Chapter Two
‘So, we’re off to the Alps for fun times in the snow,’ said Jonno, grinning as Lucy placed his pint, her white wine and two bags of crisps on their usual table in the Brunel Arms. Their post-work Friday drink was a long-standing tradition, and nobody else from the agency was invited.
It was their time to dissect the week and offload all their grievances.
But since they’d only returned to the office a few days ago, there was really only one thing to talk about.
‘You are OK with going that weekend?’ added Jonno, ducking his head to catch her eye. ‘I know you’ve usually got a family thing around then.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Lucy, wafting him away as if it really didn’t matter. ‘Thanks for nominating me. I would have returned the favour, but everyone already thinks we’re sleeping together.’
Jonno laughed and necked a quarter of his pint in one go. It was a new ale in the Brunel’s ever-revolving door of IPAs with stupid names – this one was called Fainting Lizard. ‘You’re way out of my league, babe. Did I tell you that Sasha asked me about that at the Christmas party?’
Lucy’s eyes widened as she sat on the bench opposite him. ‘Really?’
‘Mmm,’ said Jonno, wiping the foam off his lip. ‘She’d heard it from Fran, and wanted to know if it was true.’
Lucy shook her head and rolled her eyes. ‘That sounds like peak Fran.’
‘NO bitching about Fran,’ interrupted Jonno. ‘You’ll get me started. But you’re right – literally everyone in the agency thinks we’re doing the dirty.’
‘Why?’ said Lucy, tipping half the crisps into her mouth at once, then washing them down with a swig of wine.
It was a source of much irritation amongst her female colleagues that Lucy appeared to have some kind of superhuman metabolism that magically cancelled out her workaholic single woman junk food diet, meaning she could live on crisps and wine and coffee and seemingly never put on any weight.
‘Because men and women can’t possibly just be mates? ’
Jonno shrugged. ‘Probably because you’re beautiful, I’m charismatic, and we have at least one date a week in this pub.’
‘It’s not a date, and we’ve done some of our best work in this pub,’ replied Lucy, folding her arms and looking wistfully at the decor. Mostly old black-and-white photos from back in the day when this part of the city was a little more genteel and home to fewer students puking up spicy margaritas.
‘I don’t dispute that. And anyway, whilst I am happy to acknowledge that you are an unattainably hot woman, I don’t fancy you.’
‘That’s helpful,’ said Lucy, acknowledging the compliment with a soft smile. ‘Because I don’t fancy you either.’
Jonno’s eyes widened in fake outrage. ‘Why not?’
‘You’re too old, for a start.’ This kind of conversation was familiar Friday pub territory for Lucy and Jonno, who had started at LUNA on the same day over ten years previously and bonded over a week-long induction in the London office.
They’d formed a powerhouse creative team that had delivered some of the agency’s most successful and award-winning work.
For different reasons, they’d both turned down offers to spread their wings elsewhere, and stuck together.
‘Shit, Luce. I’m forty-four.’
‘I know. Twelve years older than me. When you were twenty-one, I was nine.’
‘OK, that sounds really wrong.’
‘It IS wrong. But it’s the undeniable truth. Also, you are the most happily married person I know.’
‘That’s also true,’ said Jonno, nodding furiously. ‘Can we drink these outside? I need to smoke.’
‘No,’ replied Lucy. ‘It’s January. And anyway, I thought you’d given up?’
‘I tried, but vaping is awful,’ said Jonno helplessly. ‘I need all that glorious tar in my blood to function. My creativity is fuelled by poison.’
‘Talking of poison,’ muttered Lucy. ‘We need to talk about how we’re going to manage Fran on this trip.’
Jonno shook his head and gave Lucy a stern look. ‘No, I can’t.’
‘Come on. You’re a strong man, you can do it.’
‘I can’t. It’s easy for you, you’re a nice person. But I’ve only managed . . .’ he checked his watch, ‘. . . six whole days into 2023, and I’m struggling.’
‘Maybe you need to accept that hating Fran is the other poison that fuels your creativity.’
Jonno frowned. ‘No. We made a vow we would make it to the end of the month without being mean about Fran, and I need you to help me get through it. It’s our Dry January, remember?’
‘What about when we’re stuck in the mountains with her?’
Jonno pulled a face. ‘I reckon it’s OK if we’re on foreign soil. I was really hoping she’d do the magnanimous thing and let French Exit come.’
Lucy snorted with laughter. ‘Have you met Fran? She’s a fu—’
‘NO,’ said Jonno, holding up his hand. ‘We must resist.’
‘Anyway, why would we want Nate there? He barely ever speaks.’
‘Exactly. He’s human wallpaper, and unlikely to create distraction. Which reminds me, does he pronounce his surname Lam-butt, or the French way? Like Lom-berrr?’ He rolled the r from the corner of his mouth, like a bad impression of a Frenchman.
