I return his smile with a slight cock of my head and turn back to the bar at the same moment he seems to rise.
Oh, God. He’s coming over to talk to me. Am I so desperate I imagine his good looks—does he look like Shrek, really? What about me?I subtly smooth my hair, using the mirror behind the bar.Do I have beer breath?
It’s too late to do anything about it as I watch the room’s reflection and the stranger making his way over to me.
A little bit of a swagger. Sandy hair. Tall.
It’s all very promising.
‘Ooooh! What have you got there?’ My drink disappears from the bar in front of me, moved by a hand with pointy fluorescent pink nails. ‘Bleurgh!That tastes vile. Get some lime or blackcurrant in it, girl.’
‘N-Natasha?’ My beer drinking thief sitting on the empty stool next to me is Fin’s friend. Not Ivy—the one who’s married to a movie star—but the other one. The one who manages Ivy’s hair salon. The Scottish madwoman. Not that she’s mad but how can I put this... She’s interesting. Eccentric. And off the wall.
‘Ocht, you remembered!’
I’m hardly likely to forget.
I glance in the mirror, finding mywould-be shagtaking some halting steps, unsure now of his plans. Not that I blame him. On any given day, Natasha is pretty full-on, but this evening? Bizarre doesn’t even cover it.
Her platinum blonde hair is pulled into pigtails and wrapped in bright pink ribbon. And she’s wearing little more than a cropped top, which is itching to reveal some ample side and under boob, and a pair of striped leggings the colour of cotton candy. Topping off her ensemble is a sparkling silver tutu and a cape. A cape adorned with pink cartoon dicks and the words,Hens on the hunt.
‘Remember? You’re pretty hard to forget.’ I sort of laugh. Stunned, really.
‘Aye, I do stick out. Especially here.’ She sniffs, looking around the room’s interior—the subtle lighting, the dark wood and chrome. ‘It’s a bit stuffy, hen.’
‘What are you doing here?’ I find I’m genuinely happy to see her and also a little relieved that my possible admirer is back in his seat.
God, I’m such a chicken shit.
‘Fin called. She said you were staying over tonight. Told me the name of the hotel. She knew I was in town on a hen do—you know, a bachelorette party? She said it might be nice if we caught up.’ She says this so breezily I wonder if Fin realises something’s up.
‘You mean she asked you to check on me?’
Nat’s shoulders move along with her husky laugh. ‘She’s a worrit. Can’nae help herself!’
‘I think she prefers the term caring, but yes, a worrit sounds about right. But I’m still here. And fine, as you can see. I’m just going to finish my drink then go to my room and order a burger from room service. And maybe take a long soak in the tub.’
These plans suddenly sound more appealing. There’s always tomorrow, I suppose. Saturday evening this place might be teeming with men wanting sex?
‘You got dressed like that for a bath?’ She eyes me sceptically.
‘Dressed like—’ My eyes flick down to my figure fitting dress, and the thigh it’s currently flashing, farther down to my red heels. ‘It’s just a dress.’
‘Some might say it’s only half of one.’
‘Okay, so it’s a little short. A little male attention is good for the ego.’
‘Agreed. But you’re sitting there like a bonny birdie just to go away to your bed?’ she asks, sounding unconvinced. ‘That can’t be right! Come away wi’ me for a drink and a dance!’
‘Thanks, but I don’t want to intrude on your party.’ Whatever—whoever—her party is, it doesn’t look like it’s my kind of thing.
‘Pssht! The lasses would love for you to come along. And a doctor might come in handy with this lot. There’s bound to be some punches thrown by the end of tonight.’ She shrugs in resignation. ‘Punches. Hair pullin’. Some rollin’ around on the floor fightin’. There’s always a stramash about ruined hair extensions the next day. And it’s usually over a lad.’
‘They fight—your friends?’ I sound a little stunned. I think that’s what she said. Stramash is commotion or trouble, I seem to recall.
‘It’s not a good night for some of them unless there’s a fight.’
‘Then I think I might stay here if you don’t mind. I hear my bathtub calling.’
