Chapter 18
Ididn’t wake until midday the following day, and even that took a monumental effort: gingerly opening each eye in turn and blinking desperately like a newborn, trying to focus on my grainy surroundings.
I thought for a second that roadworks were taking place just outside my bedroom window, but alas I soon realised the banging was actually coming from inside my head; just as scary, as if the call from the serial killer was coming from inside the house. My next thought, which is a worry I always have after an exceedingly drunken night on the town, is “Where the bloody hell is my bag?”
I calmed down a little when I spotted it on the floor of my bedroom, kicked unceremoniously into the corner, its contents half spilling out, and next to a half-wrapped bag of chips.
Slowly, memories from the previous night dropped randomly into my fuddled brain. It hurt to think. What I really wanted to do was turn my pillow over to the cool side and sleep for a further ten, maybe twelve hours. But I knew I couldn’t, for today was the afternoon trip to the spa with my bestest friend Jocasta. Oh, joy to the world!
The previous night was still a bit of a blur, but I knew that Lottie and I had remained drinking until very late o’clock. We hadn’t even got to go for our fancy meal, instead being seduced into a dirty kebab shop a couple of doors down from the pub. The smell of used cooking oil and donner meat had proved too tantalising for us sophisticated gals around town to resist.
Why, after imbibing a gallon of booze, did the mankiest of takeaways appeal so much? I had gobbled down my cheesy chips, extolling the gastronomical virtues of them to everyone in the shop, whether they wanted to listen or not. I claimed they were on a par with the best truffle fries I had ever had, and streets ahead of halloumi fries which, let’s face it, had no right to be quite so widely praised and overpriced. They were just fried cheese after all.
My eyes were fully open now. But as my mind recalled me gobbling down a battered sausage with far more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary, I swiftly snapped them shut, hoping this simple act would erase the image entirely. It did not. I could still remember the look of delight on the owner’s face to see me fellate one of his foot longs with such frenzied fervour.
I recalled that Lottie had told me through bites of a greyish-looking quarter pounder, the meat as questionable as my floorshow, that she loved to see me like this: much less guarded and more stripped back relaxed, without any airs and graces. Just having fun for the sake of it. It was so refreshing to see me embrace the simpler things in life, not always striving for something better. She was right: I had been less than impressed when I knew we were meeting at The Honourable Lawyer, and even less so at her drink selection, but I had ended up having a simply splendid evening.
That’s how I should have been with Seb: not always regarding him as dull and dependable, but realising there could be something marvellous in the mundane.
Why was I so quick to disregard his weekly pub quiz? Haughtily believing it wasn’t “my thing” to indulge in half pints of warm lager and “guess the theme tune rounds”. No thank you. But my life ? the life I had believed was so much more sophisticated and chicer ? was in truth an absolute shit show.
I would have been better off with Seb and the sports round all along. These simple things I had scoffed at could have been simply lovely. Even a nice big dollop of shepherd’s pie every now and again. I didn’t need truffle fries; simple mashed potatoes would do very nicely, thank you. I just needed to let go of my superiority, live a little more simply, out of my comfort zone, even if that meant eating the occasional carb or wandering down the middle of Lidl looking for a bargain.
I shouldn’t have to feel the burden on me of always needing to impress. Nobody in life really cared; they were all too busy being caught up in their own worlds. Lottie was right, I was a prisoner of my own vanity. I knew now that was the upshot of it all. And even in my drunken state, that had struck a chord.
I worried too much about things that didn’t really matter. There was nothing wrong with Seb. The fault had been with me and my stuck-up pride. I’d been too caught up with what was wrong with him, rather than the countless things that were right.