‘I might have forgotten it at home.’ This is a white lie because this is what might have happened. She doesn’t need to know that what actually happened was that I decided, many weeks ago, that I wouldn’t dress up.
‘Oh no! Well, no worries – due to an online ordering error I actually have a spare, so you can dress up in my second costume and we can match!’
This, my friends, is karma. It just normally takes a little longer to bite you on the arse.
‘We aren’t the same size at all – whatever outfit you have will never fit me.’
‘Trust me –’ I do not – ‘it will.’ The glint in her eye fills me with fear.
And rightly so, as a few hours later I’m looking in the mirror and the person looking back at me isn’t anyone I recognize.
‘Why did I let you put me in this?’ I hold my arms out and spin from side to side.
‘You look amazing!’
Penny is standing next to me, her reflection a stark contrast to my own. She is wearing exactly the same outfit as I am, but she looks glamorous and chic.
‘No, you look amazing. I look like a child wearing a box. Which is actually pretty close to the truth.’ We are both dressed as presents, but somehow the proportions work better on her.
We enter the ‘party room’, which is the board room, but badly disguised with streamers, a fake Christmas tree and what can only be described as a singing disco ball, which goes particularly crazy when the music is interrupted by ads. On the snack table I think I can also see a bowl of the children’s vitamins, the ones which turned the kids different colours.
Why does such a wonderful time of year come with so many terrible parties?
‘I need a drink.’
Penny nods. ‘I’ll come with you.’
On the way to the drinks area, Chris, the office pervert who proudly announced with glee after the last office move that he could see my desk from his new position, appears out of nowhere.
‘Bea, you look like you want to be unwrapped.’ He winks. Everyone knows I’m a fan of a pun, but not in this situation. I do not want to be unwrapped, and no sentence ever previously uttered has made me want to hit someone more. I am disappointed in myself for not being as confrontational as I could, and possibly should, be. But I say nothing and walk away, though I do make a mental note to send him on a compulsory course about discrimination in the workplace as part of my new role.
After grabbing a drink and some snacks, making sure to hide extras inside my box, I am abandoned by Penny, who is too kind to ignore the boring office people wanting to talk to her.
Pondering the point of a work Christmas party, I can’t say I’m enjoying myself, but I have to confess that they’re good for one thing – putting everyone on an even footing. Everyone here feels just as out of place as the next cracker, no matter if you’re the MD or the newest assistant. Everyone feels odd wearing fancy dress in a room where we normally hold our quarterly reviews. And everyone is hoping that with the new year will come a new range of memories to wipe out any shameful acts and secret confessions shared on nights exactly like this.
Doing a scan of the room, I can tell that nobody feels more out of place than Joan. She’s wearing a sad homemade outfit that I think is meant to be a Christmas pudding. On a baby it would probably look endearing. But Joan isn’t a baby.
I decide to go speak to her; after all, I believe Christmas is a time for forgiveness.
‘Hi.’
She turns and seems genuinely happy to see me. ‘Oh, well hello there, Bea.’
I’m glad I came over to say hi, but I don’t quite know what to say now that the pleasantries are over. I really want to avoid a boring, predictable conversation about Christmas plans. Mainly because I have none except going home and eating all the mini chocolates and cheese I can find.
But she takes a big inhale of breath, and it sounds as if she’s going to take the plunge for me.
‘So … any plans for Christmas?’
Later in the evening, too many wines in, Penny hunts me down with a determination I rarely see in her, and takes me to the stationery cupboard for a confessional. We barely fit with our costumes on – I have to reverse shuffle in as there’s no room to turn around. I’ve barely managed to shoehorn myself into the closet before Penny starts talking.
‘I needed a moment with you to tell you that you are my inspiration.’ She pops a vitamin into her mouth and keeps going, chewing frantically. ‘Over these last months, you have become such a force in the office. But not like a Joan force; you’ve become a force for good. A summer breeze. And it has inspired me. Every night for the last two weeks I’ve been wandering around my apartment totally stark naked, except for my shower cap, trying to figure out what to do with my life. What my thing is. You!’ She points at me. ‘You’ve found your thing! You’re shining and happy! I want to be shining and happy too! Tell me how to be shining and happy!’
