Thanks for the comments guys! I'm glad that a few of you are intrigued by my ramblings :) I hope this chapter keeps you interested?

So, if Naomi's been busy causing enough trouble to end up in prison, what's Emily been up to? I might know ...

Have a nice day

Chapter two

A loud man shouting about car insurance jerked Emily awake. Groggily she rubbed her eyes and shifted herself into a sitting position. She had fallen asleep on the sofa during a Carry On film marathon on television, but the volume of the adverts between the films was loud enough to wake the dead. The dead didn't care about car insurance.

She yawned widely, stretching her arms and legs, a magazine sliding from her lap onto the floor. She reached down from the sofa to pick it up. Her bleary gaze settled upon the smiling couple on the shiny front. Emily's eyes went wide as she remembered what she had been doing before she had fallen asleep.

She hurriedly rifled through the glossy pages to locate the one that contained the information she had been instructed to find before her girlfriend returned home.

The sound of a key in the door told her she had left it too late.

'Shit!' Emily cursed under her breath. The television was now claiming to know how to treat early on-set baldness. This information was, sadly, not the information Emily needed.

'Hey you,' said a voice.

Emily looked up from the magazine.

A slim, brown-haired girl stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. Her hair was pulled back into a band at the back, frizzy wisps sticking out obstinately above her ears. A long dark coat masked the dark-blue uniform beneath it.

'Hi honey,' Emily said with a sweet smile. 'How was your day?'

The girl sat down heavily on the sofa next to Emily. 'Oh, you know,' she said, 'pretty typical. Some drunk guy exposed himself to me outside a pub. That was pretty much the highlight.'

'That's ... lovely,' Emily said. 'I didn't know law-enforcement came with free nudity.'

'Don't joke, Em,' her girlfriend said, pressing a fatigued hand to her forehead, pulling her 'migraine' face.

'Sorry.'

An advert for kitchen roll resonated in the silence. A woman was sad that she had spilt her orange juice, but was even sadder when she discovered that her kitchen roll merely tore and disintegrated when she tried to wipe it up.

'Did you find out about the caterers?' The orange juice must have reminded her.

'Um ...'

'Emily!' came the exasperated response, 'That was all you had to do today. If we don't book them soon we're going to have a hundred guests and no food to give them.'

'Okay relax Sam, I'll do it now,' Emily picked up the magazine again and looked up number nine in the list of the featured 'Twenty best event caterers'.

She remembered now. It was this that had sent her to sleep.

'Thank you,' Sam said, leaning back into the sofa.

The woman had discovered a kitchen roll that could soak up all of her orange juice in one go. She was very happy now.

'Should I call them or go on their website?' Emily asked, having located both a phone number and email address. She ran her finger along the smooth page. It squeaked like a surprised rodent.

Sam looked momentarily like she was considering the question, before her features clouded and she looked pointedly at the watch on her wrist. 'For fuck's sake. It's gone six o'clock.' She tapped the face of the watch as if to stop it lying to her. 'We're going to have to wait 'til tomorrow now.'

Emily immediately turned her attention back to the Carry On Henry. She still felt the heavy tiredness of her afternoon nap in her bones, and she didn't feel energetic enough to engage in an argument with Sam. The television hummed and shimmered with activity. Anne Boleyn was being chased around a small pagoda by a particularly predatory Henry VIII.

'I'm sorry baby,' Sam said after some reflective silence. 'I just want everything to be perfect.'

Emily looked back at her girlfriend. 'I know,' she said with a small smile. 'I just wish you wouldn't stress out so much. Everything's going to be fine. Fuck the caterers. And the guests. All I care is that we're both there.'

Sam nodded in agreement. Emily settled into her side. She watched the characters on the bright screen closely. The more television she watched, the less she felt like writing. It was like the world was dissected for her, displayed in front of her to digest, saving her the trouble of picking it apart herself.

All those bare emotions locked safe behind an impenetrable screen.

'One good thing did happen today actually,' Sam said. They both watched Henry finally catch Anne Boleyn. Now she was trapped. 'You know Josie? My friend from training?'

Emily nodded absently, recalling the name but not the face.

