Out Late with Friends and Regrets by Suzanne Egerton Read Free Book Online

go .   She should just ring the King’s Head any time during hours, and ask for Fred.   Everyone, she stated categorically, knew Fred.   Fiona decided that ‘everyone’ would not include herself.
    It was disappointing to reflect that this exercise had been a bad idea, and that the column might indeed be a forum for weirdoes and losers.   How Paul would have jeered.   ‘Fred’ probably answered every single advertisement in the ‘Women Seeking Women’ section, every week.   An image came to Fiona’s mind, of a pudgy hand resting on the open newspaper on the bar, a cigarette with an inch of curved ash at the tip dangling from the slack mouth, the wide bottom shifting from the stool as Fred left her pint for long enough to record yet another message at the payphone on the wall.   Well, not these days, of course, Fred would be huddling over her mobile outside the door in the smokers’ pen.   Fiona suddenly felt terribly sorry for Fred, before reflecting with deep shame what an unkind stereotype she had allowed into her imaginings.
    Still, that didn’t help her in her own search for – what, love? Friendship? An interesting social life?   Well, OK, some sort of sexual gratification too, to assuage these feelings that had been pawing at both mind and body recently.   She fantasised, seeing herself cutting a passionate swathe through a host of beautiful and interesting women, of having her pick. Of course, it couldn’t possibly be like that; it never could be in the real world, gay or straight.   For a start, she would have to learn to talk to new people as easily as she did to customers in the shop, without getting tongue-tied or saying stupid things. She knew herself well enough to realise that random promiscuity would not suit her in the long term, although it might be rather pleasant for a while.   Very pleasant indeed. But she was certain that she could adapt, that relationships with women would feel quite natural to her, once she got over the initial hurdles.
    Meanwhile, it was back to the start line.   Magazines next, maybe. There must be readers in Harford, there had to be.   She sighed, and got up to make a cup of tea.
     
    It was Wednesday again, and without much hope she accessed the messages.   Surprisingly, there was another reply.   The voice was loud, rather plummy, and totally confident.
    “Hello!” boomed the voice, affably – “Hello, mysterious person!   Look this isn’t the sort of thing I’d normally do at all, but your ad’s been bugging me all weekend... Most interestingly put, if I may say so, and so totally different from all the others!   You may be convinced, dear, but I’m the one who’s curious!   So on the basis of satisfying my curiosity, and because I’m always interested in widening my social circle, I’m going to take the most enormous chance, and give you my number.   I must want my bloody head examined, but life’s about taking chances on the back of a hunch isn’t it?   Oh! My name’s Ellie, and the mobe is turned off when I’m working.   Evenings after eight would be good this week.   Don’t make it too bloody late, OK? Ciao!”
    Fiona scribbled down the number that followed.   Wow.   Whatever she had vaguely expected or hoped for, this wasn’t it.   However, Ellie sounded friendly and very sure of herself, though very... butch .   Still, what did Fiona expect, having owned up to being a gay virgin?   She was suddenly concerned that an experienced butch woman might see her as Tweetie Pie to a slavering Sylvester, chummily inviting her to supper at a dish marked ‘Puss’.
    She listened to the message again, and couldn’t help warming to the bluff personality behind the voice.   Only a perception of course.   Don’t be fooled.   The bit about the social circle was encouraging, though.   Were Ellie’s stated doubts about leaving her mobile number a devious come-on?
    “Come on. Do it,” she muttered.   She found she was smiling and