This is news to me, as I always saw Penny as the shinier, happier person out of the two of us.
‘Pen, the shine comes from my illuminating foundation.’ I joke in an effort to make her smile. I don’t want to downplay or ignore her, but it’s hard to tell if this is how she really feels, or if this is how she feels when she is fuelled by sugary vitamins and cheap, office-party alcohol. I make another internal note to block out some time to talk to Penny about this more seriously. And more soberly.
After making my mental note, a noise I’ve never heard before comes out of Penny. I would classify it as a groan made from a mix of exasperation and shame.
‘Also, I think I kissed Chris.’ I gasp in shock and I know the whites of my eyes are showing. ‘On the cheek! I’m not that drunk.’ She hangs her arms so they flop down on either side of her. ‘But I did also have the most awkward hug with Mansi after I told her I thought she was great and that I really admired her and thought she smelt nice, but she really isn’t a hugger. Then I got stuck in my costume.’
‘What? How did you get stuck in your costume?’
‘Well, I didn’t know how to leave the conversation with Mansi, and so I sat down on the floor, thinking it would be a funny way to escape.’ As she speaks she tries to recreate her movements. ‘My arms were kind of hugging my legs, and my legs were all tucked up inside the box, but then I couldn’t get up as I didn’t have room to manoeuvre my arms out, and there also wasn’t enough room to stand up with my arms in there, so I just scuttled around on the floor until I reached the stairs.’
I pass her some of the snacks I’ve been hiding in my costume.
‘I wish I had seen that.’
‘I wish you had too.’
CHAPTER 39
The fourth and final Games Night of the year is obviously always Christmas themed. My Christmas jumper is freshly washed but I’m struggling to feel in the mood for mince pies. I’m not sure if I can face seeing Peter this evening. He must be moving in a few weeks. I wouldn’t know; he still hasn’t told me.
For the first time this year, Games Night is actually held in the evening. Although as it starts getting dark from three thirty, it feels a bit like we are in a perpetual night. The overhanging trees are looking particularly evil this evening.
I near Rahul’s flat – he’s always a favoured host because of his food. However, I’ve chosen to risk missing out on the most popular food options by purposefully running late. The more people there before me, the more diluted Peter will be.
I approach the door and ring the doorbell. I can hear lots of people inside, and someone shuffling to open it.
‘Bea!’ Mark smiles at me from the other side, and welcomes me in with a hug.
It looks like everyone who has ever attended a Games Night has shown up this evening. The hallway is packed. There are far too many people to play games, but it doesn’t look like anyone minds.
It’s also really warm, a stark contrast to the outside. I start to panic and my neck gets really itchy. There is barely enough room to take off my coat.
Luckily, Mia comes to help.
The lack of space and multiple layers mean I’ve got a little twisted. She looks really pregnant now.
‘I know, I’m huge.’
‘You’re not huge, but it’s now very obvious that you’re pregnant.’ I hope this is the right thing to say.
‘Ugh, and I’m so warm all the time. I’m so grateful I got accidentally pregnant when I did. I couldn’t imagine being this warm in summer.’ She hangs up my coat. ‘It’s cooler over here, follow me.’
It takes us a while to reach our destination next to the big windows in the lounge, mainly because there are so many people here. People I haven’t seen since the last Christmas Games Night. I don’t have a huge amount to say to them, so I’m happy to have a reason (Mia’s body temperature) to move on, but it’s nice to see them anyway.
We reach the window. Mia perches on the sofa arm and I stand opposite. I look around. No Peter in sight. I’m relieved.
I definitely feel relief. I definitely do not feel sad.
I turn my attention to Mia. It’s been some time since I’ve seen her.
‘So, have you decided how long you’re going to take off for mat leave?’
