Page 7 of For My Finale
Ives groaned dramatically down the phone. “Oh, you owe me big time, Bloss. I mean big time. That blind date was a disaster of historic proportions.”
Blossom laughed. “Surely not. Was it worse than the time that guy forgot his wallet two dates in a row? Or the one where that woman took you to see that film entirely in Estonian with no subtitles?”
“Worse,” Ives said. “It was worse than the one where I sat on a cigarette.”
“How did that happen again?” Blossom asked. “You don’t even smoke.”
“I’m too traumatized to discuss it,” said Ives crisply. “Besides, we’re focussing on last night’s disaster.”
“Disaster?”
“She was eighty,” Ives said.
“Surely not.”
“Close to it,” said Ives. “I swear. She was retired. She had a million cats. And she told me each one of their names in alphabetical order. Twice.”
Blossom burst out laughing. “So, back to dating men, then?”
“Obviously,” Ives said. “At least until my next disastrous date with a man, at which point, I’ll go back to only dating womenagain. You know the drill.”
“At some point, you’re going to have to decide,” Blossom said, looking out of the window again. Still no sign of Billy.
“Pot. Kettle. Black,” Ives said. “And at least I go on dates. Meanwhile, you’re one tragic event away from collecting cats yourself.”
“I have zero cats.”
“Currently.”
“And I’m just waiting for the right woman,” said Blossom, turning around to lean against the kitchen counter. If Ives was going to lecture her about dating again, this could be a long conversation.
???
Lilah shook her phone, but it did no good. No signal, not a single, solitary bar of reception. She looked back at the gap in the hedge. She couldn’t go back, if she did she’d have to walk past it. Whatever it was. Which meant she had to go forward.
The path began to slope upward. Hills meant reception, right? With one last glimpse behind her, she trotted off down the path, trying and not entirely succeeding not to run hysterically.
She made it into the next field over, crashing through a hole in the hedge, holding her phone up above her head until she felt the familiar sensation of it vibrating.
Oh, thank any gods that were in the local area.
“Help!” she said, answering the call.
“Why aren’t you picking up?” Margot’s voice demanded. “Where the hell are you?”
“In England,” hissed Lilah. “I’m in England, in a field, and did you not clock that I said ‘help’ when I picked up the phone?”
“Yes, I thought you were over-reacting,” Margot said. “Why are you in a field? Actually, why are you in England, for that matter?”
“I could be being mugged, I could be being held hostage,” saidLilah.
“In a field?” asked Margot. “That would seem… unorthodox.”
The hedge behind Lilah rustled ominously. She tightened her grip on the phone. Maybe it was a fox? Or a rabbit? A really large rabbit?
“Margot,” she wailed. “Something is following me.”
“Like a mugger? You’re an LA girl, you’ve got pepper spray, use it.”
