(2013) Four Widows Read Online Free Page A

don’t ever look back. There is a wonderful, uncomplicated life waiting for you outside this bar .
    I didn’t, of course; there was never a chance I was going to do that. I had fallen in love for the first time. “My big fat infatuation,” said my sister.
    And it was me who made the first move. I overheard Harrison telling someone that it was some night for bringing people back from the dead.
    “Really?” I asked, wide-eyed.
    Then followed doctor-defibrillator talk about the wonders of electric heart-shock treatment, which involved an enthusiastic explanation on hospital equipment that jump-starts a dead heart back to life.
    Did I know, for instance, that if a shock is delivered within two to three minutes, the chances of survival increase by 60 per cent?
    I nodded encouragingly. Decided it wasn’t the right moment to tell him that I knew what a defibrillator did.
    Then he headed straight to the bar.
    Later he told me that he knew I was a journalist because I asked endless questions and nodded–the nodding thing we do while giving nothing away.
    His polished black hair was as marine-short as the stubble over his chin even though he told me he’d shaved that morning when I complained later about stubble rash. From the start, I clocked the attitude, cockiness even. He had fighter-pilot confidence; heart-doctor assuredness. Conveyed a sense of endless strength. He also had height on his side. I looked up to him.
    Heart starter, maybe, but audacious Dr Harrison Warner didn’t seem too concerned about his own vital organs as he knocked back shot after shot, and neither did his colleagues getting tanked on Tequila. The table was littered with crushed lemons, salt and shot glasses.
    I sensed recklessness about him, impatience. Risk-taker. The opposite of me.
    “What does it feel like?” I demanded to know when he said he had saved a life. It was the same question I repeatedly asked my father, who could never offer a good enough explanation. To do such a purposeful job; give someone a second chance at life was something that would surely fill your soul with pride.
    He looked at me for a dragged-out second and felled me with a confident grin. “It feels like fate.”
    I remember a hopeless shiver of excitement. This is it , I thought: me and you; marriage; picket fence; children . There was a pause while I waited for him to go on but he swallowed more whisky instead and closed his eyes to the world as the malt burned down the back of his throat.
    The less he said, the more I talked to fill the space between us. I usually let the men do the running; hell, not this time. I dredged up every question and anecdote possible to keep him interested.
    At the end of the night, eventually, I confessed. “My father was a neurosurgeon. My sister is a doctor.” I raised my glass to him and attempted to look a little shamefaced. “Whereas, I don’t even know First Aid.”
    “Then I hope you never need to resuscitate someone,” he said, mock scolding.
    Resuscitate me, I thought. Mouth to mouth.
     

Chapter Four
    Welcome to Holyrood
     
    Cece insisted that Kate, Suzanne and I meet later for dinner at Ribbons. “I absolutely insist,” she said. I got the feeling this was someone who was used to getting what she wanted.
    “She insists,” Kate said.
    Cece’s departing words were: “Just so you know, I ain’t a good person– feel no joy when babies are born.”
    Kate leaned in close. “If you take a raincheck, I’ll understand.”
    I had to smile. “You know what–I think I can make it.”
    In the meantime, I had to return to the office and break the news that our coveted cover star, Elvis James, maestro milliner, was a no-show.
    The sting of air-conditioned air almost knocked me off my feet when I entered the office building. Corset Magazine HQ, near Holyrood Park, was a slick tower building, great glass and elevators, where we shared space with businesses and high-end boutiques.
    Men marched purposefully, while women