Chapter Eleven
‘You guys!’ I stand up on my tiptoes, yelling and waving. ‘Over here! This way!’
The music is pumping drum and bass all around me in the darkness, but after I scream again, Jools and Andi finally spot me.
I hug Jools, then Andi, turning to wave towards Sam, who is sitting patiently in the booth.
‘Andi, Jools, this is my flatmate, Sam.’
They greet her enthusiastically, taking their seats as Sam turns to look directly at me, accusatorily. ‘Flatmate?’ She blinks, mock offended. ‘Is that all I get after all these years? Not “lifelong best friend since week two of nursery school”?’
I cock my head. ‘To be fair, we weren’t actually friends at nursery. Enemies would better describe it.’ I turn back towards Jools and Andi. ‘Every day at pick up, the nursery staff would fill my grandma in on the latest saga in our bitter feud.’
‘Liv kept trying to hug me,’ Sam says solemnly. ‘And even at two years old, I knew my boundaries around personal space and physical affection.’
‘You could’ve said no instead of repeatedly biting me,’ I reply haughtily. ‘I still have teeth marks on my shoulder.’
‘Other friends have blood oaths or matching tattoos,’ Sam says, shrugging. ‘We have incisor branding.’
Andi and Jools look amused as I roll my eyes in their direction. ‘So, okay, fine, Andi, Jools, apologies, this is my best friend of many decades, Samira.’
Sam reaches out a friendly hand to shake each of theirs. ‘Hiya! Yeah, I’m her best friend, but she’s not mine. She’s top five on a good day.’
‘You two are hilarious,’ Andi says in her strong Texan accent. ‘Can I get you a cocktail? I think the sign over there said it’s two for twenty pounds at this hour.’ She shakes her head. ‘Y’know, when literally no one else is in here.’
Jools and I pick out the sweetest, most repulsive looking drink on the menu, while Sam selects a mojito inspired mocktail.
She does drink on occasion, but not often.
She tried binge-drinking regularly for a bit when we were teenagers, but she didn’t like it.
She’s been on and off sober ever since – and not a bit less fun because of it.
Sam joins Andi at the bar to help her order and carry drinks, as Jools scoots closer.
‘Are you doing okay, sweetheart?’ she says with concern, peering at me over her sparkly Eltons.
‘I’ve been so worried about you, going through all this rubbish.
I can’t believe Spencer’s got rid of you, what a little arse.
Next time his CEO daddy’s in the studio, I’m going to tell on him.
His dad always fancied me a bit, he’d listen to me. ’
‘Snitches get stitches, Jools,’ I tell her sincerely, and she laughs.
‘Never understood that one,’ she replies thoughtfully. ‘It seems more like you’re promising the rat that he’ll get medical attention should anything happen to him. Like, if you snitch, I’ll make sure you’re cared for by a doctor who’ll stitch you back up. It’s a bit kind, if anything.’
‘In that case, snitches get no stitches, Jools,’ I tell her. ‘Snitches get left to bleed out.’
‘That’s better,’ she says cheerfully, running a hand through her short grey hair. ‘Much appreciated.’
‘And Spencer hasn’t actually got rid of me,’ I add quickly. ‘I’m just on leave while they make me have stupid bloody therapy.’ I pause and smile gratefully at her. ‘Thanks for all the messages, by the way. Sorry it took me so long to reply. I’ve been avoiding my phone a lot since… the videos.’
‘You poor thing,’ she clucks. ‘It’s just horrible.
They’re like fleas, the way they keep popping up with catchy new remixes and parody recreations.
’ She gives me a repentant look. ‘I still feel terrible about that morning – the day it went viral – when you came into the studio beauty room. I should’ve said something right then and there.
I’m sorry. I didn’t think there was a chance in hell you’d be coming in, and then I just…
panicked, I suppose. It doesn’t happen much at my age anymore; I usually know the right thing to do. ’
I cluck at this because I’m trained to protest when a woman over thirty makes any kind of negative comment about her age.
Jools sighs. ‘Anyway, I assumed maybe you were trying to put it out of your head and didn’t want to talk about it. I never even considered that you hadn’t seen the stuff on TikTok! I would’ve warned you. I hate that you had to hear about it from that mean little man-child, Spencer. How awful.’
