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She stabs her finger at a town far from the city, and my eyebrows rise in surprise. Somehow, I never pictured my friend as a suburbs kind of gal.
    “Looks really nice,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Kirst, are you sure you’re going to be able to look at houses, take care of Jane, and set up everything on your own?” I don’t want to sound negative, but God knows if I tried to do all that, I’d have a nervous breakdown. Plus . . . maybe Kirsty will realise it is a bit much for one person, and decide to stay here until Tim’s notice period is over.
    “Not a big deal.” She shrugs, twisting her hair into a bun. “I’ll line up as many appointments as I can, book us into a hotel, and once we find something, it’s just a matter of hard-core online shopping. I’m sure we’ll be fine. It’s not like we won’t see Tim – his new company promised to cover any relocation costs, including flights back and forth until we’re moved for good.
     “Anyway, enough of all this.” Kirsty waves a hand as if travelling across the ocean and finding a new house single-handedly is child’s play. “Tell me about your job! Have you met Helen Goodall?”
    Excitement spreads through me as I think of the story on my desk. “Not yet, but I’m fact-checking an article of hers right now.”
    “Wow, cool!” Kirsty lifts the dewy bottle of wine, sloshing more into my glass. “Let me check Tim’s put Jane down okay, and then I want all the behind-the-scenes details of a day in the life at Seven Days !”
     “Sure.” Somehow, though, I get the feeling she’s not dying to hear about sniffy colleagues, poke-happy plastic chairs, or the fascinating stain on the beige cubical divider in front of me. Funny, everyone thinks working in the newsroom of the country’s biggest Sunday magazine is filled with heart-stopping excitement – and maybe it is, for big reporters like Helen. But situations are what you make of them, Mom always says, and you’d better believe I’m going to make the most of Fact Check Row to learn everything I can and show my initiative, starting tomorrow.
    I watch Kirsty disappear up the stairs, still trying to absorb the news she’s moving to the States. She and Tim never mentioned leaving, and somehow I thought things would stay in this happy place, status quo. Now, my vision of the future has shifted; a vision that doesn’t include the person I’ve leaned on for so many years. I feel strangely off-kilter in my new, Kirsty-free world, as if a piece of my life’s foundation has slid out of place.
    It’s just a surprise, I tell myself, forcing a smile as Kirsty comes back in. A bit of time, and I’ll be all right. She might not be on my doorstep any longer – well, Jeremy’s doorstep – but proximity doesn’t make a friendship. It’s the foundation you’ve built; your shared history. Goodness knows we have enough of that.
    I take a deep breath, raising my drink in the air. “Here’s to best friends, no matter where they are.”
    Kirsty grins, clinking her glass against mine. “Cheers!”
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
    By the time I march into the newsroom the next morning, I’ve conveniently manage to push aside the fact my best friend is moving. I oohed and awed at the photos of potential properties Kirsty showed me last night, all the while pretending they were for someone else. And when she texted me the Westport link to check out, I filed it away in my ‘read later’ folder, a black hole containing hundreds of spam messages from a company promoting ‘seksy Ruskie boytoys’.
    Of course I’ll do everything I can to help her – I’ve even offered to come over and pack (which unsurprisingly, given my haphazard method of throwing whatever’s within reach into the nearest box, she hasn’t taken me up on). But if Kirsty does leave London for good soon, I want to enjoy our final moments here, not fill every hour with ‘this is the last time’ thoughts.
    Right now, I have other