We wind our way back through the restaurant and over to the table, where we find Gloria chatting up a bemused-looking waiter. “In case you’re wondering,” he says, batting his eyelashes, “I identify as sensational.”
The waiter offloads a tray of shots and dashes away.
“What are these?” I ask, sitting down.
“Sambuca,” Gloria answers, lifting his vape from under the table and no longer bothering to hide it. “It’s Italian, isn’t it?”
Dom lifts a glass. “Whatever it is, it’ll do me.”
We each tip back a shot. The hot aniseed burns my throat.
“Now let’s pay the bill and get out of here!” tweets Gloria.
“I need to get away from these loved-up couples before I catch something,” says Dom. He turns to me, as if he’s just remembered. “No offense, Adam.”
Gloria opens the camera on his phone and reapplies his lipstick. “Luckily for you bitches, I’ve booked us into a drag show in the Village.”
I roll my eyes in mock exasperation. “Gloria, you know I’ve got a flight at nine in the morning.”
He bats away my objection, his bracelets jangling. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not every day your sister moves to a castle in Italy. We’ve got to give you a good send-off!”
Chapter 4
The next morning, my hangover is brutal. As Gloria would say, I feel like I’ve been dug up and belted with a shovel.
It did indeed turn into a raucous night. Just as we arrived at the drag bar, the Sambuca shots kicked in. After downing another round, we were all wasted. Dom successfully fended off the attention of three former hook-ups and disappeared into a corner with a blond man whose biceps were thicker than my waist. Ian spent a long time giving impassioned life advice to a straight woman he’d just met who’d been dumped by her boyfriend, insisting she was an inspiration, a goddess and a warrior, while she sat there wailing, showing no evidence of being anything of the sort. And Gloria got up on stage to belt out a female empowerment anthem by Dua Lipa, alongside a pair of drag queens called Bonita Gooch and Perry Anal. I managed to sneak off at around 1:30 a.m., grabbing a chicken burger from McTucky’s on the way. When my alarm went off at 5:30, the remains of it were scattered around me on the bed. I was fully clothed, with a piece of cucumber stuck to my cheek and a blob of mayonnaise in my ear.
I stand up and start stripping off my clothes but give a little stagger and realize I’m still drunk. How am I going to get through the day? I curse myself for getting the summer off to such a badstart. I’m supposed to be a responsible adult. I’m supposed to be the host!
I knock back a strong coffee, jump in the shower, knock back another, and when the minibus arrives, crash out on the back seat.
My phone pings with a text. I look at the home screen and see it’s from Dad. That’s all I need.
Alreet, lad, it reads.Is it today ur off to Italy? Have a beltin time. Dad
My stomach lurches. I put the phone away.
A few minutes later, I’m feeling worse and have to ask the driver if he’ll pull over so I can get out and throw up. I lean on a wall at the side of the road and empty my guts into a drain, tears streaming from my eyes as passing cars sound their horns. I feel the sting of humiliation.
When I look up, I see a little old lady pulling along a canvas granny trolley, who’s stopped to stare at me.
“Sorry, it was a heavy night,” I mouth, feebly. Then I find myself adding, “We went to a drag bar.”
The old lady gives me a wink. “Don’t worry, love. We’ve all been there.”
Fifteen minutes later, the minibus pulls up outside Theo’s flat. By now I’m sitting up, wearing my sunglasses—despite the fact the sky is slate gray—and chewing gum.
“Morning!” I screech, then realize I sound borderline deranged.
Thankfully, Archie gets in first and sits next to me. “Want to play Top Trumps?” he bursts out, the kink at the front of his ginger hair looking more upright than usual. “I’ve got our favorites!”
Theo slides in next to him, takes one look at me and knows how I’m feeling. “I think Adam might need some quiet time, squirt. Maybe at the airport.”
“Why does this minibus stink of booze?” says Callum, thumping himself down on the back seat and squeezing his long limbs into the leg space.
“Is it you, Adam?” asks Mabel, sitting next to Callum, wearing her usual baggy top and sweatpants. “Oh my god, are you an alcoholic?”
“Mabel, Adam’s not an alcoholic,” states Theo.
