FOUR
Reilly
Sarah is shaking another round of Espresso Martinis while Thea sets up her “Villain Era” playlist with Lizzo’s “Truth Hurts” blaring out.
I swear little Miss Prim-and-Proper likes to try and damage eardrums. She rebels in her own way, but you can’t take the posh girl out of Chelsea.
She is sitting cross-legged, clutching her antique family heirloom pearls while swearing like a sailor. “Elton Fox can suck a donkey cock!”
Sarah had helpfully informed me of who my charming one-night stand was.
He owns the fucking hotel! That puts SkyLounge and Waterside Hotel on the no-go list, not that I often find myself there unless the girls drag me out.
She swears blind she didn’t know he was attached, and only recognised the name on his licence and was vaguely aware of him.
She accosted him on our way out, demanding photo ID as well as giving strict instructions to take care of me in every way possible.
Both safety and sexual satisfaction are important to us all.
“Sarah, cut Thea off, she’s in desperate need of water,” I beg, but Sarah just chuckles and pours us all another glass of her overly strong cocktails.
I’m hoping she’s swapped over to decaf coffee.
I’ve got an early start and need sleep. Waking up at the crack of dawn to squeeze in icing cupcakes for Sienna’s twelfth birthday party before working my arse off for minimum wage will be painful anyway, even if I manage to get a full eight hours.
Taking on private side gigs should boost my monthly income, but it doesn’t.
My tiny kitchen can only do so much. The real money is in the big stuff.
I need decent premises for that, which requires funds I simply do not have access to.
Sarah haphazardly wipes gravy on her sheer chemise, which pulls me out of my pity party and into the slightly bizarre reality.
It has been a long-standing tradition that after any man disaster, we put on scandalous lingerie, make cocktails and order copious amounts of takeaway.
Tonight’s choice is KFC. It sounds insane, but picture it: three gorgeous scantily clad women wearing corsets, baby doll dresses and stockings, chowing down on drumsticks and KFC gravy.
There’s probably a whole algorithm on OnlyFans for it.
My girls are special. They are the sort of girls you could only dream of having as friends.
Sarah is wild, she will push you out of your comfort zone and carry you through it, kicking and screaming.
We lived in the same halls at university, and after our first night sinking three bottles of wine, we were inseparable.
Her crass Liverpudlian accent compliments her brash, fiery personality.
A few months into university, we found Thea, stumbling upon her giving a guy some shit for trying to take advantage of a drunk girl at a party.
There is nothing more ridiculous and terrifying than being berated and called an “irreparable spineless piece of shit” by someone who speaks with an accent that can only be described as the Queen’s English.
Despite her fierce loyalty to feminism and the plight of women, Thea is meek and mild, raised in Kensington by a horde of nannies and staff to have impeccable manners and to be well-spoken. She is her family’s greatest disappointment after choosing to study drama in the arse-end of Dorset.
Our little trio wouldn’t be complete without me. Quirky, clumsy, basically a hot mess. I bake cakes, read smut and live with my mum and my three-legged rescue dog, Chip. Yes, as in chocolate chip. I’m that predictable.
I grew up here, just Mum and me. Finding these two along the way made life even more enjoyable.
As a group of friends we could not be more different, yet we match in our own special little way and – after three years living together at Bournemouth University – they stayed and made their home here, much to my delight.
We are at Sarah’s tonight, and she has already filled us in on her night with Charles, which shockingly didn’t go past a PG kiss before he put her and Thea in a taxi home.
To say she was disappointed was an understatement.
I believe the word she used was “clit tease”, which doesn’t feel particularly feminist of her, but who am I to judge?
“This is why you need to lower your expectations of what men can actually give you.” Sarah is a self-proclaimed slut, seeking companions for a night or two and never taking it further.
She has a couple of long-standing flings who come and go, but ultimately she has vowed to be forever single.
Sarah’s parents had a messy divorce, and she now has multiple step-siblings from both sides.
You wouldn’t need to pay a therapist to work out where her fear of commitment comes from.
“Who has time for these complications? You get all the emotional support from your friends. You’re lucky that your job is your passion, so that fills most of your time.
Men are for when Little Reilly is shouting for attention.
And, only when Ann Summers isn’t quite cutting it. ”
I don’t particularly like Sarah naming my vagina Little Reilly.
“Sarah, not everyone wants to live the same whorish existence as you. There’s nothing wrong with Reilly wanting to meet someone to settle down with. Some people want it all: marriage and kids. A happy ending,” Thea counterargues, very much in the camp of 'true love'.
“I’m surprised you feel like that, after the arranged marriage incident.” Sarah snickers, sinking back the last of her drink. I might need to cut her off soon as well.
“It was not an arranged marriage.” Thea rolls her eyes. “Just my parents being hopeful for a union between two families. I declined. They accepted my wishes.”
My two best friends are polar opposites, but I can’t deny they share a passion for their willingness to find a hill and die on it.
“It was a shame Albert Abbot-Dupont What’s-his-face wasn’t for you. Mummy and Daddy would have been so thrilled,” Sarah says, with a fake posh accent that might be a little on the mean side of friendly banter.
“Bertie is a good man. Just not for me, and I am not for him. Mummy and Daddy were fine with it.” Thea’s eyes shine and she bats the moisture away before we can question her on it.
She dreamed of finding herself a husband but she has her work cut out for her with finding someone to please her family.
They were sure Bertie would be a home run, but after three months of dating between here and London, they both decided they weren’t right for each other.
We were insanely thankful. He was a sweet man but a little dorky in a rich-boy-Benedict-Cumberbatch sort of way.
Sarah rests her head on Thea’s lap, aware she had pushed it too far. “I know, hun. I’m sorry.” Thea gently strokes her hair, accepting her apology.
Both my girls have strong stances on how their lives will pan out. Me, not so much. I have a goal: my bakery. And looking after Mum.
Chip jumps on my lap. He’s the fourth member of our little group, and the girls wouldn’t have a night without him.
My little Border terrier cross. I picked him up from a shelter two years ago.
They weren’t sure of his breed, but he definitely has the size and wire coat of a Bordie.
His original name was Edward. I hated it, and Chip loved me enough to let himself be trained out of it.
“The only man in my life from now on is Chip. I don’t need anyone else.
I’ve got my friends, my mum, my dog and my baking. ”
“That’s a little sad.” Thea gives me a wry smile.
“I have a dream, and it isn’t to be the little wife in my husband’s kitchen.
It’s to be the boss in my own kitchen, in my own bakery.
I need to find the perfect place. I’m not opening one in Bournemouth city centre.
Bleurgh. If I’m doing this, I want to do it right.
Westbourne Arcade or on the seafront.” I’m standing now as I declare to the universe my intentions in a class-A power pose. Maybe I need to cut myself off as well.
“The sex, though – good?” Sarah can’t help herself. I slump back on the sofa.
“The best. I’ve never had a man give me that. He worshipped my body. I didn’t know it could be that … enlightening.” Painstakingly true words.
A man like Elton would be a god of sex with all the practice he probably gets. I’m shocked that such a man who gives so much in the bedroom would be so selfish outside of it.