Chapter 5
Simone gazed at optic upon optic of cordial bottles, hoping one might magically transform into gin. The various sodas and seltzers in the fridges below did nothing to improve her mood.
‘It’s a Temperance bar,’ the barman said.
‘It’s an abomination,’ she said.
When the girls had invited her to tag along to the opening of Canary Wharf’s latest shit-hot night spot, she’d been anticipating getting a little merry. Fat chance of that. Surely there should be some rule that any establishment catering to adult humans, in a part of the city frequented by hard-working hard-partying finance folk, was one in which you should be able to mainline hard liquor.
‘Millennials and Gen Z’ers don’t need alcohol to have a good time,’ said the barman.
‘Yes, they do,’ she said. ‘They’ve just forgotten how to have a good time.’
‘Do you know how to have a good time?’ He flashed her a grin.
She coolly appraised him. Quite fit from the neck down in his denim tabard and tight-fitting white T-shirt, but far too young and far too barman-y.
‘Not here I don’t.’
She turned her back on him and watched as Nancy tried to take countless arty shots in various corners of the premises. Perhaps Ziggy, who was late as usual, might have had the foresight to get a small bottle of something potent from the supermarket down the road.
It made no sense for young people not to drink. Faced with the cataclysmic list of fuck-ups bequeathed to them by the Boomers, how else would they deal with their gnawing anxiety and escalating sense of helplessness?
‘Isn’t this place amazing?! So cute!’ said Nancy.
Simone had never considered a venue of any description to be cute. This one, with its pastel velvet seating, pale green pearlescent tiling, and soft lighting, was at the prettier end of the spectrum, but the distinct lack of ethanol on offer meant it scored nil points in her book.
‘You can do without a drink for one night, grumpy pants!’
Nancy, by contrast, was looking extremely cute. She was wearing an embroidered white button-through dress, tan suede slouchy boots, and her naturally straw-blonde hair was wrapped in braids around her head. She wasn’t exactly pretty – her eyes were a little too wide-set and her nose just a little too snubby – but she was the epitome of wholesomeness, and completely non-threatening to the horde of followers she’d amassed for her lifestyle schtick on social. She slung an arm around Simone’s neck and took a picture of them both. Simone grabbed the phone to ensure the image met her exacting standards prior to its publication.
‘Can you order me a hibiscus and rose petal agua fresca?’ said Nancy. ‘I’m going to get a shot of the toilets.’
She got the attention of a different server and ordered herself a kombucha – not for the health benefits, but as a fermented drink it was the closest thing to wine she was going to get.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. It was Ziggy, pneumatic in a cropped vest and spray-on leather leggings. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her perky nipples were clearly visible through the tight white fabric of her top.
‘I see you’ve gone for the subtle look this evening.’
‘You never know who you’re going to bump into,’ said Ziggy.
‘Your nipples are sticking out so far, I’d be surprised if you didn’t bump into everyone.’
Ziggy gave Simone her best crazy emoji face. She looked like a cross between Aladdin’s Princess Jasmine and Lilo’s Stitch. ‘Are the drinks free?’
‘From alcohol, unfortunately.’
‘You know when I went to Dubai…’
Simone switched off. She’d heard the story, or ones like it, a hundred times before. Ziggy (not her real name) was a well-known travel vlogger, although Simone often thought her success had little to do with the quality of her content, and more to do with how much her arse (not her real arse) was on show in her pictures. It wouldn’t matter where she went, her pert, rounded, Kardashian-like bottom was always front and centre. Still, it contained so much silicone it probably classed as a beach, so technically every day was a holiday.
‘…you really get a sense of the authentic Bedouin culture…’
Authentic experiences: the ultimate battleground of the travel influencer. It wasn’t enough to see a place anymore, you had to ride the national animal up its most treacherous mountain pass, and then convert to the local religion at the top. Ziggy would probably do a stint at Guantanamo if it meant a few more eyeballs.
‘Order me a lychee and yuzu martini mocktail. I’m getting a shot of the toilets.’
Ziggy waltzed away, the twin bowling balls of her bottom jostling for position within her skin-tight pants.
Simone wasn’t entirely sure how the three of them had become friends. She’d met them at a media conference a few years ago, and professional interests had provided enough glue for the connection to stick socially. With work being so crazy for so long, her social circle wasn’t exactly extensive, and there was only so much drinking a girl could do on her own.
Eventually both girls returned, and after a who’s-who breakdown of the other personalities at the party, talk turned to the holiday they were planning together.
‘I’ve been offered a suite gratis at The Bellagio for three nights, so that should cover the Vegas leg for us,’ said Ziggy, who had her good points, aside from the obvious two that were still standing to full attention despite the heat in the room.
‘We have to go swimming in Slide Rock State Park,’ said Nancy.
Ziggy searched for it on her phone. ‘Good ‘grammage. Approved. How does everyone feel about doing the Grand Canyon by mule? Helicopters have been done to death. There’s some Apache stables you can stay at overnight. We can do the whole campfire thing.’
Nancy shrugged. ‘We can do s’mores, moonlight yoga. I don’t see why not.’
They continued to talk about potential itineraries, experiences, and whether San Fran or LA would be the best ultimate destination.
‘Sure you can afford all this, Sim?’ asked Nancy.
It was true the trip was going to cost more for her than for them, what with their sponsored posts and freebies. And yes, she was pretty much up to her eyeballs in debt having stretched herself paper-thin on her mortgage. But she was credit-carding it and would pay it off when she got her promotion. Besides, it would be worth it. Her dad had always dreamed of travelling across America after he retired, but he’d never got the chance to do either. She’d do it for him.
‘So long as we get to drive a convertible down Route 66,’ she said smiling, ‘it’s all good.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so excited about anything before,’ said Nancy.
‘I get excited about stuff.’
Ziggy snorted. ‘Come on, Sim. If we were the Scooby Doo team, I’d be Daphne, Nancy would be Scrappy Do, and you’d … well you’d be the guy in the mask bemoaning the pesky kids.’
‘What?!’
Nancy fiddled with her straw. ‘You are pretty cynical.’
‘I’m just a realist.’
‘It’s okay. I’m just saying, you know, it’s nice to see you looking forward to something.’ Nancy picked up her phone. ‘Shall we explore car options? Soft top, yeah?’
They stayed at the bar for another hour or so, but she couldn’t quite shake Nancy’s words. That was the problem with being sober: you remembered what people said. She’d always thought of herself as being the one that tolerated their idiosyncrasies. It had never occurred to her that the door swung both ways, and that they had to put up with her too. Not that she agreed with Nancy, but she’d been in the city a long time; a holiday was just what she needed.