Andrea giggles. ‘I’m happy to oblige.’
‘Urgh, too much information.’
‘Come tomorrow night pleeeaaase. Bailey will be busy in the kitchen, so you won’t even see him if you don’t want to. You can chat to me and Kirk. He’s coming over from Glasgow.’
In the spirit of the new sociable Holly, I should probably go. Plus I can take some video footage of the hotel for TikTok. And if Bailey won’t actually be around ...
‘I’ll think about it,’ I say. ‘I’ll let you know.’
I think about (or, should I say, overanalyse) it too much for my own good—wobbling backwards and forwards, writing lists of pros and cons.
On the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, I still haven’t decided. It feels weird to turn up on an invite from Andrea rather than Bailey. I’m just about to toss a coin—heads, I go; tails, I stay—when I notice Crumpet pawing at the tinsel bow. It’s annoying him. It’s annoying me too having to look at it.
‘Come here, mate.’
Crumpet leaps up onto the couch, and I unwind the tinsel from his collar. When I reach the end, there’s a folded bit of paper. It’s been tucked up underneath the collar, out of sight. Gingerly, I open it, hardly daring to breathe. It says,
Hi Holly,
I know you hate parties but we’re having drinks on the rooftop terrace for Hogmanay. It would be great to see you there. Come at 10pm if you’re free.
Bailey x
My heart fills with joy, sails out the window and into the sky before I can rein it in. I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up. Although he has put a kiss at the end of the note, it could just be a friendly invite. This is Bailey. I could turn up, and he might have forgotten he even invited me.
Quickly, I message Andrea:I’m coming to the NYE thing.She replies withGreat!and a thumbs up.
I’m quivering with anticipation at seeing Bailey again. Throwing open my wardrobe, I rifle through my clothes. Everything’s so dull and boring even amongst what is stuffed in the back.
I message Andrea again:Hi, do you have anything I can wear? I only have the black dress and I don’t want to wear that again.
Almost as if she’s been waiting for it, she messages back instantly:What’s your address? I’ll come over after dinner with some options. We can go together Ax
I heave a sigh of relief:Thanks that would be good Hx
We catch an Uber to the hotel at 9.45 p.m. As we turn into the hotel’s street, I get an attack of nerves. What I’m wearing suddenly feels too tight, too short, and too showy. My stomach flops around like a half-dead fish on a pier, and my vision blurs. ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ I gasp.
Uber driver Mick hears and touches the brakes. ‘I’ll pull over.’
Andrea pushes my head down between my legs. ‘No, carry on. She hasn’t been drinking. It’s just a nervous stomach.’
‘If she does, I’m charging you for the clean,’ he grumbles.
‘She won’t,’ says Andrea. I’m not sure why she’s so confident. I’m really not well. I shouldn’t have even come out. This was a mistake. I haven’t even had a proper dinner. She said there was going to be food, so I just made us some cheese and crackers.
Thanks to Andrea whispering words of encouragement, when we arrive at the hotel, I extract myself from the car vomit-free. The glass façade of the hotel rears above us. The lobby lights are welcoming, but there isn’t a steady stream of raucous guests entering through the double doors.
‘Are you sure there’s a party on? It looks dead.’
‘It’s sort of a private function.’
‘Oh.’ My nerves return full force. Is Bailey going to be mingling with the guests, handing out hors d’oeuvres?
We step into the lift, and Andrea pushes the button labelled ‘roof terrace’. But when the lift doors open, the terrace itself is cold and dark. However, the lights of the city do look pretty from up here.
‘Are we too early?’ I ask, shivering in my coat as a gust of icy wind blasts across the rooftop. ‘There’s no one here.’
Then a figure looms in front of me, and I let out a screech until I see its face. Bailey.
