CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
December
‘Welcome to our house-cooling party!’ I cry as Josh and Tamara arrive at mine and Scarlet’s flat, clutching three bottles of wine to add to the bar.
‘House-cooling?’ Josh queries, as Scarlet moves forward and she and Josh exchange a kiss on the cheek.
‘I’m guessing it’s the opposite of a house-warming,’ Tamara says.
‘Of course it is,’ Josh mumbles, giving me a smile I didn’t know I needed. I’m nervous about moving out. I feel more nervous about this than I did when I moved out of my parents’ and took myself off to London. I was so young then. Young and full of confidence.
Scarlet takes Tamara off towards the bathroom, so they can stow their booze in the bath, which we’ve filled with cold water and ice, and Josh envelops me in a hug. The party hasn’t quite got going yet – a couple of early guests mill about in the kitchen, munching crisps and nibbles and pouring themselves healthy doses of punch, which Scarlet and I have put together with every single bottle of half-used alcohol we had remaining. It’s surprisingly good. I’ve had two glasses already. I’m not sure we should have added the Pernod and crème de menthe, though.
‘You taste like toothpaste,’ Josh says when we part.
‘Where’s Mark?’ I ask.
‘Tamara and he are a bit …’ He shrugs, searching for the right word. ‘On the rocks.’
My eyebrows lift. ‘Oh, I didn’t know that. I thought he was coming along tonight.’
‘So did he, I think.’
‘That’s a surprise. Has Tamara told him not to come? Have they had a row?’ I’m as bad as Scarlet for gossip. ‘I didn’t think Tamara had it in her to have a row with anyone.’
Josh gives me a look and glances round to where Scarlet’s introducing Tamara to the kitchen gang. ‘That’s not very nice,’ he says quietly.
I feel a bit checked. ‘OK. Well, it’s the truth. She’s so … nice all the time is what I mean. Are they breaking up?’
‘They’ve not broken up,’ Josh clarifies. ‘Just cooling things down a bit, I think. I haven’t dug into the ins and outs.’
‘But she’s your best friend,’ I say. ‘Isn’t this something you’d talk about?’
‘You can go and ask her if you like?’ Josh offers.
‘I might,’ I reply. ‘I’ll have a couple more drinks and then I’ll grill her.’
‘Go on then.’
I try to work out his expression. Is Josh annoyed? At me? What’s going on? Because of the conversation we’ve just had? Or something else? I start to ask him, but behind us the front door is being pushed open from its ajar position.
‘Hi,’ Chris says as he enters, and so does the woman he’s arrived with.
He’s with a woman. Only last month Chris was single. He’s moved swiftly, for someone who doesn’t even live in London.
‘Hi, I’m Victoria.’
Victoria is gorgeous and tall and … everything.
‘Hi,’ I reply as she smiles widely. ‘Nice to meet you. Are you and Chris …?’
She furrows her brow and then realises what I’m on about.
‘Oh no,’ she says, ‘We met right now in the hall. I work with Scarlet.’
‘Oh,’ I respond, and I sense the relief in my voice. I think Josh, Chris and Victoria can sense it too. Everyone’s looking at me strangely. Chris, in particular, has eyes as wide as saucers. I’m mortified.
‘Is … um … Scarlet here?’ Victoria asks.
‘I’ll grab her. Do you want to put your booze in the bath?’
‘Sorry?’ she asks.
‘It’s our makeshift ice bucket.’
She laughs. ‘In that case, yes.’
The two of us move off, so I can show her where the bath and Scarlet are. In doing so, I realise I’ve left Chris and Josh alone together.
Two men could not look more awkward if they tried. I glance at them out of the corner of my eye as I dash to fetch them both drinks. When I return with two glasses of punch, they look grateful.
‘This smells nuclear,’ Chris remarks. ‘What’s in it?’
‘Everything we had left in the cupboard and neither of us wanted to take with us,’ I say. ‘We’re moving out, remember.’
‘Why’s it green and … fizzy?’ He sniffs it dubiously.
‘It’s yum – just drink it,’ I tell him.
Both he and Josh sip their drinks and look a bit concerned.
