‘I’m not really hungry.’
‘But I got those awful chips you like.’
To stop her glaring at me, I reach over and grab a handful of the baked veggie chips.
‘I don’t know how you can eat those,’ Daisy complains, helping herself to a slice of prosciutto from the platter next to my chips. ‘I think they taste like shoe leather.’
‘See, I think they’re less sea salt and cracked pepper flavour and more cracked teeth. But you were saying?’ Vee makes a circling motion with her finger along with her recap. ‘Hotel. Weekend. Frightened the piss out of your boss.’
‘Maybe sorted him temporarily.’ I wiggle my shoulders, slightly annoyed and not quite sure why. ‘Then that evening, we had really hot, off the charts monkey sex—’
‘What?’ Daisy squeaks. ‘But you never do the dance with no pants outside of a relationship.’
‘Daisy, you remember what this Archer looked like. Joan of Arc would’ve given it up for him. And he’s so hot, she wouldn’t have needed that pyre afterwards.’
‘Anyway... ’ I begin again pointedly, ‘the next morning, we were going to travel back to London together when I bumped into this boy I used to know, and he ended up inviting himself to Sunday lunch.’
‘You don’t cook Sunday lunch. And if you did, why haven’t we been invited?’
‘Nut roast or meat substitute?’
‘Not me. Sundays are for lazing around, not feeding friends and family. Unless you’re my mum, I suppose. Sunday lunch at my parents’ house—’
‘This is more confusing than the plot toInterstellar.’ Daisy takes a sip of her diet Coke, her button nose scrunched.
‘And now Archer is ignoring you at work.’ Vivi asserts.
‘No. He’s been out of the office all week.’
‘Then he’s not returning your calls, totally ghosting you.’
‘Not exactly.’
‘What do you mean then, exactly?’
‘Well, I haven’t called him. But he hasn’t called me, either. Except I got a really weird text last night.’
Vee makes a grabby hand motion, like a toddler in a pram demanding the return of a dropped toy. I roll my eyes as I pull out my phone and pass it to her.
‘What’s up cake?’ Her gaze slides to me. ‘But you didn’t respond.’
‘What was I supposed to say to that? He’s been in Amsterdam all week working. I assumed he was off his face on edibles.’
‘And there’s your problem. You assumed. You could’ve picked up the phone and found out, and we wouldn’t have been having this conversation right now. Instead, you’d be regaling us with details of the all-important sex.’
‘No, I wouldn’t.’
‘We would’ve gotten the juicy details out of you. How long and so on.’
‘Pretty long. And girthy.’ I slap a hand over my mouth.
‘See? I didn’t even have to get out the thumb screws. Or the wine. Bugger it. I’m opening a bottle. Who’s up for a glass?’
‘Just a little one,’ says Daisy.
‘Make mine a pint jug.’ Because I feel like this is going to be one of those conversations.
Vee makes her way into the open plan kitchen in her very girly Notting Hill pad, pulling out a bottle from her wine fridge. ‘Pinot Grigio?’
