Valentine Vendetta

She was standing staring out at the Dublin skyline, when the telephone started ringing and she snatched it up.

‘Fran?’

Her heart sank with disappointment. No, not Sam at all. Better get used to it. ‘Oh, it’s you, Rosie. What do you want?’

‘That’s a very nice greeting for your oldest friend, isn’t it? Especially as I know from pressing my call-back button, that you’ve just been trying to ring me. Oh, the wonders of modern science!’

Fran didn’t say anything, not right then. She needed to know the whole story about what had happened between Rosie and Sam, but she wasn’t sure if she could bear to listen to it.

‘Are you still there, Fran?’

‘Yes. I’m still here.’

‘Well, listen, I’ve got the most exciting news!’

Fran tried and failed to inject even one syllable with enthusiasm. ‘Go on.’

‘You know that the newspaper tried to find me my perfect man—well, they succeeded! And how! Fran, I’m getting married!’

There was a short pause while Fran digested this astonishing piece of news. ‘But I thought…’

‘What?’

‘I thought you were still in love with Sam,’ said Fran, from between gritted teeth.

‘Sam?’ Rosie chuckled. ‘Oh, no! I thought I was, but I realise now that it was more a case of wounded pride, because he didn’t want me the way I wanted him.’ Her voice sobered suddenly. ‘I suppose he told you what really happened between us?’

‘Of course he didn’t tell me!’ said Fran icily. ‘Even though I asked him, he wouldn’t!’

Rosie sighed. ‘That’s par for the course. Loyal man. And it’s been part of Sam’s trouble all along. He’s just too good for his own good!’

‘Well, you’ve certainly changed your tune,’ snapped Fran, thinking that there had been no mention of goodness when Rosie had first poured her heart out to her. She had had to find that out for herself… Her patience finally gave way. ‘Listen, Rosie, why don’t you tell me once and for all just what did happen between you and Sam? Only I want the truth this time.’

‘What, now? On the telephone?’

‘Unless you’d like to jump on a flight over to Dublin?’

There was a pause. ‘I don’t think you’re going to like me very much….’

‘Go on,’ said Fran grimly.

‘I was mad for him—we all were. But he just wasn’t interested, not in me, or the others, not in anyone. He was still getting over Megan, you see. Er, you do know about his fiancée who died?’

‘I do now!’ said Fran furiously. ‘It would have been a lot more helpful if I had known about her before, but of course it wasn’t in your interests to tell me, was it, Rosie?’

‘I’m sorry—’

‘Just get on with the story!’

Rosie sounded even more shamefaced. ‘Once I realised that he was immune to the normal feminine wiles, I decided to become his friend instead. I feel so bad about it now, Fran,’ she moaned. ‘The calculated, cold-blooded way I got him to rely on me as a good mate!’

Another pause.

‘And?’ asked Fran coldly.

‘One night I got him drunk. Deliberately. Then I used every trick in the book to get him into bed. Oh, Fran, I’ll never forget the look of disgust on his face the next morning. He couldn’t even remember what had happened! I tried to get him out of my mind, but I just couldn’t. And the trouble was that it was great sex, even though—’