Josh runs his tongue up and down the roof of his mouth a few times. ‘I’m going to grab that bottle I brought,’ he says and leaves Chris and me alone.
‘You OK?’ I ask Chris.
‘Yeah, you?’
‘You and Josh looked awkward as fuck,’ I say.
He cough-laughs on his drink, which I triumphantly notice he’s taken another sip from.
‘See, it’s not that bad, is it?’
‘Did you make it?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’
‘Then it’s lovely. I shall keep drinking and definitely not throw up later.’
‘Ha-ha,’ I say, followed by, ‘I thought you’d arrived with Victoria.’
‘I did arrive with her.’
‘No, I mean I thought you were together.’
He looks at me. ‘So what if I was?’
‘OK, calm down,’ I say. ‘I’m just making conversation.’
‘You’re being weird.’
‘I’m not. What were you and Josh talking about?’ I try again.
‘We didn’t have time to talk about anything,’ he tells me. ‘You were gone for one whole minute. We basically said hi and then you strong-armed us into drinking this paint-stripper.’
‘Fine. Be like that.’
‘Like what?’ he asks. ‘What’s wrong with you? You invited me and now you’re being all … strange. Not like you at all. What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ I say.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Chris replies, his eyes searching mine. We move out of the way of the front door as another of Scarlet’s work colleagues arrives, says hi, squeezes past us.
‘Josh is being a bit odd,’ I tell him. ‘Only a little bit.’
‘OK. Are you going to talk to him about it?’
‘I was going to and then you arrived. And it’s only a little bit,’ I say, defending Josh one second after putting him down.
‘All right then,’ Chris says. ‘Why are you even mentioning it to me?’
‘Because you asked what was wrong?’ I reply in a voice much whinier than I usually sound.
Chris sighs audibly. I sigh too. And we stand like that for far too long. ‘I’m going to go and get a proper drink,’ he says and walks away.
‘I can’t believe this is happening. We’re growing up,’ Scarlet says on our final evening together.
‘We’re thirty-two years old,’ I say.
‘And haven’t we done well,’ Scarlet chuckles as we clink our plastic cups of Squadka – vodka and orange squash, both of which were left over from the house-cooling party, although neither of us knows who brought the orange squash. We’re sitting on the floor in our flat. Scarlet’s shipped all our crockery, glasses, cutlery and furniture up to her new flat, with my blessing, as Josh has plenty and she’s starting out from scratch. Plus all the flatpack Ikea stuff we bought together is about ten years old, so I was hardly going to put up a fight.
‘Can we still do Deliveroo on Fridays sometimes?’ Scarlet asks as I glance around at my cases and boxes filled with clothes, books and far too many cosmetics. I can’t believe my life packs up into such a neat arrangement.
I look back at her, focusing on what she’s just said. ‘How are we going to do Deliveroo on Fridays at such a huge distance? Our train fares are going to be out of control.’
‘I’ll order it in Edinburgh and you order the same thing in Somerset and we can FaceTime.’
‘That sounds great. Only I’ll have to cook or run out to the local fish-and-chip shop because there’s no Deliveroo in Josh’s village.’
‘Soon to be your village too. Do you think you’ll miss London?’ she asks.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘You?’
‘Yeah,’ she nods. ‘I think I will.’
‘Do you think we’re making a mistake?’ I ask.
‘Both of us are moving to opposite ends of the country, for men,’ she points out. ‘Do you imagine Emmeline Pankhurst will be spinning in her grave?’
‘Who?’ I ask and Scarlet gasps in horror. ‘I’m joking, I’m joking. No, I don’t think she would be. We’re making a choice. We are in charge of our own destinies. And you’re not moving in with your guy; you’re just making yourself available in your own flat, and with a fab new job to boot. I’m the one moving in with a man in his ready-made set-up, like some kind of freeloader.’
‘You know that’s not true,’ Scarlet chastises, leaning over and stealing a slice of pizza from my side of the box. ‘Our lives are changing,’ she says. ‘For the better. And we’ve done that. We could hardly live together for ever, could we?’
‘Imagine how amazing that would have been, though.’
‘It would have been fricking awesome,’ Scarlet replies as we clink our cups together in our flat, one final time.