse?’ Jayne turned to Rachel, ‘Oi, sharer of the womb, you’re very quiet over there.’

      ‘Why the hell do you want to go back down there again? Weren’t you only there a few weeks ago?’

      ‘It was nearly a year ago and Granny sounded a bit quiet on the phone earlier, so I just thought us all going down would cheer her up, and she always asks what you’re up to, and she hasn’t met Will yet, and I thought it might be nice.’

      ‘Nice?