Husband Material (London Calling, #2)

by Alexis Hall

HALF AN HOUR LATER MY flat was looking worse, but I was feeling better. That’s the thing about mess—a stack of unwashed dishes says I hate myself and you should hate me too but the pile of empty bottles next to a scattering of chocolate wrappers and ice-lolly boxes said I hate myself but I have people in my life who remind me I shouldn’t. “And we definitely think,” I said, taking what remained of the wine from Bridge’s hands and swigging direct from the bottle, “that this is an I’m-grieving situation, not an I’m-taking-the opportunity-to-bail-because-I’m-too-polite-to-dump-you situation.” Having finished the beer, Priya grabbed the wine from me and took a swig of her own. “I know Oliver’s repressed, but I think even he would stop short of having his own father killed just to get out of a relationship.” “Maybe his father dying was a coincidence and he made the most of it?” I suggested. “No,” cried Bridge; she’d been crying things all evening. “You and Oliver are perfect for each other and you’re perfect together and everything’s going to be perfect.” “If we’re so perfect,” I asked, “why is he in Milton Keynes being sad without me?” For a moment Bridge didn’t have a reply. Then her face lit up like a Christmas tree which, ironically, it also did anytime she looked at a Christmas tree. “I’ve got it.” “You’re going to say, ‘Go to Milton Keynes,’ aren’t you?” Priya’s voice wasn’t exactly scornful but had a quality that suggested scorn would be an option. “Why not?” asked Bridge...