'That inmate that's been giving her all that grief got released today.'

'Is that good?'

'Well, Josie won't have to deal with her anymore. So that's good.'

'Yeah, but I bet you will now she's been released into the public,' Emily speculated, remembering Sam repeating Josie's complaints about the girl a few weeks ago. There was always a chain. 'You're probably going to be at risk of a bit more indecent exposure.'

Sam laughed. 'Let's hope she's a pretty one then.'

Emily jabbed her in the side, 'Nah, you're not that lucky.'

Sam entwined their fingers.

The phone rang twelve times before a voice spoke at the other end. 'Hello? Angel's Delight Catering, how can I help?'

'Hi,' Emily replied, 'Would it be possible to book you for a wedding reception of one hundred guests on the fifth of March?'

'I'll just check for you now, Miss?'

'Fitch. Emily.'

There was some shuffling on the caterer's end of the line, and the crackling of the phone being passed from one hand to another. 'Yes, that day is available for booking,' came the eventual reply.

Emily sighed in relief, 'Okay great. I'd like to book that please.'

'No problem, when is a convenient time for me to arrange a consultation with an event planner?' the receptionist went on to ask.

'Um ... how soon can you do it?' Emily asked previously unaware that her personal involvement with the company extended beyond this phone call.

'There's a consultation available at two pm tomorrow afternoon. I'll inform the planner and she will contact you within the hour, okay Miss Fitch?'

'Sure, great,' Emily answered, not quite sure what was happening, but reciting her contact details to the receptionist anyway.

'Thank you for booking with us. And best of luck for the wedding,' the receptionist said brightly.

'Thanks ... actually it's a civil part-' the line went dead.

Emily twiddled the phone cable between her fingers.

'Any luck babe?' the question bounced through the hall.

'Yeah, I'm meeting a consultant tomorrow at two.'

Sam bounded down the stairs, fastening the top buttons of her shirt, 'Ooo look at you, all organised. See, I knew I could count on you.' Sam enveloped the small girl in a hug.

Emily let herself smile a small, proud smile at having done something to please. 'Make sure they know I'm allergic to prawns,' Sam said, 'Otherwise our wedding night isn't going to be much fun.'

Emily pulled a face. 'You're so romantic.'

'I'm just practical,' Sam answered, freeing Emily from her grip and doing up her last button. Emily missed the warmth of security of the arms that had left her.

'What time will you be home?' Emily asked.

'Not too late,' Sam replied ominously, 'I'm meeting up with Josie tonight. She's going to tell me all about that Naomi Campbell.'

Emily's felt something creep over her skin; a surreptitious, prickling cold that radiated from her spine and dispersed through her body. She felt like she was waist-deep in frozen water. 'Who?'

Sam rolled her eyes, 'Don't worry babe, not the model.'

Emily blinked. What model? She thought.

'That girl I was telling you about,' Sam elaborated, 'The one causing all those problems for Josie at the prison?'

'Prison?' Emily repeated, at what some might deem as a suspicious volume.

'Again, babe, not the model,' Sam assured her.

'What was ... what was she like? This, Naomi ... person?' Emily attempted to piece together a legitimate question from the thousands swimming about her head.

Sam looked at her girlfriend quizzically, 'A nightmare, apparently. 'Bout our age. Can't keep her gobby little mouth shut.'

Great. You're making her sound great. Emily swallowed. 'What did she ... why was she in ...'

'I'm not sure. Assault or property destruction or something,' Sam shrugged, 'Something to do with a protest.'

Equality, environmentalism, feminism, I-don't-ever-want-to-shut-my-mouth-ism.

'You okay babe? You've got a really weird face on,' Sam observed with concern.

Emily visibly shook herself, 'Sorry, just ... thinking about the ... caterers,' she scraped together her answer as it tried to scamper away from her.

Sam squeezed her shoulder affectionately, 'I'm excited too. Right, I've gotta go. See you later.' Sam pressed a brief kiss to Emily's forehead before leaving the house.

Emily turned her head to exchange a look with her dazed reflection in the mirror that hung above the dresser in the hall.

'Fucking ... hell.'

...