Emma tips a pink slush into our glasses and Alex tastes it, pulling a face. ‘Bloody hell, that’s like rocket fuel. I’ll make the next one, or we’ll all end up with alcohol poisoning.’
‘We met at uni,’ I say, starting again. ‘I was crying in the loos because I’d just dumped my boyfriend back home for someone who’d promptly cheated on me a week later.’
Emma laughs, but not unkindly. ‘Oh God, we’ve all been there.’ She picks at some slices of red pepper while I’m stacking a tortilla wrap with chicken and cheese and more sour cream, just for good measure. I roll it up and realise there’s no way of eating it that doesn’t involve half of it falling down the front of my top and the other half spilling all over my chin, so I end up sort of dangling it in mid-air.
‘So I took her out, bought her three vodka and limes, and told her the secret was to go out and lay his ghost,’ Becky chimes in. I hadn’t even noticed her coming back.
‘The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else?’ Emma says, taking a drink. She’s one of those people who manages to just radiate cool. If I’d said that I’d have blushed extravagantly and probably got my words all tangled up into the bargain.
‘I think so,’ I say. ‘I wish I could remember lines like that. I never think of the right thing to say until hours later, when I’m lying in bed reliving the whole conversation.’
‘God, me too.’ Alex looks at me and does an upside-down sort of smile, and the sides of his eyes crinkle a bit as he looks directly at me. I feel like we’re on the same team for a second. It’s nice. He lifts up the tequila bottle, waving it in Emma’s direction. ‘Oh go on,’ he says. ‘Throw caution to the wind. D’you want to make another one of those – whatever it was you just made?’
I feel like the world is starting to sway gently – or maybe I am. But I’m just the right sort of happily pissed where I feel like the edges have been blurred a bit and I don’t feel as self-conscious as I usually do.
The other half a bottle of tequila later and we’ve managed to persuade Becky to put on something other than Christmas music. We’re all sitting round the table, which is scattered with empty plates. The window isn’t even open, but we can hear a gang of teenagers passing, singing Christmas carols and laughing loudly. I get up and look outside, marvelling at the idea that outside there are eight million people, all living London lives, and in just a couple of weeks I’m going to be one of them. It’s just an ordinary street, but to me it feels full of magic and promise.
I turn around to look at my new housemates. Emma’s on her phone again, absent-mindedly twirling a lock of hair around her finger. I notice she has long, manicured red nails.
Alex looks up at me and grins. ‘D’you think you can cope with living with us lot?’ He starts stacking plates.
‘No,’ says Becky, firmly, tapping him on the hand. ‘I’ll do it in the morning. This is a get-to-know-each-other evening. When we’re all in and settled, we can sort out a kitchen rota and all that boring stuff, but tonight is margaritas. The night is young. Let’s play the name game.’
‘Oh my God.’ I roll my eyes at her. There’s a point in every evening when she insists we do this. Before anyone else realises what’s happening, she’s got a packet of Post-it Notes out and she’s handing them out. ‘Everyone has to write the name of someone famous and stick it on the forehead of the person to their left.’
‘And to think Rob’s missing this,’ says Alex, pressing the Post-it Note to my forehead. ‘D’you want another drink?’
I feel distinctly head-spinny already, but I nod. This is my new London life. I can drink tequila and have avocado on toast and be cool. Well, cool-ish. Cooler than I was living back home. Not that there’s anything wrong with back home, of course. I swallow a little gulp of sadness that sneaks up on me out of nowhere – just thinking about leaving Nanna Beth back there and me being all the way up here. She’s already lost Grandpa, and now I’m going, too.
‘Oh my God,’ says Becky, seeing the name written on my forehead. She snorts with laughter.
‘Am I a woman?’ I say, when it’s my turn.
‘You’re a phenomenon, I think you’d say,’ Alex replies, grinning at me.
Emma guesses hers almost straight away (I think she’s pleased she got to be Meghan Markle) and in no time there’s just me and Alex, trying desperately to work out who we are.
‘Do I have a unique blond hairstyle?’
We snort with laughter.
‘Am I a megalomaniac? Am I the best president ever in the history of presidents? Is this the biggest Post-it Note, bigger and better than any Post-it Notes that have ever been before?’
Alex has already guessed, but he’s making us laugh so hard with his terrible Donald Trump impressions that we’re all doubled over, and mine falls off my forehead and onto the ground where I can’t help sneaking a peek.
‘Am I … Kim Kardashian?’ I sit up, triumphant, waving the Post-it Note in the air.
‘Yes.’ Becky takes it from me. ‘You’re totally cheating, but you are definitely Kim Kardashian.’
‘And I am definitely going to bed.’ Emma pushes her chair away from the table and stands up, looking at the kitchen clock. ‘It’s almost eleven, and I’ve got a killer day tomorrow. Back-to-back meetings.’
‘But how can you leave us when we’re just getting started?’ Alex is standing by the sink now, brandishing a bottle of Prosecco and some sort of pink liqueur. ‘I was going to make one of my signature cocktails.’ He rummages in the fridge. I can’t help but notice his nice arms again – I’ve always had a thing about nice arms, the kind that look like they’d wrap you up and make you feel safe. Oh, and the way that when he reaches up to get some orange juice from the top shelf his T-shirt rucks up, showing a strip of faintly tanned skin.
But I am absolutely not looking at any of this, because I am here to work, and he is my new housemate, and there will be none of that here. I blame the tequila for making my imagination run away with me.
But if I was looking …
‘Night, all.’ Emma picks up her phone and heads off. ‘Have a great holiday, Jess. See you in the New Year.’
‘You got any more ice, Becky?’ Alex asks as he looks in the freezer.
‘Nope.’
I know she’s told us not to clear up, but I’m absent-mindedly piling plates and tipping leftover salsa into the bin. It’s a distraction. The alternative is sitting with my chin in my hands staring with undisguised admiration at Alex, and that wouldn’t be a good look.
‘God I’m dying for some chocolate. I tell you what, I’ll go get some and grab some ice from Tesco Express while I’m at it.’
‘We’ll clean up.’ Alex stands up from the freezer and turns around. ‘And then I’ll make cocktails. You don’t think Rob will mind that we’ve borrowed his blender thing to crush ice?’
I pull a face. ‘I dunno. I think it’s knives chefs are funny about. Anyway, that thing’s a monster. As long as we clean it out, I’m sure he won’t object.’
Alex pokes an experimental finger at the huge behemoth of a blender standing on the worktop. It roars into life for a second and he steps backwards.
‘Bloody hell. That thing could take your arm off.’
‘Back in a sec,’ Becky says, wrapping a scarf around her face and pulling on a bobble hat.
‘Don’t freeze,’ I say, looking out