I roll my eyes. ‘For what that was worth.’
Her mouth flatlines. ‘What are you going to do now?’
‘I have zero idea.’ I draw my fingers through my dark hair, tugging it out of the French knot I always style it in. An instant tingling relief crawls across my scalp. ‘Anyway, going on about it won’t fix it, will it? Talk to me about you. What’s happening on Planet Lainey and Frank? How did your job interview this morning go?’
‘I think I’m in with a shot.’ She does a hair toss. ‘Soho tech start-up, another ten thousand a year, don’t mind if I do. Can start immediately post honeymoon.’
‘Great,’ I enthuse. ‘That’s brilliant. I’ll keep everything crossed. What about wedding plans?’
She lights up immediately, the whimsical, breezy look of a bride in love floats across her face and softens her features. Reaching into a handbag the size of her torso, she produces a glossy ream of magazine. It lands on the table with such a thud the tealight candle flickers and cutlery clatters again. I push the candle aside to get a better look. I’m not keen on setting fire to the table; an arson charge never looks good on a résumé.
As we eat, we pore over pages of shimmering gowns, sharp suits, perfectly styled place settings, car hire companies, and every other painstaking detail a bride and her groom could possibly need to think about on their way to the altar. It’s an exciting time, and I couldn’t be happier for my friends. Lainey and Frank are two halves of a walnut, perfectly snug in their world, cocoon-like in the way they protect, love, and look out for each other. In my softest moments, it made me a teensy bit jealous.
They’d been engaged for eighteen months now, the sparkling black-tie party held at Sky Garden. Now, it was a matter of planning things at the pointy end. Wedding invites were recently posted, and the RSVPs had begun trickling in. It was now down to picking suits, final dress fittings, and searching out the perfect pair of shoes.
‘You know, I have to ask, because I’m a qualified panic merchant.’ Lainey downs the last of her drink and fixes me with a nervous look.
‘Shoot.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay with not being maid of honour?’ she asks, her face cinched as if waiting for the fallout.
‘Are you kidding?’ Glass held to my mouth, I let out an amused snort. ‘I think it’s great. I love you, but hell if I want to traipse around under layers of warpaint and three-inch heels all day.’
She breathes a sigh of relief. ‘Gosh, I love you. It’s just, my sister would go spare if she weren’t involved. My mother would book the seventh circle of hell as a honeymoon destination, and Frank and I already agreed on having a maid of honour and best man only. Did I tell you they tag-teamed me into giving her the role? I got puppy dog eyes and “your sister is desperate to be a part of your big day” at ten paces. The little shit is making life difficult though.’
‘Honestly, it’s fine.’ I shake my head and peel apart a flaky piece of fish. I’m not sure if it’s the most amazing meal I’ve had, or if the alcohol’s helping, but the fish is smooth and buttery, and I could easily eat a tonne of these chips. ‘I will be there with bells on. Helping with the invites and place cards is more than enough involvement for me.’
In the last few years, I’d found calligraphy a great way to unwind and put my failing skills to the test. I think it has something to do with the fact I was better at writing than producing anything photographic. Smooth strokes of a pen always seemed more finite, more foolproof than selecting just the right f-stop or lens. I also didn’t need a darkroom to see the final results. Working on wedding stationery had been a fun way to stretch my artistic muscle while still being part of something magical.
‘Speaking of, what are you doing Sunday? Frank’s heading for a round of golf with the boys if you want to come over. We can drown your work sorrows and my wedding woes and watch cheesy rom-coms with biscuits and coffee and maybe work on place cards?’
‘Sounds great,’ I say around a mouthful. ‘I have all the time in the world right now.’
‘You know, you still haven’t told me who you’re bringing as your plus one,’ Lainey says in a way that tells me she’s casting a long line and fishing for information. ‘John, maybe?’
‘I’ll ask, though last time he said no.’
‘You mean to tell me he hasn’t realised yet that you are the most amazing woman he’s ever clapped eyes on, and that he needs to wife you immediately?’ Lainey watches me with her huge green eyes, mozzarella dangling towards her mouth from a height that implied I might have been looking at Michelangelo’s Creation of Lainey. Well, pizza is life, isn’t it?
‘No.’ I shake my head with embarrassed laughter. ‘Probably not.’
My other New Year’s revolution was to sort out my love life. As it turns out, that’s not going entirely to plan, either. My not-quite boyfriend, John Harrison, started as a one-night stand that has spiralled out of control. It’s lasted way longer than I expected and now feels like I’ve been living on the precipice of something more for months.
I wasn’t asking for a gigantic rock that caught my sweater like a doorknob, although I was sure he could probably afford one on his lawyer’s salary. All I wanted to know was where I stood. Girlfriend? Fly-by-night shag? Was it too much to ask him to help define what we were? Contrary to what Pink Floyd wants you to believe, suspended animation is not a state of bliss. We were allegedly exclusive, though had never really talked about it. Are we dating? Are we not dating? Maybe we should do the whole family introductions thing. After all, it had been nine months.
Not knowing where I stand makes me feel like I’m somebody’s dirty little secret. Lately, that’s begun chipping away and exposing my soft fleshy underbelly for what it was: tragically romantic.
‘When are you going to nip that in the bud?’ Lainey asks. ‘Hey?’
‘Not tonight.’ I drain the last of my glass and look at her, locking that romantic daydream away. ‘If anything, he’ll be a nice distraction.’
She tuts and sighs, though I’m not entirely sure she disagrees with me.
‘I know.’ I hold my hands up defensively and her eyes widen with laughter. ‘Let me have my small mercies. Please. All I’m asking for tonight is an orgasm. At least then something good will have happened today.’
‘I know you say you’re not dating—’
‘We aren’t officially dating.’ I wipe a napkin across the smile on my face. ‘We are simply exploring each other’s naked forms. It’s art.’
‘It’s all art, darling.’ Lainey laughs. ‘Speaking of dating though, this Friday night dinner is becoming a regular date for us. One that I enthusiastically support.’
Had life become so routine that the biggest night of my social calendar is a cheeky feed in the back corner of a 600-year-old pub? While it’s nice to have close friends and regular catch-ups, it was obvious this pub had more of a life than I did. Outside of Lainey, the friend who keeps me grounded, there’s John, the man I call after a few too many drinks or, on a night like tonight, when I need to lose myself in someone else.