Page 16 of Faking It (and falling in love)
Alex brought the car to a stop. She’d just opened her mouth to reply when her phone pinged. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at it quickly, then frowned. “Sorry, that means I need to go and sort something out,” she said. Her jaw was tense again, which somehow enhanced her freckles. Philippa berated herself for ogling a woman who clearly had bigger things to deal with than a middle-aged baby lesbian.
“Of course,” said Philippa. “You go do what you need to do. Thanks so much for helping me out today, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
Alex put her phone down and rested her hand on Philippa’s shoulder. “I really did very little, and it’s a pleasure to spendtime with you,” she said with a small smile. “I’ll see you in a few days when we meet Gerry and Alison. And you just wait there, I’ll open the car door for you. I don’t want you hurting that wrist any more than you need to.” She got out and ran round to the passenger side. “Milady,” she said with a laugh as Philippa stepped out.
“Thank you, driver,” said Philippa in her best cut-glass Lady Penelope English accent.
Alex laughed. “Take it easy, ok.”
“I’ll try,” said Philippa, wondering who Alex was being messaged by.
By the following morning the swelling had gone down a lot, for which she was very grateful. Her wrist was still sore, but the pain eased after a couple of paracetamol.
Philippa eyed herself in the mirror, and hoped she’d know how to make her freshly washed hair look as good as it had yesterday after Ted had done it. She took out the wax he’d sold her to try and create the right shape. He’d promised her it wouldn’t be too difficult to recreate at home, although understandably, he hadn’t factored in a sprained wrist.
After about twenty minutes of tousling and trying to look at her head from every possible angle, she smiled. Yes, this was it. She was both nervous and excited about going back into the office today and showing off her new look.
“Wow,” said Sienna, “I love it. You look awesome. At least ten years younger!”
“Um, well, thanks,” said Philippa, not entirely sure she’d needed to lose a decade. Had she really looked so old before? She pushed back her shoulders. “It was time for something different.”
“Well, you’re rocking it. Definitely need to get you TikToking again now you’ve changed it up.” Sienna’s eyes sparkled and sheadded a note to her to-do list. “Oh no,” said Sienna, her eyes falling to Philippa’s wrist brace. “What happened?”
“Oh, I sprained it. I’m fine, really. Looks far worse than it is,” said Philippa, keen not to dwell on tumbling head over heels on Kings Heath High Street.
She put her bag in her office and headed to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Roderick was in there already, using the coffee machine to make some kind of flavoured latte. She wrinkled her nose. She didn’t understand why coffee needed to be flavoured with anything else.
“Oh, good morning, Philippa,” said Roderick, standing to attention. He turned to face her, and performed what she could only think of as a double take. “Well, that’s really… Er… Good for you,” he said, going pink and seeming to trail off, apparently afraid to say anything more.
Philippa raised an eyebrow. “What’s good for me?”
“The new, look, um, hair,” said Roderick, stirring his coffee for perhaps the seventeenth time.
“Well, I’m glad you approve,” she said, applying her best poker face. She knew she was making him feel uncomfortable, but after what he’d done to Sienna, she didn’t really care.
“I do,” he said, before quickly correcting himself, “I mean it isn’t for me to approve, of course. You can do as you please.”
Philippa raised the other eyebrow. “Well, thank you. That’s good to know.”
Roderick was starting to sweat and opted to take himself and his coffee back to his office, wishing Philippa a good morning as he left. She giggled to herself once she was alone. He’d looked like Dottie did when she knew she’d done something wrong but wasn’t entirely sure what it was or how to make it better.
This morning her first client was a woman who was managing the sale of the home she’d shared with her former husband. Lesley Clarke was a police officer – a detective – andPhilippa often had the sense that the sometimes dour woman could tell some pretty hairy stories.
Lesley had moved to Dorset following her divorce, and remarried, to a woman. It pleased Philippa to know that there were other women like herself who’d come out a bit later in life.
“How was the journey?” asked Philippa.
“Smooth run this time, thanks. What’s the plan today?”Lesley took a seat. Philippa had the distinct impression she wasn’t much into small talk.
“So, we need to finalise the division of the house now it’s selling. You and your ex-husband have a Financial Order, so this shouldn’t be too complicated. We just need to make sure we’ve done all our due diligence,” said Philippa.
Lesley grimaced. “I’ve got no idea why this stuff takes so long,” she said. “I feel like we’ve been trying to get it over the line for months.”
“I understand,” said Philippa, unruffled. “I think we’re on the last lap now. Just some paperwork to sign and we should be nearly there, assuming your ex isn’t going to throw up any last minute objections.”
“He won’t do that,” said Lesley, her face set.
“Good,” said Philippa, deciding that she liked the woman in front of her. She meant business, and that was a good thing.
