Nothing New for Sophie Drew: a heart-warming romantic comedy by Katey Lovell (best autobiographies to read .txt) 📕

when other people were celebrating babies, weddings and promotions and my excitement came via a discounted jar of chocolate hazelnut spread.

“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead!” I chirruped, placing the spotty Emma Bridgewater tray on the bedside table before drawing back the curtains. The daylight rushed in with such intensity that I squinted at the glare. Unsurprising the blazing sun didn’t go down well with Eve.

“Let me sleep,” she growled, face-planting herself into a pillow. “Any real friend would.”

“Real friends bring breakfast in bed,” I corrected. “Wake up and smell the coffee.”

At the mention of coffee, my friend stirred. Her bedhead made me smile, and although she grumbled as she pulled herself into an upright position, the soft moan she emitted after the first sip told me she was grateful for the caffeine kick.

“Thank you,” she said, spotting the toast. “This is exactly what the doctor ordered.”

“Don’t say I never do anything for you. And of course you’re welcome to have a shower here when you’re ready. There are clean towels in the bathroom cupboard.”

“I’ll take you up on that, even though I don’t have anything to change into,” she said, pulling a face. “I’m convinced I can smell myself.” She tentatively lifted an armpit, tilted her head and sniffed, before recoiling. “Urgh. Either way, I need that shower.”

“You can borrow something to wear. Take a look through that pile and see if there’s anything you can refashion.” At least my procrastination over the charity shop pile benefitted someone.

Eve wasn’t as curvy as me but she was a similar height. Borrowing my fitted clothes would be out of the question – they’d hang, baggy and shapeless, around her chest due to her lack of boobage – but boho dresses might be passable with an accessory belt casually slung around the waist and would be on trend with festival season coming up.

“I will, thanks.”

We sat in amiable silence as Eve allowed the coffee to work its magic, and I tried not to get uptight about the toast crumbs falling on my bedclothes. I’m like the girl in the fairy tale The Princess and the Pea when it comes to sleep. Darius had peeled off a plaster in bed once and not thought it necessary to take it to the bin in the en suite. I’d freaked out big time when my foot had skimmed against the soiled plaster, convinced it was a rodent. He’d thought it hilarious; I’d thought it disgusting and unhygienic.

By the time Eve was fed, showered and dressed in a floaty knee-length dress (that, although loose, looked okay with a belt), I was ready for fresh air to bring me fully back round. I suggested we walk around the block to get a lungful of the good stuff. Although Eve looked fresher than before, she seemed quite content curled up in the corner of the settee watching repeats of the third season of Gilmore Girls, so I was surprised when she agreed.

The air was infused with a summer aroma that almost knocked us out, the sizzling sun penetrating right through the bare skin of our arms until our bones radiated the heat.

The area was quiet on a Sunday, but an unnatural-for-a-weekend buzz of life hummed from the playground of the nearby primary school. As we got closer I noticed the rows of cars lining the back wall of the school, wallpapering tables in front of them piled high with everything from toys to books to clothes. It was like Max’s charity shop, but thirty-fold.

“Oh, look. A car boot sale. It’s years since I’ve been to one of these.” Eve sounded reflective.

I almost told her there was a good reason why she’d not been to one recently, because they’re full of tat other people are trying to get rid of, but then she added, “My mum used to love a car boot sale, remember?”

The thought of Lucille McAndrew brought a smile to my face. She was one of the quirky mums; usually found wearing clothes that mismatched but that looked funky in a retro, hippy way; her tangled hennaed hair tumbling down past her shoulders. Mrs McAndrew had always had an open house, the back door leading into the family’s small, disorganised off-shot kitchen as well-used as a swanky hotel’s revolving door. Tawna and I had all but lived there as teens, because Eve’s mum had been far more relaxed than our parents. Her opinion had always been “if it’s a choice between you doing these things in the park or doing them under my roof, I’d rather it be here where I can keep an eye on you”. That had led to nights drinking bottles of Apple VK as though it was going out of fashion (which to be honest, it had been) in Eve’s bedroom, and Tawna even brought her first boyfriend, a spotty boy called Richard who had a habit of saying “cool” far too regularly, into Eve’s bedroom when Eve was on a school trip to the WWII battlefields. Eve had been disgusted on her return, insisting her mum put her sheets through two 90 degree Celsius cycle washes in case any bodily fluids remained on her bedding.

“Are we going to have a look around?”

The cardboard sign tied to the wrought-iron gates stated, in large red capitals, FREE ENTRY. It seemed unlikely anything being sold would encourage me to deviate from my enforced non-spending ban, so the car boot sale seemed like the perfect mindless activity to bat away the hangover blues.

“We could,” Eve replied, but the way she pulled her mouth awkwardly to one side suggested she was unsure.

“We don’t have to…” I began, at the same time as she revealed, “I’m trying to save money.”

I found it hard to hide my surprise. Eve always made out she was doing fine financially, thank you very much, and although I didn’t know exactly how much she earned, she had a graduate job. I assumed she’d not have worries when it came to money, but maybe this