Birthday Boy
Pete is also here, loud and theatrical as always.
He has cut his hair into a Paul Mescal mullet, which strangely suits him.
He’s telling us (and the rest of the pub) about how he tricked his client into taking a job in Liverpool.
The story is far-fetched, but at least we’re all entertained.
Well, I say all – the woman Pete has brought along tonight seems very disappointed.
She looks far too sophisticated for The Cock and Bull, with her cream trouser suit and electric pink manicure.
She introduced herself with her first and last name, Cara Helm.
She is older than all of us – around mid-thirties, but way out of Pete’s league.
I have no idea how on earth he manages to pull these women.
Pete raises his voice. ‘And do you know what I did? I sent him the YouTube video of “Yellow Submarine” in his congratulations email.’ He erupts into his big, horsey laugh. Ben smiles a little, and Cara Helm rolls her eyes.
‘No, you didn’t,’ Josh says, laughing too.
I take hold of the top of Josh’s arm and squeeze it.
Today was meant to be my slot to kick-start the sex again.
Unfortunately, my period is restricting me.
So, the plan is to do a noble birthday blow job when we get home tonight.
I’m braving the Thrills standing behind me in a black dress and knee-high leather boots, is Lace.
‘Lace!’ I throw my arms around her like I haven’t seen her in years. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘You invited me,’ she says. She reads the confusion on my face and elaborates. ‘You were getting into the taxi last weekend when you said, come to Josh’s birthday at The Cock and Bull next Friday night. So here I am.’ The fuzzy memory replays as she says it. I really should drink less.
‘Who’s your friend, Amy?’ Pete says, coming back with Cara Helm’s Chardonnay. Cara Helm, meanwhile, is eyeballing Lace like she’s a threat to her safety.
‘This is Lace. She’s making my wedding dress.’
Pete’s face lights up, and Cara Helm pushes forward and introduces herself in the same professional way she had with the rest of us – a handshake, her full name and job title.
‘Lace what?’ Cara Helm asks.
‘Just Lace for now,’ Lace says, then turns to Josh.
‘You must be the birthday boy.’
‘And you must be the one who’s been kidnapping Amy.’ Suddenly, Pete barges in, kissing Lace on both cheeks like he’s a French gentleman.
‘Pete Randy. Are you good at pub quizzes?’
‘Not particularly,’ Lace says with a polite giggle.
‘I’m good at pub quizzes,’ Cara Helm states, but everyone ignores her.
‘Would you like a drink, Lace?’ Josh asks.
‘A Merlot would be lovely.’ Lace touches Josh’s arm for a second.
‘Merlot, great. Large or small?’
‘Large,’ I answer for her. ‘And can I have another gin, please?’
When he’s gone, Lace leans into my ear.
‘Josh is very nice-looking,’ she whispers. A pang goes off inside of me. Jealousy? Worry?
‘Are you surprised?’ I ask.
She frowns. ‘What did I say about liking yourself?’
‘Lace, what’s your story?’ Pete asks. Cara Helm is still glaring at Lace and is now wrapped around Pete’s arm like a python.
‘I’m a dressmaker who lives in East London. I like a dry Merlot and listening to saxophone solos. I don’t like liquorice or the colour grey in clothes, and I have a birthmark in a place that only a few people have seen.’
Pete’s mouth drops. Cara Helm rolls her eyes. Josh comes back with Lace’s wine, my gin and his pint of sparkling water.
‘I hope that’s vodka,’ Lace says.
‘Josh isn’t drinking until the wedding,’ I say.
‘Gosh, whatever for?’ Lace says, touching her heart.
‘I want to be in the best shape for it,’ Josh says. And then repeats his favourite quote. ‘Sacrifice today for . . .’
‘A better tomorrow,’ Pete finishes off his sentence. ‘God, you really are a broken record, mate.’
I don’t want to agree with Pete, but Josh’s new gym-bro lifestyle has made him a bit dull, which is strange, because he was always better at the social stuff than me.
Josh ignores him.
‘Best shape for the wedding night?’ Lace asks, raising one eyebrow suggestively.
