‘Colin, you’re the one at my dad’s party. Believe me, I’m over you. I’m Taylor Swift, Joe Alwyn, entire break-up album over you.’
He sniffed, tipped the whisky to his lips again and shrugged.
‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so!’ I exclaimed, fighting every urge to dump my whole glass of wine over his head. ‘You’re the moon and I’m the cow. This is me, jumping over you.’
‘Don’t listen to those intrusive thoughts, you’re not a cow. That’s the internalised misogyny talking.’ He leaned to one side and craned his neck to check out my rear view. ‘Might be worth going up a size though. Your jeans are a bit tight and not in a good way.’
‘So much for my promise to Sarah,’ I muttered, looking for a hard surface to break my glass on. Throwing wine on him wouldn’t be enough. The man had to die and it could not wait until tomorrow.
‘Oh, wow, aren’t you JC Simons?’
‘It’s CJ Simmons.’ CJ pulled himself up to his full height to reply to the voice that had interrupted my violent fantasies. ‘And you are?’
‘Joe, Joe Walsh.’
Also known as the last person I would’ve asked to come to my rescue but as he’d correctly stated earlier beggars could not be choosers, and I was begging for someone to save me from a life sentence. Although I was fairly sure there wasn’t a jury in the land that would put me away for relieving the planet of the curse of Colin. All I’d have to do was show them a photo of his black on black Tesla and I’d probably get some kind of medal instead.
‘Forgive me, I can’t remember the title but didn’t you write that book?’ Joe clinked his beer bottle against CJ’s whisky-filled tumbler, ignoring me completely. ‘The one about the editorial assistant who accidentally offed her boss and ended up taking over the company. What was it,Speckled Eggs?’
‘Deckled Edges,’ CJ corrected, his left eye twitching. ‘Yes, that was me. Have you read it?’
‘Oh, fuck no,’ Joe laughed. ‘I flicked through it in a charity shop but seriously, what a pretentious bag of wank. If you’re short on copies, they’ve got a whole boxful at the Oxfam in Kentish Town. You look like the kind of person who gives out all your author copies. Whether people want them or not.’
The shoulders of CJ’s jacket rose as his neck retracted into the crumpled white collar of his shirt, part hipster, part tortoise, all tit.
‘Not to be rude but, mate,’ Joe carried on as CJ blinked at him from behind his non-prescription glasses. ‘Have you ever even had a conversation with a woman? Have you met one? Because that main character made your average manic pixie dream girl look like Margaret Thatcher.’
‘I think one review called her a vacant projection of the male gaze,’ I interjected, tilting my head to the side as Joe snapped his fingers.
‘Nailed it. Of course, I’m sure that’s exactly what JC was going for.’
‘I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?’ CJ’s hand was shaking so violently, whisky spilled over his fingers, staining the cuff of his stiff white shirt.
‘Joe Walsh,’ replied my new favourite person. ‘Creative director at MullinsParker. I’m told I’ll be working on your next book. If it ever turns up.’
‘I heard they’re raising the retirement age to seventy-five so there’s a chance,’ I added. ‘A tiny little whisper of a chance.’
‘You two are hilarious. Do let me know when you’ve written your novels so I can offer you the same support,’ CJ snapped. ‘Sorry, is that Salman over there? I must go and say goodbye before he leaves. Excuse me.’
‘Is it Salman?’ Joe asked, turning to watch him sprint across the garden as quickly as his pointy ankle boots could carry him.
‘It’s my dad’s friend Gordon from the garden centre,’ I said, grinning. ‘Easy mistake to make except for how he looks literally nothing like him.’
‘That book of his really was a piece of shit. How do you know him?’
I sipped my wine and shook my head.
‘We went out. For five years.’
Joe coughed, choking on a mouthful of beer, and banged his fist against his chest.
‘Understandable reaction,’ I said, lifting my glass in acknowledgement. ‘But it was a long time ago.’
His eyebrows slowly crept back down his foreheadbut he couldn’t seem to completely wipe the look of surprise from his face.
‘I can’t lie, I wasn’t expecting that,’ he replied. ‘You don’t seem the type to suffer fools gladly.’
