‘Probably so he didn’t have to buy you a gift. What a cheap arse,’ murmurs Vivi, flicking her dark waves over her shoulder. ‘But you’re not bothered, not really. It’s hardly like he was the catch of the century. You haven’t dated in ages, and the first man you agree to see looks like him.’
I open my mouth to defend myself when Daisy hastily tops up my glass, pushing it towards me again. ‘Tell us what the weasel said, sweets.’
‘He said it wasn’t going anywhere between us.’ Which revealed a depth of perception that had surprised me, quite honestly. ‘That he wasn’t feeling it.’ And byit, I think he meant me. That I’d yet to let him feelit—any of it. But we’d only gone out three times, for God’s sakes. Upon consideration, I might’ve brought it on myself after telling him I didn’t think I could let any man in my body who wasn’t already in my heart.
But on my birthday?
Bastard.
‘I don’t need to meet him to know you’re well rid of him.’ Vivi raises her glass as though to toast his departure. So I join her, almost draining my glass.
‘You did say last week that you didn’t think you’d make the month mark,’ Daisy offers, her china doll-like eyes wide. ‘I didn’t think you cared for him all that much.’
‘I’m not just upset he dumped me, I’m also upset because could he not have held on for a week? I have that wedding to go to next weekend, remember? And most of the office will be there.’ As a flock of anxious birds swoop through my stomach, I realise my glass is empty, but as I reach for the bottle myself this time, Vee takes it out from my hand.
‘On second thought, your situation won’t be helped by a hangover.’
‘I thought I might drink so much I wake up still drunk.’
‘But you’ll eventually sober, and the wedding will still be next week. Unless you’re going to drink right through until next weekend, in which case you’ll probably not need to worry about the wedding because you’ll be dead.’
Daisy takes the bottle from Vivi, placing it on the far side of the table.And well out of my reach.‘This is Heather we’re talking about. I doubt she’s been drunk in her whole life.’
‘I have. I was eighteen, and I’d like not to think about it, if that’s okay.’ There are parts of that night I’d like never to think of again because there are some things tequila just can’t block out.
‘Alcohol is never the solution,’ Vivi intones portentously.
‘Unless you’re teaching chemistry.’ Daisy, as usual, is ever the teacher. I bet she was the teacher’s pet too, once upon a time.
‘I don’t suppose either of you fancy being my plus one next week, do you?’ I cross my fingers to accompany my plea, but Daisy is already shaking her head.
‘I’m covering for you at work, remember.’
‘I can’t believe you offered to work both Saturday and Sunday, Dais. Especially when you spend all week teaching the little monsters as it is.’ She faux shivers to emphasise her horror at the thought of running children’s parties. While it might be her idea of hell, I can’t think of a better side hustle. Dressing as a fairy or a swashbuckling pirate or even a mermaid is so much more fun than my weekday job at E11even, a full-service digital marketing agency. Office work is for suckers.
‘I like kids,’ Daisy responds with a light shrug. ‘And honestly, I could do with the money. Why does no one ever tell you a renovation budget that comes in on price is the stuff of myth?’ Daisy and her fiancé are currently undertaking the mammoth task of restoring a Victorian period mid terrace in Putney. Recent budget considerations suggest their project might be complete by the turn of the century.
‘What about you, Vivi, old friend, old pal?’ I press my hands together and flutter my lashes manically.
‘No can do, sweets. I’ll be in Paris on a work thing.’
On second thought, I think I’d prefer to spend my weeks as Vee does. As a senior executive in the travel industry, she seems to spend a lot of her time working from café tables on Instagram-worthy streets or from the shade of palm trees on pristine white beaches.
‘I know you don’t want to go alone but—’
‘No, Ican’tgo alone.’
‘Of course, you can.’
‘No, really, I can’t.’
‘Screw societal expectations!’ she exclaims, her hand suddenly connecting with the tabletop.
‘Right on, sister.’ My words are as weak as the two fingers I hold up in a peace sign because... ‘But can we screw themafternext weekend?’
‘I’m serious, you should go alone. Show people how the modern single woman rolls.’
‘Rolls alone,’ I reply. ‘Yep, thanks, Vee. I’m sure that would super impress the people I work with.’