‘Lad!’ Pete says and clinks his glass on Lace’s. Cara Helm tuts.
‘Well, the wedding photos will be around forever,’ Josh says. Nobody says anything to this.
‘Josh goes to the gym every day. He’s so disciplined,’ I say, helping him out.
‘Every day? Wow,’ Lace says sincerely.
Josh straightens up. ‘You know what they say, discipline is the bridge between goals and accomplishments.’
‘They say that, do they?’ Lace says. ‘And what do you do at the gym?’ She’s going to regret asking that. I put my fingers in the corner of my eyes, ready for the monologue.
‘Here we go,’ Pete says.
Josh begins. ‘Well, first I stretch, and how I stretch is . . .’
He goes into every detail about his stretching, lifting, HIIT, the high-protein-low-carb diet, and even shows her a video of him doing some bicep curls.
I’ve got to hand it to Lace, she is a brilliant actress; she seems impressed by everything and asks questions I’ve never even thought of.
I suppose she asked me a lot of questions when we first met too.
‘What do you press?’
‘Eighty.’
‘Squat?’
‘One-one-five.’
‘Deadlift?’
‘One-forty.’
At this point, bored, I excuse myself and go to the restroom.
I check myself in the mirror and groan. It could be bad lighting that is making me appear haggard, or the mirror is telling the truth.
I flip my hair over my head to make it big like Lace’s, but it’s thin and shapeless, so it just flattens back into one straight block around my face.
I wipe the mascara smudges from under my eyes and pinch my cheeks to make them blush. I remain very unsexy.
The door swings open, and Cara Helm enters.
‘Who doesn’t have a surname?’ she shouts.
‘That woman is . . .’ She goes to the mirror and presses a thick layer of candyfloss-coloured lipstick onto her lips.
‘He asked me out! And I’m here in this pub celebrating some gym freak’s birthday, no offence, whilst listening to some slag pretending to be interested in Pete’s dumb recruitment job.
’ She drops her lipstick in the sink, and it echoes.
I don’t know Cara Helm, but she has zero chill.
‘Ummm . . . can you call a woman a slag in 2025?’ I say.
‘Well, whatever she is, an alpha female.’
‘An alpha female?’
‘Yes, alpha female. She is using her femininity to get what she wants. I tell you this now, she doesn’t give a shit about other women, she just needs to know that every man in the room wants to fuck her.
’ She begins flicking up her eyelashes with jet-black mascara.
We catch each other’s eyes in the mirror, and she says, ‘You think I’m crazy, but I see her type in PR all the time.
You’ll see.’ She brushes her hair violently, then stares at herself for one long minute.
‘Right, let’s get back out there before she fucks them both. ’
The first thing I see when coming out of the toilet is Josh holding Lace up in the air.
His arms are clenched around her body, and she’s squealing at the ceiling.
He puts her down, but his arms linger around her waist as they laugh like naughty school kids.
The pang goes off again, harder this time.
I’m back in the student union watching Josh dancing with Natalie.
‘Told you so,’ Cara Helm hisses in my ear.
I think of Nina then; she hates when women go against women over men.
She says it is the poison that paralyses us from moving forward.
I can see what she means. Cara Helm’s jealousy is making her horribly judgmental about Lace, and she doesn’t even know her.
Lace is not an alpha female who wants to gobble up all our boyfriends.
She’s one of the most thoughtful women that I have ever met.
Who would tailor a red dress for another woman to make her feel better about herself? Lace would.
Lace squeals as soon as she sees me. ‘Amy, let Josh pick you up.’
I catch Josh’s eye. He doesn’t want to, that’s clear.
‘Go on.’ Lace takes my hand and pulls me towards Josh. I laugh to brush away the awkwardness.
‘Josh won’t want to pick me up.’
Lace shakes her head and pulls me closer. ‘Come on, Josh, pick up your fiancée.’
‘Go on, guys, give us a show,’ Pete yells.
Josh and I shuffle towards one another. He puts his arms around my waist. I hear his intake of breath as he squeezes me up in the air. A second later, I’m back on the floor.