‘Christ, these are dusty,’ she said, blowing into one.
‘Can we have Thai?’ said Ruby, re-establishing control over dinner now that she didn’t have to pay for it.
There followed a fifteen-minute discussion on which Thai we would order from, which nearby Thai had the best ratings, whether it was the Thai we ordered from last time which did the prawns that gave Ruby a dodgy stomach, and whether we should order one coconut rice or two. Thai menus – long on noodles and rice – were a problem for me, so I ended up ordering a soup and some vegetable spring rolls.
Dinner sorted, we carried our glasses to the TV room and took our usual seats: Mia and Ruby spread across the sofa, me in the armchair by the window. Tonight I barely noticed the divide because I needed to reply to Rory’s latest message without interference.
Earlier that day, I’d texted him saying we were preparing for a big event next week with Fumi, hoping that he might be impressed with the coup of landing such a star. He replied but didn’t mention this. Instead, he asked if I was free the following weekend to stay with his parents in Norfolk. But then Zach had appeared upstairs and bossily said could I order the wine for the event because he only drank beer, so Eugene and I spent an hour on the Majestic website sniggering at the pretentious reviews. And while we were doing that, Jaz dropped in after school with Dunc in order to show off his new reading badge and I’d completely forgotten to reply to Rory.
Mia picked up the remote control; I stared down at my phone.
‘I’m thinking London,’ she said, flicking through channels.
‘For what?’ replied Ruby.
‘My hen. I don’t want to go away. I don’t want us to do the walk of shame through Luton wearing sombreros. I want it to be chic. Drinks and dinner somewhere and then a bar afterwards. No penis straws. No penis anything. If I see a penis on my hen I’ll scream.’
Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘What’s the point in a hen party if the bride isn’t neck-deep in penises? I’m going to buy you one of those giant penis outfits! Owwww,’ she said loudly, as Mia thwacked her on the leg with the remote control.
‘I mean it, Rubes. None of that. And absolutely no stripper. If I get even a whisper that you’ve paid some greasy waiter to grind his bottom into me I’ll demote you from maid of honour. I’ll make it Fl—’ Mia looked across the room and caught my eye. ‘I’ll make it someone else instead. And no Mr and Mrs either. None of my friends need to know what my favourite position is. Or Hugo’s, for that matter.’ She pretended to shudder. ‘Unedifying.’
‘What’s Hugo doing for his stag?’ I asked.
‘Prague.’
‘The same weekend as the hen? The one before the wedding?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Isn’t that risky?’ said Ruby.
‘Why?’
‘What if he gets in a fight and has a black eye or someone shaves his eyebrows off?’
‘Have you met Hugo?’ said Mia, glancing at each of us in turn. ‘Come on, even paintballing’s been deemed too dangerous. They’re going to play crazy golf and have a few beers.’
‘Sure,’ snorted Ruby.
‘And anyway, it’s tradition.’
‘What is?’
‘Having the stag and hen parties closer to the wedding. I read about it in Be More Bride magazine. Traditionally, it was known as the last night of freedom and always held the night before the wedding. The ancient Greeks used to do it, apparently.’
‘Yeah, but the ancient Greeks probably just overdid it on wine and threw a few javelins,’ said Ruby. ‘I’m not sure they travelled abroad in matching T-shirts to drink thirty-eight pints and pay a tenner to watch some poor local woman strip.’
‘Is that all they do it for? A tenner?’
‘I don’t know, do I! I’m just saying that’s what stag dos are. Beer and strippers. And drama. Always a drama.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ insisted Mia. ‘Who needs a top-up?’ She held the bottle up from the sofa. ‘Flo? You’re very quiet.’
‘Sorry. I’m trying to write a message to Rory.’
She squealed as she stood to top up our glasses. ‘How is your boyfriend?’
‘Er, good. Officially my boyfriend, actually.’ I wondered when saying that would stop feeling so weird. Ever?
The bottle froze in Mia’s hand. ‘Oh my God, when did that happen?’
‘Last night. I met some friends of his, well, it was more of a work thing. But he introduced me as his girlfriend and then actually asked me on the way home.’
‘Sweet! But you don’t sound very excited.’