‘Don’t be silly, Jools,’ I rush to reassure her. ‘You were great – you are great. And it’s so brilliant to see you.’ I smile. ‘I’ve missed you.’
She leans back in the booth, relief on her face, as Sam and Andi re-join us. They’re carrying sugary glasses of weird-coloured drinks, and it briefly reminds me of that stupid mindless game I was playing on my phone during my Edward session.
‘So, tell us how therapy’s going so far,’ Jools says conversationally. ‘I know you love talking attachment styles on the Morning Tea sofa! Have you figured yours out yet?’ She laughs nicely and Andi nods encouragingly.
‘I don’t have any attachment styles,’ I say quickly as Sam makes a face.
‘Liv kept postponing the start date, so she’s only had one session so far. This past Monday. And she isn’t giving it a fair shot.’
I shoot her an annoyed look. ‘I am! I will. It’s only been one hour of it so far. I’ve got another five to go, so we’ll see what happens.’
‘Have you been doing your therapy homework?’ she asks judgementally, and I nod with outrage.
‘I have actually!’ I insist. ‘I’ve filled in the stupid anger therapy workbook, like he told me to.
But I’ve also spent this week trying to get my life back on track.
’ I nod to Jools. ‘You remember I was working on a book? Orange Flags?’ Jools nods as Andi looks intrigued.
‘Well, they’ve paused publication on it, but I figure I might as well get it started. ’
‘That’s a great title!’ Andi says enthusiastically. ‘What’s it about?’
‘It’s a warning manual for women,’ I explain excitedly.
‘Everyone knows the red flags – they’re easy to spot.
The dickheads who like Andrew Tate or talk about body count or engage in the manosphere – yuck.
Orange flags are things to watch out for in a relationship that are less obvious.
They’re things that need to be examined in more context. ’
‘Like guys who have asshole friends!’ Andi shouts, immediately triggered.
‘Or no friends?’ Sam offers.
I nod. ‘I have a chapter on that! Because there might be a reason for those things that makes that behaviour okay, but they are still an amber warning.’
‘What else?’ Jools asks, looking enthralled. She’s been dating again recently after her divorce a few years ago. She hasn’t had much success. It turns out women on social media love her seventies Elton John look, but men? Not so much.
I start listing things from my book outline. ‘Someone who texts a lot and makes you feel under pressure to reply right away, someone who never makes the date plan, someone who brags about being a gentleman, or nice guy, or mentions getting into fights. Someone who claims they have crazy exes—’
‘I feel like that’s a proper red flag!’ Sam says hotly.
‘It can be.’ I nod. ‘But there is probably room for one crazy ex, y’know? Because it’s one thing if they’ve had a single troubled relationship, but if they’re claiming all their exes are “crazy”, there’s clearly a common denominator there. Him.’
‘Fair,’ Andi agrees.
‘Someone who doesn’t like animals,’ I continue. ‘Someone who orders for you. Someone who makes off-colour jokes or boasts that they’re not PC or woke. Someone who calls their parents mummy or daddy—’
‘Isn’t that just a very posh thing?’ Jools offers, and I shake my head.
‘It’s indicative of enmeshment,’ I say, pulling out the therapy terms. People love a therapy term.
‘That’s when the boundaries get blurred in a relationship.
You need to be a distinct person in your own right; a grown-up, who is independent and not tangled up in another person.
Especially when it comes to your own parents.
’ I sniff. ‘It could mean co-dependent attachment styles.’
‘You definitely made that one up,’ Jools mutters, and I avoid her eyes.
‘What about gamers?’ Sam says, looking excited. ‘Grown adults who play computer games all day! I dated a woman a while back who used to be talking into her headset for eight hours at a time. That has to be at least an orange flag.’
‘I dated one of them!’ Andi crows as we all pile on with our various dating tales and woes.
An hour whizzes by before I notice the time. We have to get going.
‘Come on, Franco Manca waits,’ I shout over the DJ’s loud music, pumping just for us. I herd the noisy group out of the club and down the road, making our way through an increasingly busy Soho.
We turn a corner and my heart thumps violently in my chest as I spot a familiar silhouette in the distance.
It’s him.
It’s Justin.
He’s laughing, his head thrown back, one arm slung casually over the shoulders of a beautiful, glowy woman.
Orla.
It’s really them. The hot new couple, Instagram offish. Standing just a few feet away. Almost within touching distance.
Just like I planned.