Girls Night Out 3 E-Book Bundle. Gemma BurgessЧитать онлайн книгу.
party’ with all the excitement he clearly felt at the time.
‘How glam.’
‘I was very nervous, drank half a bottle of Jäger, got naked, threw up on her housemate, passed out on the dining room table wearing nothing but a pair of washing-up gloves, woke up three hours later to find the party still going and asked her to marry me.’
‘What did she say?’ I gasp through my laughter.
‘She said no,’ he says, looking out the cab window for a second, before turning back to me. ‘Unsurprisingly. So, still drunk, I put some clothes on and stormed out to a train station, slept on the platform, got on the first train at dawn the next day, passed out again and ended up in Scotland.’
‘Wowsers,’ I say, trying not to laugh.
‘You think a walk of shame is bad. Try a six-hour train ride of shame back to Cambridge, wearing nothing but boxers, a rugby jersey and washing up gloves as shoes.’ He pauses, and starts laughing despite himself.
Our cab pulls up outside The Pantechnicon Rooms.
‘Making a fool of yourself at least once is a rite of passage,’ he says, as we walk in and get enveloped by the serene, happy buzz. ‘Onwards and upwards.’
‘Onwards and upwards,’ I agree, looking around. Robert was right to force me out of the house. This morning’s dash of total fucking mortification in Kensal Rise suddenly seems a long time ago.
I sit down and look around happily. You get the feeling that nothing bad could ever happen in this pub. It’s clean and warm and just so. I want to move in and live under the stairs like Harry Potter.
‘So, is bowler-hat girl your main squeeze right now?’ I say, turning to Robert, once he has a pint and I have a nice calming lemonade.
‘Interesting terminology. Nope, she’s going travelling next week.’
‘You sound devastated. Do you actually like women, Robert?’
‘I love them!’ he says, an injured expression on his face. ‘Don’t give me the you-must-be-a-misogynist crap. I love talking to women, I love their company. I simply prefer their company on a very, very casual basis.’
‘Lucky them. Why don’t you invite bowler hat to join us?’
‘Maybe later. What about you? Seeing Skinny Jeans again?’
‘Oh, fuck me, no. No way,’ I sigh. ‘I suppose I had to get it over and done with. First person since, you know. Peter.’ I pause to pretend to spit over my shoulder.
‘That’s the spirit.’
I frown into space for a second. Peter. Paulie. Josh From HR. Skinny Jeans. God. What a mess I’m making of this whole singledom thing. Robert’s still looking at me and grinning.
‘Can we change the subject from my love life?’ I ask.
‘Tell me about your job. You never talk about it . . .’
‘Neither do you!’ I exclaim.
He smiles, but doesn’t say anything.
I sigh. ‘My work life is, to misquote The Breakfast Club, unsatisfying. I don’t enjoy it and I’m not very good at it, either,’ I add, thinking about my meeting with Suzanne yesterday. Fuck, and I didn’t turn up today. She’ll love that. ‘I know I have to do something about it,’ I say. ‘I just don’t know where to start.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s just . . . I don’t like it anymore,’ I say. ‘I don’t find it interesting. I used to love taking a wide-angle lens to the world and then zooming in on specifics, does that make sense?’ Robert nods. ‘But the rest of it, the calls, the sales . . . I just don’t care about. My boss told me I had to start delivering and stop being so passive,’ I sigh. ‘Whatever the fuck that means. But I can’t. I am not very good at making, uh, decisions.’
‘That’s not true . . .
You decided to leave Peter.’
‘Yeah, about five years after I should have,’ I reply, shaking my head. God, he’s good at making me talk. I can’t think of the last time I chatted like this, even with one of the girls. ‘Oh well. At least the money is good, why take a risk?’ I sigh, and try to sound cheerful. ‘And if it ain’t broke, right?’
‘Isn’t that the kind of thinking that kept you with Peter for so long?’
‘Ouch,’ I say, wincing.
‘Sorry. My big sister rang from Dublin earlier. She always asks me pointed questions like that. It’s catching.’
‘I didn’t know you had a big sister.’ The idea of Robert being a baby brother is strangely delightful.
‘I have two. Both older, both boss me around constantly. Alice is married with children in Dublin. I see her every couple of months. Rosie is in London, but south of the river. So I see her even less. Is Sophie your only sister?’
‘I most certainly am!’ Sophie, Luke and Henry have arrived. I feel almost surprised to see them. I was enjoying talking to Robert so much that I forgot why we were here.
We stand up for the inevitable hug-and-kiss hello dance. Robert hasn’t met Henry before, and I can see them sizing each other up the way men do. Henry still looks about 21: his rugby brawn is somehow boyish. In comparison, Robert looks like his dad.
I briefly recount the highlights of last night. Everyone tells morning-after stories to make me feel better.
‘My worst walk of shame was Battersea Bridge to Clapham North,’ says Luke. ‘I’d just moved here and knew Battersea was next to Clapham so figured it couldn’t take more than ten minutes . . . I took a detour in Clapham Junction and it took an hour and a fucking half to get home.’
‘I had a window-jump of shame because the girl didn’t want her flatmates to know she’d pulled me,’ says Henry.
‘I’ve never had a walk of shame,’ says Sophie. ‘Because I have always been an angel.’
I raise an eyebrow at her doubtfully. That is so not true.
‘Except for the time at university that I went to a ball and wore my then-boyfriend’s tuxedo shirt and boxers back to halls the next day, still drunk, smoking a cigar then ran into Mum and Dad, who I’d forgotten were visiting,’ she says thoughtfully. ‘There was that time, I guess.’
‘And to think that you two look sweet and innocent,’ comments Robert.
‘We are sweet and innocent!’ exclaim Sophie and I at exactly the same time, with exactly the same intonation. We do that sometimes. I think it’s a sister thing.
‘They’re not,’ says Henry. ‘Sophie especially.’
Sophie punches him lightly and he grins at her. I think Henry had a crush on Sophie a few years ago, but never acted on it.
‘What are we eating, kids?’ says Luke.
‘Steak and chips,’ says Henry. ‘With extra chips.’
‘Abigail wants low-maintenance food,’ I say, scanning the menu. ‘Ooh! Risotto.’
‘Are you talking about yourself in the third person?’ says Robert.
‘Abigail likes it,’ I nod. ‘She thinks it’s funny.’
Luke laughs at this, nearly choking on his drink. ‘I would never have thought a girl like you would say things like that . . .’
‘Things like what?’ I say, frowning at him.
‘Just . . . your little comments. You used to seem kind of, um, subdued,’ he says, exchanging a quick glance with Sophie. ‘In a good way. Sweet, you know.’
‘Why