I walk out into chaos. Hannah C. is crying, comforted by Priya, while Hannah P. and Niamh look on slightly confused.
Hannah S. and Whit arm-wrestle over the kitchen island, and I feel warm as I watch the muscles in their arms flex.
Lina is doing a headstand against the wall, though actually, now I look at her, she seems quite serene. I didn’t know youcould be serene in a headstand, given I’ve never been serene upright.
I don’t see Dolly.
‘Oh fucken hell, babe.’ I jump because Bridget has snuck up on me, waving a pencil in my face. ‘Do you have a sharpener?’
‘A what?’
‘For my lip liner. It’s blunt as a welly.’
‘Oh no, I don’t, sorry. Shall I see if one of the others—’
She doesn’t wait for me to finish the sentence, flips to face the nearest wall mirror and rubs the dull pencil against the edges of her lips. Her pretty little face tenses up in a wince.
‘Bridget, don’t!’ I try to grab it from her hand, but she dodges. ‘You’re going to get a splinter!’
‘It’s fine!’ she bleats, tears in the corner of her eyes. ‘If I don’t think about it, it’s only a bit unbearable!’
The colour does darken, but I can’t tell if that’s the product or a bruise.
‘There.’ She sounds pleased, and to be fair, her lips do look good. ‘Gotta be fit for the first time I see my mans.’
I feel guilty for not making time for her in the last few days. After all, Bridget decided we’d be friends from the off, my fellow Welshie, and I’ve barely spoken to her while I’ve been having my internal crisis.
I knew Bridget was seeing a few different guys, but being awol means that I am out of step with her. ‘Who are you seeing today?’
She counts off on her fingers. ‘Billy and Zack today. Jackson and Ethan tomorrow.’
‘Wow. That’s going to be so nice.’
Bridget rolls her eyes. ‘I’m not so sure. What if they’re all mingers? What if they thinkI’ma minger?’
‘No one could think that,’ I insist.
‘They might. I’m already sweating, babes.’ She fans her armpit with the dull lip pencil.
I take it from her and hand her my notebook.
‘Cheers,’ she says, resuming fanning herself. ‘I just know they’re all seeing other women too, and I want to look the hottest. Even if I don’t want to date all of them after this, I want them to want me most still, you know?’
I’m partway through untangling why she might care about men she doesn’t like wanting her, when she bursts into laughter.
‘I’m joking, babes. Your face was a picture. But look, I do look fit, though, don’t I?’
‘Y-yes,’ I say, feeling an old familiar discomfort at telling another woman she looks beautiful. It feels odd in my mouth, like if I loosened control on the words they might fly out and I’d say something too effusive. ‘You are going to knock them out.’
I’m not quite convinced that’s the right way to say that, but she seems pleased.
‘Good.’ She steps back and admires her tattooing work. ‘Sparks are going to fly, at least on one side.’
‘Sparks?’
‘Yeah, babe. Like, that magnetic, lightning feeling you get when you look at someone and thinkoh they’re a bit of me. These men are all nice and I fancy them, but I’m here for a spark.’ She cups her mouth with her hands and shouts up at the ceiling, ‘Strike me down with love, baby!’
Sparks. I’ve not felt sparks since Mikey, right at the beginning. I think.
