Three Amazing Things About You(3)

She has now accused me of having an affair and is demanding I confess all to my wife. I know what my mother-in-law is like – she won’t rest until I do. So which do you think I should admit to being, Rose? An unfaithful husband or a transvestite? I honestly don’t know which option she’d find easier to accept.

Okaaaaay.

The second email said:

Dear Rose,

I’m ugly.

I’m fat.

I hate my life.





There’s this boy in my class and I really like him but he never looks at me. I thought it was because I wasn’t skinny enough because he seems to like only thin girls, so in October I stopped eating and now I’ve lost three stone but he still isn’t interested.

What’s wrong with me and how can I make him fall in love with me? I just want to be happy. Do you think it’ll happen if I lose more weight? Help me, Rose, I’m so miserable I just want to die. Please please tell me what to do.

Hallie’s heart went out to the desperately unhappy teenager. She would answer this one first. Poor girl, a bit of love-bombing probably wouldn’t go amiss.





Chapter 2


It was Christmas Eve, and Tasha Sykes was discovering that coming out shopping three hours before she was due at the airport possibly wasn’t the brightest idea she’d ever had.

But there were last-minute things she’d needed to buy, and she hadn’t expected quite so many people to be as disorganised as herself. The shops were hot and heaving, the biting cold outside was making her nose sting and her phone kept buzzing with texts from friends demanding to know why she’d left the party early last night.

Tasha was ignoring the texts; it wasn’t as if her friends weren’t used to her by now. They seemed far more bothered by her single status than she was and were endlessly attempting to set her up with men she wasn’t remotely interested in being set up with. Last night had been more of the same, a smart drinks party in Hampstead full of couples, apart from one unsuspecting person who’d been lured there on her behalf.

Poor chap.

God, it had been a nightmare. And he’d seemed so nice, that was the thing. His name had been Tom, he was decent looking and he worked as an accountant, which would come in incredibly handy. He’d been polite, interested in her, good company and well dressed.

She could almost – almost – have contemplated going out on a date with him, if not for one thing.

‘His what?’ hissed Jeannie in the kitchen. ‘His ears? What’s wrong with his ears?’

‘They’re hairy.’ Tasha hated saying the words; she knew just how she sounded.

Jeannie gave a so-what gesture. ‘He’s a man. These things happen.’

‘Yes, but it’s a bit yuck. I don’t like looking at them.’

‘So don’t look at them!’

‘But I’d still know they were there.’

‘And that’s the only thing wrong with him?’

Tasha shrugged helplessly; it probably wasn’t, but it was all she could concentrate on right now. ‘I can’t help the way I feel.’

‘Once you get to know him, though, you could make him shave them,’ Jeannie suggested. ‘You could treat him to a lovely pampering session and do it yourself with Veet!’

‘Do you have any idea how revolting that sounds?’ Just the thought of it made Tasha squirm.

‘I used to feel the same way about Barry’s toenails, and they don’t even bother me now!’

Worse and worse. Tasha said, ‘I need an early night anyway. I’m just going to sneak off.’

‘You’re way too fussy, that’s your problem. We find you all these lovely men and you don’t even give them a chance. There’s always something wrong with them.’

‘I’m not too fussy. They just have to be . . . right.’

‘You mean perfect.’ Jeannie was blunt. ‘And that’s your problem right there. You’re not perfect. No one is. If you’re holding out for a man with nothing at all wrong with him . . . well, you may as well give up now, because he doesn’t exist.’

Which was undoubtedly true, but Tasha still couldn’t help the way she felt.

Also, hairy ears. Yeurgh.

By midday, she was almost done; all but a couple of items had been crossed off her list. Leaving Marks & Spencer loaded up like a donkey, Tasha almost got her armfuls of bags squashed in the revolving door. She was overheated and feeling pretty claustrophobic in her big pink coat. As for her arms, well, two simply weren’t enough. Holding this much stuff was making them ache, and now she was such a cumbersome wide load, the bags and packages were inadvertently bashing into other people . . .