‘No, no, I am. And I really like him. I’m just a bit dazed. It’s all happened so fast.’ My mind briefly flitted back to the night before: one moment as single and sexless as one of Mrs Delaney’s gladioli; the next bent over a hallway table while my new boyfriend went at me like a Black & Decker power tool.
Mia shrugged and lowered herself back down on the sofa. ‘When you know, you know.’
There it was, that saying again. ‘But what if I don’t know?’
‘That’s fine too.’
‘Then how are you ever supposed to know? If you know when you know but, also, you don’t have to know when you know?’ I wasn’t sure I was making sense. Maybe it was the champagne.
‘All I know is that I never want to have sex again,’ interjected Ruby.
‘What?’ said Mia, turning from me to her sister.
‘I broke up with Jasper yesterday.’
‘What? Why? You all right?’
‘Various reasons,’ said Ruby. ‘And I’m fine. But I’m off men for the time being.’
‘I give that all of three minutes,’ replied Mia, before looking back to me. ‘Flo, listen. I didn’t know with Hugo for ages. Months. He was perfectly nice but not that exciting and his morning breath could have killed a horse.’
‘But you’re marrying him?’ I said, feeling a sense of relief at asking the question. I glanced at Ruby who widened her eyes at me and shook her head, indicating that she didn’t want to get involved.
‘Yes,’ went on Mia, with an exaggerated nod. ‘Because one day I woke up and decided that this was what I wanted. I’d had enough of dating. I wanted to be married, a family, all that stuff. So I bought him some dental floss and a bottle of industrial strength mouthwash and that was that.’
Briefly, I thought back through the great romances I’d read. In none of them did the heroine buy her hero a bottle of Listerine. But who was I to judge another person’s relationship? If this was what Mia really wanted, then I had to stop worrying about it. I must have still looked concerned, though, because she arranged her face into a sympathetic expression. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘A few doubts at the start of something is totally normal, Flo. Especially when, no offence, you haven’t got anything to compare this with.’
‘It’s not doubts. It’s kind of the opposite. I’m worried that I’ll do something wrong and it’s all going to disappear again. I suppose I’m worried that it’s too good to be true.’
‘I get it,’ she replied. ‘But you’re overthinking it. He likes you, clearly. He’s asked you to be his girlfriend.’
‘He’s invited me to meet his family next weekend too,’ I added. ‘Is it not just a bit quick?’
Mia narrowed her eyes at me. ‘How old is he?’
‘Thirty-seven.’
‘So he just knows what he wants,’ she said, with another shrug.
‘Also,’ added Ruby, ‘if he wasn’t messaging you and inviting you to stay with his family, you’d be sitting here complaining that he’d gone silent.’
‘True,’ I said, thinking back to the few flings I’d had where they’d done just that.
‘And what’s the sex like?’ Ruby went on. ‘If I’m never having sex ever again I need to get my kicks where I can.’
I wondered if I should ask them. Encouraged by the champagne, I decided I should. It was comforting, talking like this. I couldn’t remember a time when we’d had such a frank joint con
versation. ‘OK, so the sex is amazing. He just sort of… knows exactly what to do. But there is one thing.’
‘What?’ they both chorused together.
‘He does this thing…’ Then I stopped again, unsure how to explain it.
‘Cough up,’ ordered Ruby.
‘OK, but it’s got to stay between us, promise?’
‘Obviously,’ said Ruby, waggling her fingers at me to indicate more speed was required. ‘Come on, what is it?’
‘OK, so he does the thing,’ I repeated, ‘like, at the end…’
‘When you’ve finished shagging?’
‘Rubes, can you let her speak?’ said Mia.
‘I am! Flo, continue. He does this thing…’
I sighed. ‘It’s not afterwards. It’s right before. Or actually right when he…’ I stopped again. I didn’t want to say the word ‘comes’ out loud but what else was there? ‘Orgasms’ seemed too sex therapist and ‘ejaculates’ too biology teacher. ‘It’s when he comes,’ I said quickly. ‘He says something. He always says “Cowabunga!”’
Ruby laughed and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Mia pressed her lips together and frowned as if thinking over a challenging crossword puzzle.
