‘Have you said hello to Paul yet?’ Em asked, distributing the second round and looking at my brother with puppy-dog eyes. ‘We really should.’
I threw back the shot and shuddered. ‘We really shouldn’t,’ I disagreed. ‘Actually, you really shouldn’t. Seriously, Em. No.’
‘I’m just saying we should say hello,’ Em said, absently licking a drop of sambuca from her little finger, completely oblivious to the fact that every man in the bar was waiting to offer to do that for her. ‘As if I fancy your brother.’
Emelie Stevens and I knew everything about each other. We were each other’s secret-keepers. She knew I hadn’t lost my virginity until I was 22. She knew I couldn’t get to sleep at night unless I knew where my childhood teddy bear was. She knew I accidentally ran over Matthew’s cat when I was supposed to be looking after it. I knew she had spent several years of her childhood starring on a Canadian children’s TV show. I knew she had got a pregnancy test in the first year of uni after she let John Donovan touch her up behind halls after the Halloween party. And I knew she’d had a crush on my brother since he came to collect me for Christmas break in the second year.
It was ridiculous, really – Emelie was beautiful. As in, I worked with supermodels day in and day out and I still thought she was beautiful. Medium height, medium build, slightly more than medium boobs, from the back maybe you might think she was a regular girl, but then she would turn around and you would literally stop in your tracks. She had the longest, thickest auburn hair and offensively green eyes that were lined with the thickest, flutteriest eyelashes this side of Bambi. Her outfits were always faultless and she could make a bin-bag look sexy if she wanted to. If that wasn’t enough, Em had grown up in Montreal and, even after ten years in London, had an adorable lilting French-Canadian accent that slipped out when she was stressed, or angry. Or on the pull. As a package, she was unbelievable. Unfortunately for mankind, she was ridiculously unattainable.
While I hadn’t been single since I was 16, Em hadn’t been in a serious relationship in, well, ever. It wasn’t for the want of offers, she went through men like I went through pickled onion Monster Munch, but they never lasted more than a couple of weeks. Either they liked her too much, they didn’t like her enough, they were too rich and showy, they were too poor and boring. No one stood a chance. She constantly rattled on about how she was looking for ‘the one’, how she’d know him as soon as she saw him and that there was no point wasting time on losers, but Matthew had another theory: that she was so hopelessly in love with my slag of a brother, no one else stood a chance. As pop psychology went, it wasn’t a bad call. Unfortunately, my brother wouldn’t dare mess about with her. Paul’s feckless womanizing was a badge he wore proudly and, while he’d made his intentions towards Emelie quite clear over the years, I had intervened at every opportunity. My best friend was not another notch on his bedpost. Not that there could be a lot of bedpost left by now. Oh universe, why would you surround me with so many manwhores?
‘Did you get the email from uni?’ I changed the subject while trying to convince my hair to stay behind my ears. There was just So Much Of It. ‘About the ten-year reunion?’
‘Got it, read it, deleted it,’ Matthew nodded, pulling my hair loose again. ‘They just want money.’
‘I just can’t believe it’s been ten years since we started.’ Emelie was trying to catch the bartender’s eye for some proper drinks. Luckily, the bartender was a woman so it was taking longer than her usual three seconds. Almost a whole thirty before a bottle of white wine was in front of us. ‘It doesn’t feel like ten minutes ago.’
‘And look at you two now,’ Matthew replied, wrapping an arm around Em to physically remove her from the bar. ‘Top make-up artist and super-successful … what exactly is it that we call you?’
She made a face and wriggled out of his bear hug. ‘I’m a graphic artist.’
‘You’re a what?’
‘She drew a picture that someone put on loads of stuff and then lots of little girls bought it,’ I clarified for Matthew. ‘A picture of a cat.’
‘Got it,’ he clicked and pointed, ignoring Em’s ‘I’m not amused’ face. As always. ‘You’re the one that weasels kids out of their pocket money.’
‘You can both fuck off, I’m a graphic artist,’ she started defensively. ‘And Kitty Kitty isn’t a picture of a cat, it’s a brand. And it’s one of the most successful tween brands in the UK.’
‘Tween,’ Matthew smirked. ‘Stop making up words.’
‘Em, we know.’ I pulled out my Kitty Kitty wallet and waved it in her face to prove my point before she went for Matthew. ‘He’s jealous because he’s unemployed.’
‘Taking a sabbatical,’ he corrected, spying an empty sofa and crossing the dance floor in three strides to bag it before a group of girls could hurl their handbags onto the table. ‘You’re only unemployed if you’re broke.’
‘Run that one past me again?’ Em asked with faux innocence.
Matthew closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. His ‘I’m calm, really’ pose. ‘I’m taking time out until I work out what I want to do.’
‘For the last year,’ Em said, not quite quietly enough.
‘For the last year,’ he repeated pointedly, in her face. ‘Maybe I should just draw a crappy cat and stick it on lunchboxes instead of doing something worthwhile.’
‘Because serving people chicken or pasta at fifty thousand feet was worthwhile?’ Em snapped back.
‘No, you knob, that’s why I’m taking a sabbatical!’
‘For the last year—’
‘Children,’ I said loudly. ‘Inside voices?’
Matthew narrowed his eyes while Em stuck out her tongue before they both turned to look at me, argument forgotten. Really, I spent far too much time feeling like a primary school teacher on a field trip than was healthy. Which was one of the reasons I needed Simon back so badly. Perfect, adult, sensible Simon. The one thing in my world that reminded me I was a grown-up. Well, Simon and my tax return, but I really didn’t like to put the two of them in the same category if I could help it.
‘So tonight’s the night?’ Em asked, inching down the hemline of her tiny black Topshop dress. ‘With Simon?’
‘Yes,’ I confirmed, forcing my hair back behind my ears again. ‘Tonight is the night.’
‘Is there a plan?’ Matthew asked, flicking my hair loose again. ‘Don’t put it behind your ears, you look like a sad mouse. And no one wants to shag a sad mouse.’
‘Thanks,’ I glared at the floor rather than at my friend and took a deep breath. ‘And no, no plan. I’m just going to go over with a drink and say hi to his friends because you know, his friends love me.’
Em and Matthew nodded encouragement. His friends did love me. I was the cool girlfriend. The one that thought it was hilarious that they went to Spearmint Rhino after their Christmas party. The one who made bacon sandwiches the morning after when they passed out on our sofa. The one who understood the offside rule. Or, at least, I was the one who tolerated the strip clubs, made the bacon sandwiches to sober them up and pretended to understand the offside rule. And elaboration on those facts was completely unnecessary.
‘And then you’re going to pull him to one side and tell him he’s the love of your life and this break stuff has only made you realize how badly you need him and that you want to have his babies?’ It would be an understatement to say that Emelie had something of a romantic nature.
‘Or pull him to one side and tell him that