‘I have no idea. I’ve always gone for bog standard Lam-butt.’
‘Me too, because he’s too beige for anything more exotic than the arse of a sheep. But on the upside, he’ll blend into the background of our weekend adventure.’
‘Unlike Olly and Maya.’
‘Mmm. They’ll do their own pissed-up party-animal thing, and poor Sasha will get lumbered with Fran because they’ll have to suck up to the client. We both know that Fran is a total arse-kissing b—’
‘Oh my God,’ gasped Lucy, pressing her hands over her mouth. ‘You failed!’
‘Shit,’ muttered Jonno. ‘Pretend I never said that. I’m getting another pint. You want more wine?’
Lucy shook her head and picked up her phone while Jonno was at the bar, wondering whether she was in the mood to see Anthony.
She scrolled back to his last message – a close-up of his hand wrapped around his erect penis, accompanied by Happy new year, babe.
Got you a present. She tapped out a quick reply. Impressive. Can I unwrap it later?
‘Who’s your booty call tonight?’ asked Jonno. She slammed her phone face down on the table. ‘Iron Manuel, or Tentpole Tony?’
Lucy rolled her eyes. Jonno called Marco ‘Iron Manuel’ because he was a competitive triathlete, and also Spanish. ‘Tentpole Tony’ spoke for itself.
‘Marco’s in London. He’s just been promoted to Head of Insurance Risk Assessment for heritage buildings.’
Jonno licked his lips and winked. ‘Wow, I love it when you talk dirty.’
‘Stop it. It’s a very interesting job.’
‘Is it, though? Does he tell you about fire safety measures in the Royal Albert Hall while he’s sucking your toes?’
‘I would actually kill him if he ever went anywhere near my toes.’
‘So Tentpole Tony, then?’
Lucy sighed. ‘He prefers Anthony.’
‘Hmm, sure. Any new dick pics?’
‘Yes, actually. Do you want to see it?’
‘No,’ said Jonno emphatically. ‘I still haven’t got over the feelings of inadequacy from the last time. That man has a cock the size of a baseball bat.’
‘No, he doesn’t. It’s a perfectly normal size.’
‘For a horse, yes. For a human, no.’
Lucy laughed and finished her wine. Marco and Anthony were what she called ‘a mutually beneficial sexual arrangement’ that had been going on for the best part of eighteen months.
‘You know this fascinates me, right?’ said Jonno. ‘Are you sure you don’t want another wine?’ She shook her head, knowing that two could easily become four and then she’d have a foggy head all weekend.
‘I’m well aware,’ smirked Lucy. ‘Mostly because you never stop asking about it.’
‘They know about each other, right?’
Lucy nodded and rolled her eyes. Jonno had definitely asked this question at least twice before.
‘And you’ve never banged them both at once?’ OK, that’s definitely a new question.
‘No. Anthony floated the idea once. He’s officially bisexual, but Marco is totally straight. So I said no, on the basis that might be a weird dynamic.’
Jonno grinned and stuffed a handful of crisps into his mouth. ‘I should have guessed that Iron Manuel would assess the risk of a threesome and decide it didn’t meet his health and safety requirements.’
‘I didn’t say that. He and I have had a threesome, just with another girl.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Jonno gleefully. ‘I forgot you were also a casual muff-tourist.’
‘You have such a lovely way with words.’
‘Is Marco’s cock the same size as Tony’s? Like, could they have a lightsaber battle?’
Lucy snorted with laughter. ‘No, not that it’s ANY of your business. Marco has many other talents.’
‘Shit, why is your life so much more fun than mine?’ Jonno pouted and drained the dregs of his empty pint glass.
‘You’ve got a beautiful, successful wife and two gorgeous daughters, J,’ said Lucy. ‘Which begs the eternal question – what the hell are you doing in the pub with me on a Friday night?’
‘Marcia’s away,’ he said. ‘She’s taken the kids to Morzine with her sister.
They’ve got a massive chalet with a chef and a chalet girl and nannies and all that shit.
’ Whilst Jonno was the agency’s Creative Director and earned good money, his wife Marcia was some kind of breakfast cereal heiress.
They’d met on an ad campaign shoot in New York almost twenty years previously, where Marcia had been one of the models and Jonno was a cockney wideboy Art Director, handsome but very much the downtown boy to her uptown girl.
She’d agreed to a date primarily to upset her father, who wanted her to marry the preppy lawyer son of a family friend.
Things had got a little out of hand, and Marcia and Jonno had gone on to have an unexpectedly successful and devoted marriage.
Lucy frowned. ‘Why aren’t you there?’
‘I managed three days over New Year with five teenagers in total, then used work as an excuse to leave before I lost my mind. She’s back on Sunday, anyway. Do you want to get dinner? I’m flying solo.’
Lucy’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the reply from Anthony.