‘OK,’ she said, after a few beats of silence. ‘It’s not that bad.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No! Hugo likes talking dirty but he’s really bad at it.’
‘Not him too?’ said Ruby, her mouth and eyes wide with mirth. ‘This is too good. What does he say?’
Now it was Mia’s turn to look embarrassed. ‘Just stuff like “Has someone been a naughty girl?” or “Who’s a hungry girl, then?”’
‘Hugo! Jesus Christ,’ said Ruby, laughing so hard I thought she might choke, which made me laugh harder, and eventually even Mia joined in, so all three of us were almost crying, shoulders shaking, faces creased.
‘Blimey. I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him,’ I said, a few moments later when I’d regained control of myself.
Mia smiled and nodded slowly. ‘Yes, every now and then he can surprise me in that department.’
‘On Sundays before golf?’
‘Exactly,’ she drawled.
‘You cannot possibly marry someone who says “Who’s a hungry girl, then?”’ Ruby told her, wiping her cheeks with her thumb. ‘Imagine being ninety and still having to listen to that.’
‘I won’t be having sex when I’m ninety,’ said Mia.
‘What? I will be.’
‘I thought you weren’t having sex ever again?’
‘I’m not. Not for a bit anyway.’
‘So it’s not that bad?’ I said, still wanting reassurance. ‘The “cowabunga!” thing?’
‘Noooooo,’ Mia insisted again, shaking her head. ‘In the grand scheme of things, it’s really not.’
‘Not compared to “Who’s a hungry girl then?”’ said Ruby, still laughing. ‘Honestly, I’m never going to forget this.’ She nudged Mia with her foot. ‘Hey, what time’s he home tonight? I’m going to ask if he’s hungry and wants any leftover takeaway.’
‘If you dare,’ said Mia, kicking her back.
‘OK,’ I said, trying to distract them before a fight broke out. ‘So I should forget about it and not say anything? Not even a joke?’
‘No! Definitely not a joke,’ said Mia. ‘Men aren’t into jokes about their performance.’
I made a mental note of this. ‘And I should say yes to the weekend with his parents?’
‘Yes, go.’
‘I agree,’ said Ruby. ‘And I don’t think you should be put off by it either. He’s showing his appreciation, if anything. In fact…’ She paused.
‘What?’
‘I think you should raise him.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Why not send a little nude, just to show you’re thinking about him?’
‘Rubes,’ warned Mia.
‘What?’ said Ruby. ‘Flo is new to all this, I’m trying to help.’ She looked from Mia to me. ‘Just a flash of nipple or something to encourage him. But keep your face out of it.’
‘Thanks,’ I replied, deadpan.
She shook her head. ‘No, only because then you can’t be recognized by anyone else.’
I grimaced at the idea of trying to take a photo of my own nipple. And just a nipple on its own, a singular nipple. Was that sexy? Wouldn’t it look like a lone flesh tag? ‘I’m not sure it’s my kind of thing, a nude. But thank you, both, for the advice.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Ruby, happily, before turning back to Mia. ‘How far away’s the Deliveroo man? I’m hungry.’
Chapter Five
SO I SAID YES to staying with his parents and Rory replied that he was ‘ecstatic!’. He was in Belgium for a few days accompanying the minister on a trip to Brussels, which meant, after sinking two more bottles on the sofa with Mia and Ruby on Friday evening, I spent my weekend with Marmalade. Sitting cross-legged on my bed on Saturday afternoon, I wrote another few pages about Curtis the counting caterpillar until I got bored and my eye fell on my phone.
A nude? I tugged at the neckline of my T-shirt and looked down. Braless, my boobs were resting on the stomach roll underneath them. Would that sight turn anyone on? It seemed unlikely. Best not scare him away, so instead of taking a photo, I picked up my phone and texted him to see if he was free on Thursday evening to watch me interview Fumi.
On Sunday, I did my Fumi homework. Her new anthology was called Bad Fairy and it made me feel like a voyeur, as if I was reading a teenage diary. The poems were sad lamentations about a date not texting her back, about the planet burning up, about Fumi hating her knees. Her knees! I’d never thought about whether I hated my knees or not. They were just my knees.
