‘Robbie!’ I smile, kissing him hello. I can’t pretend to be upset about it all, five years later. Especially when I’m not.
‘You look fantastic!’ Rugger Robbie says, looking me up and down very obviously. ‘How are you?’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m great.’ He doesn’t look fantastic, so I can’t say it back. The fit rugby body has become a fat rugby body, and his face looks like someone has pumped it full of air from the cheekbones down.
‘So, Sass, what are you up to these days?’ he asks jovially, staring at my boobs. It’s most off-putting. ‘Still living in London?’
‘Yep,’ I say. ‘Are you back here on holiday?’
‘From where—Brisvegas?’ he asks. God, people who say Brisvegas are irritating. ‘Nah, I came home about six months ago.’
‘Is Kerry with you?’ I ask politely. That was her name.
‘Oh, no,’ he says, eyes flicking up to meet mine. ‘We broke up. I’m living with Riggsy and Martin again, just off Fulham Palace Road. It’s just like old times!’
‘How fun,’ I smile. I wonder if he’s still pissing on curtains. ‘Well, nice to see you, I’d better see if Mitch needs any help with, uh, something.’ I glance at Kate, who still seems to be in some kind of waking coma. What the fuck is wrong with her?
‘Hey, uh, can I get your number?’ Rugger Robbie asks. ‘I’d love to take you out for dinner sometime. We should catch up.’
‘Should we?’ I snap, and then catch myself and smile sweetly at him. ‘Afraid I can’t, Robbie. Take care though. Come on, Katie.’ Before either of them can reply, I grab her hand and we stride towards the house purposefully.
‘Whoa, Thelma and Louise!’ exclaims a guy standing outside the door. He’s wearing a T-shirt with an absolutely huge Abercrombie & Fitch logo. ‘Serious faces, laydeeeez! It’s a party! Aren’t you having fun?’
We stop and look at him.
‘Make me laugh, then,’ I say.
‘Uh…’ he says, looking for inspiration to his friend next to him.
‘Too late,’ I say and we walk through.
‘Wow, that was a bit harsh,’ says Kate.
‘I’m just not in the mood right now,’ I say, leading Kate up to a small cabinet in the hallway. ‘It’s been a very, very long week, and I deserve a party, and I don’t think I’m going to be in the mood to party till…’—I lean down, slide open the door and pull out half a bottle of Jagermeister—‘I’m Jagerunk.’
Kate’s eyes light up. ‘That’s been there since the last party?!’ she exclaims. ‘Brilliant!’
We walk into the kitchen, grab a few clean double-shot glasses, and start pouring out Jagermeister. It’s pretty heaving with people, and in the corner I can see Fraser enthusiastically snogging Eddie’s henna-ed workmate Tory. It’s a bit early for that, isn’t it? He’s really putting his shoulders into it and everything. Ew.
Two guys are standing next to the fridge looking at us.
‘You know,’ says one very loudly, turning to the other, ‘my life really HASN’T changed that much since winning the lottery.’
I turn around and look at him and start cackling with laughter. ‘Dude…that’s the best line I’ve ever heard,’ is all I can manage to say, wiping the tears from my eyes. ‘For that, you have to do a shot.’
‘No problem!’ he grins. He’s kind of shiny, with lots of moles on his face. He and his friend step up to the kitchen counter next to Kate and I, and we all do a shot simultaneously.
‘Oh, that was probably a bad idea,’ sighs Kate.
Bloomie and Eugene appear, holding hands.
‘No more work calls all night! Ooh, shots? Without me? What do you think you’re playing at?’ asks Bloomie.
‘You’re up,’ I say, and in another minute, we’ve all done another.
‘Now, THAT one was a bad idea,’ I say to Kate.
Mitch lands with a massive thump at our feet after doing a triple roly-poly across the living room and into the kitchen, and pretends to do the breaststroke across the kitchen floor on his tummy. He looks up at Bloomie and I and smiles. ‘Gekko and Special Needs. My two favourite girls…That was the Triple Axel Extreme Roly-Poly…I always nail it.’
‘Bitch is into extreme sports,’ explains Bloomie to Eugene.
‘Why aren’t I one of your favourite girls?’ says Kate in an injured tone.
‘The Extreme Roly-Poly is nothing compared to the Extreme WORM!’ shouts Mitch from the floor.
‘So, do you come here often?’ I turn back around. It’s mole-faced lottery winner guy. From a great line to a shit line in sixty seconds.
I look him straight in the eye, and say in a tone that means ‘fuck off’: ‘No.’ He exchanges a glance with his friend and they walk away.
Bloomie picks up the bottle of Jager. ‘Another!’
Rugger Robbie charges into the kitchen.‘Hi, gang! Shots? YES!’ He comes over, putting a sweaty hand around my waist.
‘I’m out,’ I say, moving away from the group so Rugger Robbie’s hand falls away. My throat, stomach and indeed head all feel rather warm. Bloomie pours herself, Rugger Robbie, Eugene and Kate a shot, then leans over and pours another shot in Mitch’s mouth. He gurgles appreciatively. Robbie offers me the dregs of his shot. I shake my head and try not to make eye contact.
Harry bounds into the kitchen. ‘My turn for cocktails! I’m making a Sticky Surprise.’
I exchange glances with Bloomie, and we head to the living room, followed by Eugene and Kate. The Irish guys have cleared all the furniture to one side, and are holding a rhythmic gymnastics competition cheered on by the whole crowd. At the moment, one guy is doing an absolutely beautiful routine with an invisible ribbon. He dips and jumps, swirls and turns, and it’s breathtaking, till Mitch runs in from the kitchen and rugby-tackles him to the side of the room.
The Jager has just hit my central nervous system, which is not an unpleasant feeling. Someone turns the music up, and Bloomie and Eugene climb onto a coffee table and start dancing. Kate takes out her phone, reads a text and heads towards the garden with a stressed look on her face. Hmm, something going on there.
Then I look up to see that Jake has just walked in from the garden and is looking at me. We make eye contact. I look away quickly.
Ignore him. No, that’s rude. Say hi. No, ignore him.
I look back at him, as if seeing him for the first time, and acknowledge him with a quick nod. He nods back. It’s so swift that it makes me smile.
As he starts to walk over to me, I evaluate my Jagerunkness. It’s certainly given me a kick, but that’s why I did them. I can handle it. Don’t I have a mantra for potentially indimitating situations? I mean…portently intimidating situations? I mean…what?
‘Mistress of the Minx cocktail,’ he smiles. ‘Having fun?’
‘I…yes. Yes, yes, I am.’ Where the fuck is my mantra?
‘You’re a very silly girl for drinking Jager like that, did you know that?’
He was watching me doing Jager shots?
‘It’s been a bad week. And don’t call me a silly girl. I am a silly WOMAN.’
‘A very silly woman.’