‘Scarlett! It’s been too long!’ Shelley jumps from the booth she was nestled in and, as fast as her four-inch heels and body-con dress will allow, she hurtles towards me.
‘I always forget how squealy she is,’ Luke says, leaning into my ear. ‘Drink?’
‘No need! No need! We have Grey Goose and Bombay Sapphire and every mixer you can think of.’ Shelley throws her arms around me and yanks me into her suspiciously larger-than-usual chest.
‘Hi, it’s so nice to see you. Shelley. Shelley, I can’t breathe.’ I peel myself away.
‘Whoopsies!’ She giggles. ‘Come. Come. I want you to meet my new guy.’ She drags my arm, jerking it in the socket, and pulls me through the bar. I smile apologetically as a man I’ve been forced to bump into snaps his head quickly to look at the culprit.
Shelley’s new guy is stocky, with broad shoulders that seem part-muscle and part-just mass. He rises from his seat at the far side of the booth and leans over three ice buckets full of alcohol and mixers to shake my hand and drop a kiss on my cheek. I clock the Tag decorating his chunky wrist, the cuffs of his shirt clearly rolled back for effect.
‘I’m Dan,’ he shouts across the pounding bass of the music.
‘Scarlett,’ I yell through a smile.
‘Vodka or gin?’ Shelley asks, holding up both bottles as she drops into the padded leather booth with a thump.
‘Gin, please.’
Self-poured, or rather Shelley and Dan poured, measures are dangerous. Drink four has been pushed in front of me and they’re already clouding my head. Emily and Harry have turned up and, after telling me again how I must drag Gregory out for drinks ‘just one time ever,’ they work the room, happily socialising with the wealthy cohort.
‘I need to slow down,’ I say to Amanda as I wince through my first mouthful of the strongest mix yet.
She’s fiddling with her phone as she mumbles her agreement.
‘Is everything okay? You’ve hardly touched your drink.’
‘I’m just pacing myself,’ she says, putting her glass to her lips but taking the smallest sip.
‘Okay, who are you and what have you done with my best friend?’ I nudge into her shoulder and receive a dim smile in return.
‘It’s nothing. Really. I’m just feeling a little green. I thought I’d be fine after one or two drinks but this is my first and I just have no fancy for it.’ She leans into the booth and nudges her glass away. ‘Let’s dance!’
It must be the four lethal gins because I feel like I can actually dance. I lift my arms above my head as I move in time to David Guetta’s beat.
‘I love this tune!’ Amanda yells, suddenly revived.
My waist is attacked by two man-arms.
‘Shots!’ Luke screams into my ear. He drags me backwards to the bar where a row of six tequila shots is being poured.
The barman sets a slice of lemon across each glass then dishes out three salt shakers.
Amanda goes first, licking the side of her hand and tipping salt on top. Nothing stands in the way of Amanda and tequila. For me, on the other hand, this is a bad idea. Beyond bad. Tequila and I go together like pink and green, oil on a fire, tomato juice and a white shirt. The ending is predictable. Option one is wasted. Option two is sick. Option three is a combination of one and two. And there isn’t an option four.
But I haven’t been out for a while.
‘God help me,’ I say, licking my hand, pouring over salt and clinking my shot glass with Amanda’s and Luke’s.
‘Cheers!’
The salt bites in such a way that I actuallywantto chase it with tequila but…good Lord, that stuff is vile. I dig my teeth into the slice of lemon and suck as hard as I can, my head shaking, my feet stomping against the floor.
‘Yeah, like old times,’ Luke says, slamming his empty shot glass onto the bar with a satisfied slurp. ‘Next!’
‘I couldn’t do it. The smell is making me queasy! How do we drink that stuff?’ Luke and I both dart our heads to look at Amanda, who’s holding her full glass of tequila mid-air.
‘Since when did you become a prude?’ Luke asks.