‘The whole year.’
‘Good!’ She had been thinking of only taking three months.
‘Although Mark wants me to give him a couple of months as shared leave.’ She shakes her head. ‘We haven’t decided anything quite yet though. If I’m pushing this thing out, I want to reap all the benefits I can.’
‘So, what made you change your mind?’
‘Well, I’ve been doing some research –’ obviously – ‘and a lot of studies say that going back after twelve weeks is actually quite unhealthy for the baby and the mother.’ She leans forward. ‘Also, I like the idea of having time to just be a mum. And watching daytime TV.’
Rahul is walking over. He has a plate of food in his hand.
‘This is for you. I didn’t want you to go hungry. Not when you’re eating for two.’
He hands Mia the plate of food and she thanks him with a mini tear in her eye. It’s a beautiful plate of food. It’s crammed with all the good things. I have my eyes on the fancy sausage roll.
Rahul retreats, probably back into the kitchen.
‘The shittiest thing about being pregnant is that you’re only actually meant to eat about two hundred extra calories a day.’ She picks up what looks like an onion bhaji. ‘But if people don’t know and feed me extra, I won’t correct them.’
She takes a bite and moves the plate closer to me, a gesture that says it’s OK for me to take something. I go for the sausage roll and look up to confirm my choice is acceptable to her. She nods yes.
I take a bite. It’s delicious. He’s put some cranberry in there, and the pastry is so buttery and flaky.
‘So what’s been happening with the cards?’
I’m sure I look like a hamster when I smile, but I can’t help it. I want to smile, but I still have quite a lot of sausage roll in my mouth. Once I swallow the sausage roll, I fill her in on my decision to go down to part-time, all the new orders, the popularity of the personalized boasts in the post and, hot off the press – ‘Do you remember that person I met at the reunion drinks? The cool one with the husband who doted on her? Michelle?’
Mia simply shakes her head. She was too busy talking to the Queen of the Cardigans to notice my new girl-crush.
‘Well, she’s running a Christmas pop-up next weekend featuring a bunch of independent crafters, makers, artists and the like, and she asked if she could sell my cards.’
‘That’s great!’
I nod. ‘It is, and if they do well, she would look to stock them in her stores on a more permanent basis. I thought she only had the one shop, but she has, like, five, so this could be really good for me.’
‘That’s amazing! I am so proud of you!’
I just nod. I see Mark in the corner.
‘So, how’s the bowl collection coming?’
Her demeanour changes impressively quickly. She looks down, as if she’s slightly ashamed.
‘Don’t talk to me about the bowls.’
‘Why can’t I talk to you about the bowls?’
‘Because I feel really guilty about the bowls.’
‘How on earth can you feel guilty about the bowls?’ We’ve said the word ‘bowls’ so many times that it’s started to sound wrong.
‘Because I found out why he’s collecting them and it turns out I’m a horrible human.’
I dip my chin and look up at her. I know she’s done something bad. ‘Go on …’
She sighs and lets it out. ‘After I threw one at his head, he informed me that, apparently, many years ago I made some offhand, totally unremarkable comment about being pregnant and really looking forward to eating ramen out of a bowl that’s resting on my baby bump. And so that’s why Mark has been collecting all the bowls. He wants to make sure that when my bump is big enough, I have the perfect bowl to eat ramen out of.’
We are both quiet for a moment. That is really lovely.
‘I bet the perfect bloody bowl is the one that I broke after I threw it at his head. I’ve been offering him guilt blow jobs for days. He hasn’t taken me up on the offer yet, so I’m still in purgatory.’
Poor Mark.
‘Please can we change the subject? I can’t think about the bowls any more.’
I’ve already filled her in on my biggest news. But I can’t possibly tell her the Peter news. I can’t bear to let her know how badly I messed it up.
Luckily I don’t have to. She gives me something else to talk about.
‘How are Tilly’s wedding plans going?’
