Emma:Honestly it’s embarrassing for him. Man is DOWN BAD.
I stare at the screen, stomach flipping.
Freya:Except he’s not. And even if he was, he doesn’t get to just have me as his back-up plan.
Clara:You are nobody’s back-up plan Sunshine.
Freya:We may have nearly kissed the other day and he said that he loved me, ya know, before.
The chat explodes.
Hannah:WHAT??
Emma:FREYA COLLINS
Lou:SCREAMING
Abigail:AND???? What’s happening now?
Clara:Girls, she’s gunna need some serious tequila tonight
I chew my lip, heart thudding again just thinking about it.
Freya:Save it for tonight. Drinks first. Emotional breakdown later.
Hannah:I am ordering tequila in advance.
I take one last look in the mirror before I leave and, for once, don’t immediately find ten things to criticise.
Okay. Fine. I look hot tonight. I’m wearing a burgundy, backless mini dress that has a giant bow on the back with the ends of the bow dangling down to past my knees. The front is low cut and adorned with pearls. It cinches in at the waist then pops right back out at my hips giving me that hourglass shape. I’ve paired it with the cutest pair of sparkly gold heels to add to the festive look.
Revenge? No. Emotional coping strategy? Absolutely.
The Old Oak is already glowing when we pull into the car park, warm golden light spilling from the little Tudor windows. From the outside, it looks like the kind of place you’d take your nan for a quiet half-pint; white walls, black beams, flower boxes under every window. Inside? Chaos. Community. Questionable decisions.
The wooden beams run low across the ceilings, the floors creak, and every surface smells faintly of polish, ale, and a thousand nights of laughter soaked into the walls. It used to be a proper old-man pub; flat caps, dominoes, and the world’s best Sunday roast. Then old Jim and Doreen retired, and Rowan, a local farmer, broad shoulders, permanently rolled-up sleeves, took over. Now it’s the busiest place in Oakwood. Karaoke Saturdays. Line dancing Sundays. Quiz night chaos, feral bingo Fridays, book club that’s 40% wine, 60% gossip. You want wholesome? Sure. You want unhinged? Also available.
And tonight is karaoke girls’ night.
I am so lucky to have a great group of girls. Clara and I became close when Ollie and Theo were little. We bondedover sleepless nights and breastfeeding. I’ve known Hannah and Emma for practically my whole life since we all grew up in Oakwood but I only really became close to Hannah when I started working at the school. She slotted into mine and Clara’s friendship beautifully and now we are like a terrible trio. Hannah’s sister Emma doesn’t get out much but she always makes girls night and brings along her friends Abigail and Lou. Perfect Eleanor is coming tonight too, although I should probably stop calling her that. I’ve never been a huge fan of hers and quite frankly, she’s always seemed to be rude but I do feel sorry for her. I know what it’s like to be cheated on and be left as a single parent so I can sympathise and put my big girl pants on and be a supportive friend.
We push through the door in a gust of cold air and perfume, greeted by the usual wave of warmth, chatter, and the tail end of someone absolutely butchering “Mr. Brightside.”
Our booth sits on the little raised platform near the stage and dance floor. Prime position. Close enough to the bar, equal distance to the toilets, maximum people-watching potential. We claimed it years ago and, at this point, I think Rowan just automatically reserves it on girls’ night, once a month. If anyone ever sits there first, they face Clara. Or worse, Abigail.
Rowan himself is behind the bar tonight, like he usually is on busy nights. He grins when he sees us. “Well, trouble’s here,” he calls.
Hannah actually fans herself. “Why do farmers look like that now?”
“Because life is unfair,” Emma replies solemnly.
We pile into the booth, coats flying, drinks already being shouted across the table.
For a little while, the noise and the lights and my ridiculous friends wrap around me like armour. Until the tequila kicks in.Tequila is a liar. Tequila says,one more won’t hurtandyou’re fineandtexting him is a good idea actually. By the fourth shot, I’m warm, floaty, and significantly less emotionally stable than when I arrived.
“I just…” I start, gesturing wildly with a lime wedge. “I just don’t understand why he’s here doing this now.”
All six of them, even Eleanor, lean in like I’m delivering a national address. Hannah slides a glass of water toward me. I ignore it.
