‘Flavia, do you need a top-up?’ asks Gubby.
‘Just popping to the loo,’ I say, grabbing my glass as I go, like all desperate-to-get-drunk engagement drinks attendees should do.
When I get to the loos, I pour my Prosecco down the sink and then reapply my lipstick before staring at myself in the mirror.
I make a face at myself. More lipstick is not going to make me feel better. My hangover was one thing. Worse is the misery I’ve been feeling all week. Anyone would have felt a little cringy after my outburst (which one of Antonio’s friends got on video while recording his friend dancing, yay), but way, way worse than that is how sad I feel about Dominic. Like am Ievergoing to get over him?
Yes, I sternly tell my reflection in the mirror. Of course I will. I just need to avoid seeing him. And then I will forget about him very quickly. After all, our South Africa trip only lasted a few days. We’ve really spent very little time together. In reality, we barely know each other.
Okay, that is not actually true. You can get to know someone very well very fast. I mean, Judith and Mike are now happilyengaged, after meeting for the first time at Cape Town airport at the beginning of the trip. And you can spend years failing to get to know someone particularly well even if you’re married to them – Jed – if you never have great conversations. For example.
However. Dominic has no interest in any kind of relationship with me, and that is of course entirely his prerogative, and I need to stop feeling crap about it and get on and be happy. I have agreatlife. Friends, family, work. All good.
I slap a bit of water on my face, apply yet another layer of lipstick, and turn round to go back out there and have fun with my girlfriends. Who I promise myself Iwilltell about the whole Dominic thing in the future, once it’s no longer painful. Which will be very soon. Very soon indeed.
My phone buzzes as I leave the loos, and I automatically check it. Since we lost Dad, I always do, because I’d hate to think of Mum having a problem and asking for help and me not seeing the message.
There is actually a message from Mum, with a photo of a handbag she bought herself earlier today. I’m really pleased that she’s buying herself nice things again. She hasn’t cared much about her appearance over the past year since we lost Dad and hasn’t really been buying herself anything. I send her a quick message telling her I love the bag and that I’ll speak either later tonight or tomorrow morning as I’m out at Gubby’s drinks at the moment.
There is also a message from Dominic. My heart soars when I see his name and then plummets when I remember thatobviouslyhe is not exactly texting to declare undying love.
I’m not going to open his message right now. I’ve just resolved to have a good evening. Reading his message and then feeling sad is the exact opposite of what I should be doing. I’ll open it later, when I get home. Or maybe not even until tomorrow morning. Or maybe I’ll never open it. Maybe that would be best.
Due to my amazing willpower, I open it approximately thirty seconds later, just before I arrive back at the table. Dominic says:
Hi Flavia, I hope you’re well. I’d love to meet up very soon if you can spare the time? Dinner? Or a walk? Dominic x
I amverydistracted for the next few minutes. Jenna leans so that she’s whispering into my ear and asks if I’m alright.
I tell her that I’m extremely alright, don’t worry about me, honestly, and step away from the table for a moment to type:
Why?
As soon as I’ve sent it, I regret sounding so brusque and rude. MaybeIshould be contactinghim, to apologise for my ridiculous drunken rant.
I’m thinking about sending a nicer-sounding follow-up, when he replies:
I have something huge to say to you
Errrrr what?
My mind is boggling so much that I decide the best response is a quip:
You aren’t pregnant are you? Ha-ha
Obviously within one nanosecond of sending it I’m regretting it because I don’t want to be reminding him about my mention last weekend of us sleeping together.
He replies with aHa, and then nothing.
I sit back down and think about saying no to his request, and then after a while I decide that – given how much I’ve stared into my pint of water over the past ten minutes wondering what he means by having something huge to tell me – I’ll regret it if I don’t just meet him.
And if I’m going to meet him, I’d like to get it out of the way so that I can go back to doing my best not to think about him at all.
We settle on Sunday afternoon for a walk (I had that time earmarked for marking GCSE mocks; I’ll do the marking in the evening instead), and then – annoyingly feeling happier just because I’m going to see Dominic again – I get on with my evening with my friends. When Jenna mentions that I suddenly seem very cheery, I don’t tell her why. And then I wonderwhyI won’t tell her.
I’ll tell her after I see him on Sunday, I resolve. Tell her that I had a stupid crush on stupid Dominic and stupidly slept with him and then stupidly slept with him again and then stupidly embarrassed myself last weekend but am now over being stupid. I’ll tell her that on Sunday evening.
* * *
