I manage a small, sad smile. “I don’t really feel like it.”
“Of course you don’t,” she says, tossing the magazine aside. “That’s exactly why we should. I’m calling some friends. We’ll have a proper night—music, drinks, the lot. You need cheering up.”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate,” I say quietly. “Not with Anika just . . .” My voice trails off.
Holly softens for a second before shaking her head. “Anika wouldn’t want you sitting around moping. She’d hate it. And she’d be raging at Ray for the way he treated you.”
I look away, fighting more tears.
“Besides,” Holly adds, her tone sharpening, “he clearly doesn’t give a crap, so why should you?”
I sigh, the fight draining out of me. She’s not going to drop it, and right now, I don’t have the energy to argue.
So, I stay quiet.
By nine, Holly’s flat is unrecognisable.
Music blares from a speaker somewhere in the corner, the bass thumping through the walls while people I’ve never met spill into every available space. There are bottles on every surface, half-filled glasses abandoned wherever someone last stood, and someone’s already dancing on a chair.
“I told you this would work!” Holly shouts over the music, thrusting a drink into my hand.
“I don’t even know half these people!” I shout back, staring as two girls argue over who’s putting the next song on.
“Exactly! Fresh faces, no judgement!” she grins, knocking her glass against mine before downing it in one.
I take a cautious sip. Then another.
And before I know it, I’m finishing the whole damn thing.
An hour later, I’m laughing, actually laughing, like proper, head-thrown-back, can’t-breathe laughing as Holly attempts to recreate some TikTok dance and nearly takes out a lamp.
“Oh my god, stop!” I gasp, clutching my stomach.
“You love it,” she yells, spinning again, this time fully crashing into the sofa. The room erupts into cheers and someone hands me another drink.
“Right,” Holly announces suddenly, climbing onto the coffee table. “Truth or dare!”
A chorus of cheers follows.
“No,” I laugh, shaking my head, “absolutely not.”
“Yes,” she points at me dramatically. “You’re playing.”
I groan but slide closer anyway, sinking down onto the rug with everyone else.
“Truth or dare?” asks a guy I think is called Marcus . . . or maybe Mason.
“Truth,” I say quickly.
“Boring!” someone shouts.
“Shut up,” I laugh.
He grins. “Okay . . . biggest regret?”
For a second, everything slows. Josh flashes through my mind. Then Ray. And then . . . Anika and the way everything fell apart. I give my head a slight shake, squeezing my eyes closed to block the images.
“I . . .” I swallow, forcing a smile. “I once cut my own fringe when I was thirteen. It was tragic.”