‘Well, as it’s Tilly, it’s actually all going OK. She’s had to go with her second-choice band, but apart from that it’s all fallen into place quite well.’ So well, in fact, that I suspect she already had the venue and caterer booked before getting engaged.
‘Of course it has – that girl is charmed.’ I feel a bit bad that this is Mia’s assessment of Tilly. One thing I’ve learnt from spending more time with Tilly is that she works really hard to be charmed.
‘Actually, she—’
I hear a laugh. Was it Peter’s laugh? It sounded like it could be.
‘Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’
I look around. ‘I thought I heard Peter.’
She looks around very casually. ‘Nope, I don’t think you did.’ From her face, I know she knows I’m hiding something. ‘I don’t think he’s coming this evening.’
‘Oh.’ My shoulders fall. ‘OK, well, that’s good.’
She tilts her head.
‘Bea, what happened?’
It takes less time to tell the story than I thought it would, and at the end she doesn’t need to keep digging. She knows I’ve shared everything, warts and all.
But she does still have some questions.
‘So, which part of this story brings you the most shame?’
Sometimes I really wish she would beat around the bush a bit more.
‘There are a few.’ I count them off on my fingers. ‘Firstly, the fact we had sex and I don’t remember it. Secondly, the fact I threw myself at him and he pushed me away. He pushed me away. And last but not least, the fact he hasn’t messaged me since.’
‘I would hasten to add that you haven’t messaged him either. But I’m glad you told him how you feel.’
‘Argh, why do people keep saying this! I didn’t tell him, I launched myself at him.’ I wish there was a way to know what he was thinking without actually having to ask.
‘Meh, actions speak louder than words. I’m sure you’ll survive this.’
How can she be so casual? ‘I don’t know if we will. I found out from one of his work colleagues that he is going to Australia for a year, which kinda puts a time crunch on working all of this out.’ Although I’m not sure time will help.
‘He’s going to Australia? He hasn’t said anything about that to me.’
‘He hasn’t told me ei
ther, but he is. His friend, Al, told me.’
‘Are you sure?’
I nod.
‘Well, you guys have been through worse.’
I scoff. ‘What have we been through that’s worse?’
Her eyes go back and forth, as though she’s actually flipping through the memories in her mind.
‘OK, maybe not worse, but you couldn’t not tell him how you feel. And so we’re clear – how do you feel?’
‘Right now? Ashamed. And I blame you for the mess I’m in. It was your stupid advice that made me think it would be OK to go over to his house.’
‘Do not blame me for this.’
‘You were the one who told me to get drunk and shag him!’
‘I would never say anything so crass.’
She is infuriating.
‘Ugh. I can’t believe he pushed me away and I just kept at it.’
‘You’re always so plagued with self-doubt. He probably pushed you away because he was trying to be a gentleman.’
‘I really wish that the flashbacks would stop. Every now and then I’ll be doing something really inane, totally content in my own head, and then WHAM!’ I hear myself asking him to kiss me, and I feel his lips on mine.
I rub my head, trying to get rid of the ache that has appeared there.
And now, the thing that’s making me most sad is also the thing that’s giving me the most hope. Once he’s in Australia, I won’t have to worry about facing him, but it also means he’ll be gone. Mia reaches over and hugs me.
‘It was definitely not my finest moment.’
‘No, but not your worst either.’
I can’t help but smile. ‘No, probably not.’
CHAPTER 40
The headache that formed on Games Night hasn’t left me. Peter has kept totally schtum, and as a result my anxiety and worry have skyrocketed.
And to top it off, Michelle’s Christmas pop-up is upon me.
I’m weirdly nervous about seeing Michelle again. I’m hopeful (and worried) about how my cards will sell, but more than that I want to make a good impression on her. I’m very aware that trying to make a name for yourself in a completely different industry comes with all the same political issues you find in any office job, possibly more so in the independent crafting business. I have a sneaky suspicion that crafters (who are essentially scissor-wielding folk who have gone slightly stir-crazy from being left at home alone for too long) are particularly sensitive.
Just Friends Page 19