And yet on Instagram, there was a more confident Fumi beaming at the camera, showing off a new pair of sunglasses, a new haircut, a restaurant in San Francisco where she’d fed Percy the pug prawn dim sum for dinner, and a selfie in her first-class cabin on a flight to Tokyo. Each post had thousands of comments underneath; fans declaring they loved her, that they loved her hair, her jacket, her shoes and her eye make-up, fans declaring that they wanted to marry her, others pleading for her to message them back. Underneath a picture of Fumi with her arms wrapped around Percy, one fan had written, ‘I wish you could hold me like that’ with a sad emoji. It seemed a big world for a 19-year-old to live in. No wonder she took Percy everywhere with her; he was the equivalent of a childhood toy, a comfort blanket.
‘I’m not sure you’d appreciate a first-class seat,’ I said, looking down at Marmalade, who slept almost anywhere – along the back of a radiator, occasionally in my bathroom sink – but mostly on my pillow. ‘Come on, you need to go out,’ I said, scooping him up and heading downstairs to make a cup of tea.
Ruby was still asleep even though it was 2 p.m., and Mia and Hugo were busy putting Le Creuset pots and bath towels on their wedding list at John Lewis. So I sat at the kitchen table with my tea, writing a list of questions. Fumi’s publisher had asked for them in advance so they could be approved. She’d said no questions about her love life, even though dozens of her poems talked of just that, and no questions from the audience. But she was happy to talk about ‘her work, her personal sense of style, her important role as an international influencer, and her beloved writing partner, Percy’.
After I’d read for another hour, Marmalade slunk back through the cat flap and weaved around my legs.
‘It’s impossible to concentrate if you’re doing that,’ I told him, but stood and opened the cupboard for a tin of condensed milk. His weekend treat.
Ruby appeared in the kitchen as I sat back down.
‘Hiya, Flo,’ she said, sleepily. ‘What you doing?’
I stretched in my seat. ‘Just work. We’ve got an event at the shop this week. An Instagram poet doing a reading and I’ve got to interview her.’
‘Cool,’ said Ruby, taking my yoghurt from the fridge. She sat on the kitchen table, feet on a c
hair, and ate it straight from the pot with a spoon. ‘Who’s the poet?’
I’d have to buy another pot. I hated sharing with anyone, whether yoghurt, water bottles or soup spoons. Who were those weirdos who let another person lick their ice cream? The idea of another person’s tongue running across my scoop of ice cream made me want to scrub my mouth with bleach.
‘She’s called Fumi.’
Ruby’s eyes widened. ‘I know her! I follow her on Instagram. I’m obsessed with that dog. Have you seen it? She took him shopping in Gucci the other day.’
‘I know,’ I replied, grimly. She’d bought Percy a gold dog collar decorated with little ‘G’s around it.
‘How come you’re doing that? Doesn’t sound very Frisbee to me.’
‘New strategy; we’re trying to get customers who aren’t 500 years old and almost dead into the place.’
‘When is it? Can I come? Pleeeeeease can I come? I’m not 500 years old.’
‘It’s Thursday evening and sure, if you really want to. I’ll reserve you a ticket.’
‘Do I have to pay?’
‘Yes.’
Ruby wrinkled her nose.
‘All right, I’ll get you a free one but only if you tweet or post about it. And you can keep Rory company.’
He’d replied saying he ‘wouldn’t miss it for the world’.
‘I get to hang with Cowabunga! Even better.’
‘Ruby…’
She waved the spoon in the air. ‘I promise, I promise, it’s our secret. But thanks, Flo, you’re the best. Right, I’m going to have a bath.’ She stood up from the table, left the spoon sticking out from the yoghurt and went back upstairs. As a test, I willed myself to sit behind my laptop as long as I could, ignoring the pot. Leave the mess, I told myself. Nothing bad will happen. But it wasn’t even two minutes before I stood and threw it away, then washed up the spoon and wiped the table down again. Pathetic.
The following morning, I stuck my head into the downstairs office and asked Zach if I could reserve two tickets. One for my sister. One for Rory.
‘Ha! Rory the Tory’s coming, is he?’ Zach said, spinning in his chair. ‘Can’t wait to meet him. But yes, course.’
The Wish List: Escape with the most hilarious and feel-good read of 2020! Page 13
