Bridget spread her arms wide in an effort to encompass the entire group. “How about we accept that I love you arseholes and leave it at that.”
“Thinking about it”—James Royce-Royce was still inspecting his untouched phallic lolly—“we should probably have had arsehole-themed decorations as well.”
I glowered at him. “How about we definitely shouldn’t. My search history is incriminating enough as it is.”
“Is it, though?” Priya was giving me an I-think-not look. “You and Oliver practically live together. I bet your search history is nothing but ‘how to make vegan jam’ and ‘scenic walks near Clerkenwell.’”
Scarily, non-gender-specific bird do aside, that was pretty accurate. “You can’t possibly know that.”
“Last week,” said Priya in a devastating monotone, “you emailed me to ask my opinion on a table lamp.”
As one, the guests gasped.
“Luc,” cried James Royce-Royce. “No. Not a table lamp.”
“Shut up,” I responded very maturely.
Priya nodded gravely. “Yeah, he and Oliver are getting into raw, hard-core table lamping.”
“Shut up,” I responded very maturely.
“They’re at it,” she went on, “nearly every weekend. In every room. On every table.”
“It was one table.” I waved my hands despairingly. “One time.”
Peering archly over his martini glass, James Royce-Royce raised an eyebrow. “That’s how it starts. But before you know it, you’ll be getting into the really kinky stuff like uplighters.”
“No uplighters!” I yelled. Though Oliver had suggested that one would do wonders for the living area in my flat.
“I do hope,” said Peter, “that you’re at least using surge protection.”
I stood in a way that I hoped was decisive, not huffy. “I hate you all. Does anyone want another drink?”
Thankfully, most tails were already cocked, but a couple of Bridge’s work friends called for a round of cosmos. Cosmoi? On the way to the bar, I checked my phone to see if my amazing barrister boyfriend was actually going to show up.
I’m so sorry, he’d texted. Snowed under at work. I’ll be with you as soon as possible.
I’m so sorry, he’d texted again. I can’t get away quite yet.
I’m so sorry, he’d texted again again. I’ll be leaving in ten minutes.
And then: Please don’t worry. Everything is fine and I’m definitely going to be on my way soon.
Then: I’m sure you’ve thrown a wonderful party.
Then: I realise this is substandard boyfriending. I’ll make it up to you and to Bridget somehow.
Then: Leaving now. With you in twenty minutes.
Then: Traffic worse than expected. Sorry.
This was so typically Oliver. I was mildly annoyed that he wasn’t here. But his panicked texting was also weirdly endearing and I was in love with him. So fuck.
I was just in the middle of composing a playfully frustrated yet reassuring reply when I walked straight into the back of a solid wall of couple.
“Shit.” My thumb slipped, and I accidentally sent Oliver a string of nonsense. “Sorry. I wasn’t—”
And then my fucking ex turned round. The worst part about it was that for a tiny fraction of a second, before my head started to spin and my throat started to fill with imaginary frogs, I was almost pleased to see him. Because we’d been together for five years, and the bit of my brain that had got used to being in love with him hadn’t quite caught up with the whole he’s-a-traitorous-fuckface angle.
“Oh my God,” said the man who I’d once thought ruined my life.
“Luc.”
“Miles,” I yelped. “It’s been ages.” Ages since you sold the intimate details of our relationship to a tabloid for fifty grand. But I smiled anyway because he didn’t deserve my emotional authenticity.
He, on the other hand, smiled like he was genuinely happy we’d run into each other. He’d always had a knockout smile, and his new immaculately groomed beard only made it knockoutier. Prick, prick, total prick. “Hasn’t it?” He turned to the implausibly perfect-looking young man by his side, a vision in glitter and rainbows. “JoJo this is Luc, Luc this is JoJo.”
“Hi.” JoJo stood on tiptoes to kiss me on both cheeks. “So how do you know Miles?”
Had he not even mentioned me? Then again, how would you?
By the way, darling, you should know that my last relationship ended because I totally fucked the guy over? “Oh, we…we used to date.”