The Single Girl’s To-Do List. Lindsey KelkЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘Can we have this as one of the slightly vague ones?’ Names upon names of places tumbled through my mind. There were so many places. ‘I only have two weeks after all. And I’m guessing Milton Keynes won’t count.’
‘You’ve got to use your passport,’ he replied. ‘That’s the only stipulation. Got to get the stamp in your passport.’
Throwing myself out of a plane to my inevitable squishy death was one thing but travelling somewhere that required a passport inside two weeks? That was ridiculous. And sort of exciting …’ How am I supposed to manage that?’ I challenged, hoping he had a viable suggestion that didn’t involve us waking up drunk on a ferry to Norway.
‘I don’t know, can’t you get a job abroad or something?’ he shrugged. ‘Travelling isn’t hard.’
The truth was, I’d been passing up international jobs for so long that my long-suffering and foul-mouthed agent, Veronica, had stopped putting me forward for them. It wasn’t as if there was a lack of work or lack of demand for my talents (no point being modest, I was drunk), but I hated to be away from home when Simon was alone. Which seemed really quite stupid now. Maybe I could put in a call. Couldn’t hurt.
‘I thought of one while I was in the lav,’ Em yelled with delight, and threw herself across Matthew to get to her seat. ‘You need to buy a vibrator.’
Despite how red my cheeks already were from All The Booze, I felt myself colour up from head to toe. How did she know I didn’t have one already?
‘How do you know she doesn’t have one already?’ Matthew asked. Part of me was delighted that he’d read my mind, but part of me was just sort of shocked he hadn’t passed out with shame. He must be more drunk than I could tell.
‘Trust me,’ Em shook her head. ‘She doesn’t. You don’t, right?’
‘It’s not going on the list,’ I said. ‘It’s not. Going. On. The list.’
‘Then you pick one,’ she slumped back in her chair. ‘I’m out of ideas. Or drunk. Or drunk and out of ideas.’
I knew she was still sulking about not getting rebound shag on there, but there was no way I was writing that down. I wanted to show willing but I didn’t want to have to drop my knickers for some random. In fact, I was fairly certain that there was going to be no knicker-dropping for some time. God, this was getting depressing. Maybe I should reassess my need for a vibrator.
‘How about contact my first crush?’ I suggested. ‘That might be a fun one. There was this boy I was totally in love with when I was fifteen and then he moved away. That would be a learning experience, wouldn’t it?’
Em was still pouting but Matthew looked interested. ‘I like it,’ he declared after a couple of sips of wine. ‘Sort of like coming full circle. Show that there was life before knob-face and that there will be life after.’
‘I think it’s lame,’ Emelie said, but it was too late. It was on the list.
‘So,’ Matthew was counting on his fingers. ‘We have makeover, exercise, bungee jump – or similar, tattoo, date for the wedding, buy something obscene that isn’t a vibrator, write a letter to knob-face—’
‘Do we have to keep calling him that?’
‘Yes,’ they said simultaneously.
‘Buy something, travel somewhere you’ve never been before, hunt down your first crush—’
‘And give him one.’
I spat a mouthful of wine across the table.
‘Emelie, you’re not helping.’ Matthew looked appalled. ‘And that’s nine.’
‘It has to be ten,’ I said. ‘Can’t have nine.’
‘You are a mental OCD cow,’ he replied. ‘Fine. One more.’
We sat staring at each other around the table while my mind ticked over. Learn to play the guitar. Appear on a reality show. Swim with dolphins. Run the marathon. Date someone from each of the armed forces. Shag a boy in a band. Get a pet. Volunteer for a charity. Wow, I really was getting desperate. Before either Matthew or I could venture a suggestion, Emelie broke the silence.
‘Break the law,’ her eyes glittered. ‘You have to break the law.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I didn’t even look up from my lovely, lovely wine. ‘I’m not going to break the bloody law.’
‘Actually …’ Matthew said quietly.
‘Oh shut up,’ I gave him the look. ‘I’m not breaking the law. I have never broken the law. I don’t even go over the speed limit. You know this.’
‘Which is exactly why you’re going to do it,’ he said, adding it to the bottom of the napkin. ‘Amazing.’
‘I can’t believe you’re going along with this.’ I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. And to try and make them focus more clearly. ‘Seriously? Matthew?’
‘We’re on the verge of an all-new Rachel Summers,’ he replied, dramatically shaking the list to dry the not-even-slightly-wet ink. ‘Devil-may-care law breaker and international playgirl, Rachel Summers.’
‘Don’t forget the tattoos,’ I reminded him. ‘If I’m going to be crossing over to a life of crime, I’m going to need the prison tats.’
‘This is going to be so much fun.’ Emelie poked at the last surviving bag of crisps. ‘So. Much. Fun.’
I took the napkin from Matthew and studied it carefully before slipping it inside my bag. What was I signing up for?
‘For me or you?’
He looked at Em, who, with a little difficulty focusing, looked back.
‘Definitely us,’ he said, both of them nodding. ‘Definitely us.’
Once Emelie had finished drinking the last drops of wine directly out of the bottle, we agreed that was a sign it was time to leave. Helping each other out of our seats, I tried to stand as steadily as possible, walking in something akin to a straight line out of the pub, blinking into the late afternoon sunshine. I looked up at the sky, not quite understanding why it wasn’t dark. I’d been up for ages. It had been some time since I’d been this drunk in the day, but I had a horrible feeling that this was the beginning of something, rather than a one-off. I also had a horrible feeling that I was going to puke.
Against all odds, the three of us managed to stagger home in one piece and collapsed on the sofa. Within five minutes, Em and Matthew had passed out. I sat back in the middle of the sofa – Emelie snoring her head off on my shoulder, Matthew curled up against the arm, his feet in my lap – and stared into the mirror in front of me. Nothing had changed. The sofa was still red, my grandmother’s mirror still hung over the fireplace and the patch of damp in the corner of the room still needed taking care of. Nothing had changed but everything was different.
Easing myself out of the drunken BFF sandwich, I tiptoed into the kitchen to get some water. Glasses still in the cupboard, cold tap still not really cold enough. I drank one glass straight down, filled another and leaned against the kitchen counter. Everything had seemed OK in the pub. We had my list to think about, fish fingers to eat and, most importantly, wine to drink. But now I was home … now it was real. For some reason, I’d half expected Simon just to be lying on the sofa watching Final Score and eating Doritos like it was any other Saturday. But he wasn’t. The flat was empty. Just like it would be from now on. Almost as soon as the thought settled in my mind and the water had hit my stomach, I felt it coming right back up.
Thank god the flat was small enough for me to make it into the bathroom in time. There were very few things in life I disliked as much as throwing up, which was one of the reasons I really didn’t drink that much. Bracing myself against the sink, I washed my face and stared at my reflection in the mirror, trying to convince