‘Your boss made you go for a mammogram?’ Sarah’s eyes widened into saucers.
‘How does someone make you get a mammogram?’ Lauren asked, poking me in the left boob. ‘Jesus, Maddie.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, slapping her hand away. ‘It was in my diary − I didn’t really think about it until afterwards. I thought everyone was doing it. And don’t poke my boobs in public.’
‘As if that’s even the worst thing she’s done,’ Sarah said, tapping her fingers on the table and watching like a hawk as the waiter peeled the foil off the champagne cork. ‘I think providing hospice care for her incontinent dog was more of an ask.’
I considered this for a moment.
‘He was a lovely dog when he wasn’t shitting everywhere,’ I replied.
‘But he was always shitting everywhere,’ Sarah countered.
‘Did it hurt?’ Lauren asked, wrinkling her little nose at the dog-shit banter. ‘The mammogram?’
I wrapped my hands around my chest and nodded. ‘Even thinking about it hurts. But, you know, they’re important.’
‘They are,’ Sarah agreed. ‘When you need them. You’re a thirty-one-year-old woman with no family history of breast cancer who spent the afternoon with her tit in a vice to appease her boss. That’s different. Is she at least going to get one now?’
‘I’ve scheduled her in for an MRI,’ I said in the kind of quiet voice an embarrassed mouse might use. ‘She didn’t fancy it after she read my report.’
Sarah gave me the look.
‘I don’t know why you don’t just quit,’ Lauren cut in before Sarah could explode. ‘You’ve been her assistant for, like, ten years, Maddie. You could be an assistant anywhere. Wait, don’t open that yet,’ she ordered the waiter as he gripped the champagne cork. ‘I want to make a toast.’
‘Jesus, in that case can I have a Hendrick’s and tonic, please?’ Sarah asked. ‘A double.’
‘Me too,’ I said, raising my hand. ‘Thank you.’
‘You guys …’ Lauren’s voice had a tendency to get a bit whiny when she wasn’t getting her own way. Oddly enough, that didn’t happen often. ‘I don’t want you to get wasted.’
‘We won’t get wasted,’ I promised. ‘Just delightfully tipsy. And you know it’s not as easy as walking out of the door and into another job. Things are difficult everywhere right now.’
‘There are quite a lot of event assistant jobs,’ Sarah pointed out. ‘Have you even looked?’
‘I’m not going to leave one shitty job for another shitty job, am I? And, you know, it’s not always awful,’ I said, preparing to launch into my well-rehearsed ‘Why I Don’t Leave My Horrible Job’ speech. ‘I only tell you the worst parts. It’s interesting. I get to do a lot of different stuff, the rest of the company is nice, it’s only Shona who can be difficult. And I get to meet a lot of people—’
‘Difficult? Can you even hear yourself?’ Sarah replied, unconvinced. ‘Next you’ll be turning up with a black eye and telling us “she only hits me because she loves me”. You stay because you’re scared to leave. I’ve known you too long, Mads. You’ve lived in the same flat for ten years, you’ve had the same job for ten years—’
‘I’ve had the same best friends for ten years,’ I broke in with what I hoped she would take as a threat. ‘Maybe I should make some changes.’
‘I guess you do get to go to a bunch of awesome parties,’ Lauren offered. Lovely, peace-making Lauren. ‘And you always get a ton of free cake.’
‘I do always get free cake,’ I said, looking pointedly at Sarah, who had so often been the grateful recipient. ‘Thank you, Lauren.’
‘But,’ she continued with one of her sweet smiles, ‘if you left, you might be happier. And we might actually get to see you more often.’
Lauren, the two-faced, backstabbing cow.
‘How are you, Sarah?’ she asked, ignoring the look on my face. ‘What’s going on with you?’
‘Nothing,’ Sarah replied as her G&T was set down in front of her. ‘Busy, tired, whatever.’
‘Tough day at work?’
‘They’re all tough,’ she said. ‘Maddie isn’t the only one who needs a new job.’
Lauren cast me a quick glance, which I replied to with wide, nonplussed eyes. When Sarah was in a bad mood, there was very little point trying to force her out of it.
‘Let’s open the champagne,’ Lauren said brightly, beckoning the waiter over with the bottle. ‘Before we start talking about mammograms and dog shit again.’
I smiled broadly. ‘Just your average Thursday night.’
‘This isn’t how I had planned this,’ she said, reaching under the table into her tote bag and pulling out two elaborately wrapped pink presents. There was a lot of curly ribbon involved. I mean, a lot. ‘But I have some news and I wanted to share it with you right away.’
Sarah stared at the presents, stared at Lauren, and took a sharp breath in before downing the rest of her second gin. ‘Oh no,’ she whispered.
‘What?’ I flicked my head back and forth between my friends so fast I’m almost certain I could have sued them for whiplash. ‘What?’
‘Michael asked me to marry him last night,’ Lauren announced, fiddling with her hand for a moment, then displaying a diamond ring so big it could only have come from Claire’s Accessories. There was no way that shit was real. ‘We’re engaged.’
I had never seen her look so happy, and Lauren was always happy. Lauren was happy, I was happy, the waiter was happy, and Sarah was … oh. Hmm. Sarah did not look happy. In case you were wondering, it takes exactly seven seconds to go from silent awe to awkward silence. Before I knew it, we were right in the middle of one of the most uncomfortable situations I had ever had the privilege to experience. Lauren’s smile began to freeze, and her giddy expression turned into tense confusion, while Sarah looked like she was getting a mammogram right there at the table.
‘Are you pregnant?’ I asked.
Apparently that was not the right thing to ask.
‘Jesus, Maddie, no!’ Lauren rolled her eyes and pouted. ‘I’m hoping he asked because he loves me. It happens. Remember when Sarah did it? Big white dress, church, party, bridesmaids?’
‘Oh no,’ Sarah said again, this time in a whisper. Her face was ashen and she refused to make eye contact with either of us, even when I gave her a swift kick under the table.
‘And that’s why I asked you to come meet me tonight,’ Lauren went on, in a Keep Calm and Carry On voice. American born maybe, but that girl had the stiff upper lip of a Brit when it was needed. She could pretend something wasn’t happening like an absolute pro. ‘To ask if you would be my bridesmaids.’
‘Of course!’ I shouted. Bridesmaids! Lauren’s bridesmaids! Lauren was getting married! Argh! I mean, hurrah! ‘That’s amazing, Lauren − come here.’
Hugging seemed like the socially correct gesture, but in half a heartbeat I went from being ecstatically happy to realizing it would make me the spinster of the group. But still, I gave her a hug instead of stabbing her through the heart with my butter knife. I was raised properly.
‘Sarah, isn’t this amazing?’ I asked, widening my eyes at our other friend across the table while Lauren showed off her ring to the waiter, who politely pretended to care.