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nodded. ‘Of course I will.’ She forced a smile. ‘I understand why you have to
go.’ And she did, only she badly wanted him to stay. To stay and finish making
love to her. To tell her he loved her.She
swallowed hard. Her world was miles apart from Ben’s. She bought her clothes
from Primark, whereas he had his tailor-made. He ate the finest foods, while
she dined on oven chips and fish fingers. He drove a fresh-off-the-forecourt Audi,
while she drove a battered old Fiesta. She lived in a dingy block of flats,
with junkies and single mothers, while he lived in a beautiful house with a
swimming pool and a butler. She didn’t know the latter, but she could imagine
probably feel embarrassed if he knew what she felt about him – or worse, pity.‘What’s
going through your mind?’She
blinked herself to the present. ‘Eh?’‘You’ve
been standing in a trance for the last few minutes.’She
flushed. ‘Ben,’ she began. But she couldn’t finish. ‘Good night,’ she said
instead. ‘I sincerely wish you well with your family bust-up.’He
smiled. ‘Thank you. Families,’ he said, with a jerk of his head. ‘Who’d have
would,’ she answered the closed door. ‘I would.’
She’s losing her boyfriend.
She can only afford to eat spaghetti hoops on toast.
She’s called Charlie… or Charlotte, or ginger, ginge, Duracell,
Yet with all these odds against her, she pushes forward to
take the lead story on her paper at London Core.
Shame no one knows. Shame she’s the office general assistant and not a real journalist.
Shame it’s on missing prostitutes and Charlie thinks pretending to be a ‘tart
with a heart’ will get her that story.
She doesn’t just get a story.
She becomes the starring role.