I thrust my iPhone back to Cleo, unsatisfied with what I’ve seen. ‘Can you take one more? That person got in the way, and if you could make sure you don’t get my feet in that would be ace.’
Cleo sighs but willingly holds up the camera and I walk forward towards it, swishing the skirt of my dress for what feels like the billionth time.
‘Is this all for Instagram?’
‘Uh-huh. It’s partly your fault that I’m all dressed up; you were the one that wanted to go for after-work drinks.’
‘Actually, it was Marissa who invoked the dress code,’ she says, looking down at her high heels.
‘Either way, I’ve got to make the most of it. Usually at this point on a Friday night I’m chilling in sweatpants.’
Cleo laughs and holds my phone out to me.
I quickly watch back the Boomerang and post it to my stories.
‘Can you just hold your foot out for me?’ I ask.
‘What’s wrong with you taking a photo of your own foot?’
I look down at my slightly scuffed Dorothy Perkins shoes that I bought in the sale last year. They’re not bad, but they’re not her much coveted (by me) Louboutins with their all-important bright red sole. They were a gift from a guy she dated last year. She has all the luck. The only thing I’ve ever got from someone I casually dated was my half of the bill.
‘Do you really want to compare my shoes to yours?’
She sighs again and holds her foot out and I snap a picture. I put a quick caption, ‘These beauties are out with me tonight’ and I post it to stories too.
That’s the beauty of Instagram: people don’t know that I’m not wearing those shoes. And technically they are coming out with me, so it’s not a total lie. They look so beautiful in the picture. I wish that Cleo wasn’t two shoe sizes smaller than me.
‘So, are we meeting Becca and Marissa outside the station?’ she asks.
‘Yes, although we should probably get a wriggle on because their train got in a few minutes ago.’
I pop my phone back in my bag and we make our way to the station where we find Marissa scrolling on her phone.
‘Hey, sorry we’re late,’ I say, ‘we rushed all the way here from work.’
‘Uh-huh,’ says Marissa, turning her screen round. I see myself, swishing my skirt in a quick motion.
‘Well, with a slight detour,’ I say, giving her a quick hug. ‘Where’s Becca?’
Marissa points at her pacing up and down a few metres away, talking on the phone. She gives us a wave and goes back to her conversation.
‘Long time, no see,’ says Marissa, turning to Cleo and giving her a hug.
‘I know, and look at you.’
Cleo pulls out of the hug and stands back to admire the bump. Marissa pushes it out further and beams.
‘I know it’s a cliché but you are glowing,’ says Cleo.
‘That’s just from travelling on the trains when the air con’s broken,’ she replies, laughing.
‘So, where are we headed?’ I say, hoping that it’s somewhere nearby – these heels weren’t made for walking.
Marissa’s eyes widen and a small smile creeps over her face.
‘How about drinks down in Lush and Lime?’
‘Won’t it be really busy?’ I say, groaning. Lush and Lime’s where the cool kids hang out. ‘It is Friday night.’
‘Exactly!’ she says clapping her hands together. ‘It’s Friday night and look, we’re all out and we’re all in heels.’
‘We certainly are,’ says Cleo, flashing the soles of hers.
‘Oh my God, look at those beauties,’ says Marissa as she lifts her leg up and examines them from every angle whilst poor Cleo hops about trying to keep her balance.
‘Sorry about that,’ says Becca, hanging up her phone and giving Cleo and me a quick hug hello. ‘So, where are we off to?’
Marissa and I speak at the same time:
‘Not decided.’
‘Lush and Lime.’
She puts her hand up in front of me in a stop-motion, and turns to Becca.
‘Don’t listen to her, we’re going to Lush and Lime. Anywhere else would be a waste of Cleo’s shoes. Plus they have those karaoke pods. We can see if we can get one for later on? Huh, Becca?’
‘Not tonight,’ she says. ‘Let’s stick to dancing.’
It’s a shame as Becca has the most beautiful voice but she hardly ever sings anymore.
‘Good plan, I’m up for a boogie,’ says Marissa. ‘Let’s go.’
When we get to the bar Cleo makes a beeline across the polished wooden floor to get us a drink. Marissa decides to give her a hand and Becca and I wrestle our way to the back, where we’re not jostling anyone for elbow space. We manage to find a spot by the window where we can at least dump our jackets and perch our bums on the windowsill.
‘So, how was work?’ I ask.
‘OK. I’m glad the week’s over.’
‘Me too.’ I nod in agreement.
Not that my work is stressful compared to Becca’s. She’s a probation officer and I honestly don’t know how she does it.
‘So look at us, out-out,’ she says, wriggling to get comfy on the windowsill.
‘I know, it’s like a modern miracle. Don’t tell Marissa, but I’d much rather be sat on our sofa drinking a bottle of Prosecco and watching The Crown.’
‘I know, me too. We can always watch some when we get home.’
This is why living with Becca has worked out so well. She’s my ideal housemate: clean, tidy and loves to stay in as much as I do.
‘Great idea. How long do you think we need to stay out?’
‘I’m guessing at least two hours, if not three,’ says Becca as she slides her feet out of her electric blue peep-toe stilettos. ‘Now, that’s much better. They’re killing me.’
‘But they’re so pretty.’
‘Doesn’t make them any less evil.’
‘Are they new? I haven’t seen them before.’
‘I bought them today. To go with the dress I bought last week, for Ascot?’
‘Oh,’ I say, getting caught off balance. I look down at them again. ‘They’ll go perfectly.’
She can’t hide the smile on her face, it lights her up. I can’t remember the last time I saw her this excited about anything and it makes me feel a bit guilty that I haven’t talked to her much about Gareth. I still can’t think of her being with anyone but Ben.
‘Are you excited about Ascot? And about meeting his work colleagues?’
‘I’m terrified. It’s so soon.’
‘It’s not that soon. You’ll have been dating for a couple of months by then.’
‘But what if they don’t like me? What if it puts Gareth off?’ There’s a hint of panic in her voice and I rub her shoulder.
‘No one can not like you. Plus, from the sounds of it, Gareth really likes you so I don’t think you have anything to worry about.’
I don’t mean to emphasise Gareth’s name as I say it, but it sticks awkwardly in my throat. I try and think of something else to ask her to show her that I’m not being weird about it, but Marissa appears and thrusts jam jars full of pink liquid at us.
‘Do I want to know what it’s in it?’ I ask, holding up the neon drink to the light.
‘I don’t think so,’ says Cleo, arriving beside Marissa and taking a sip and shuddering.
I take a sip and I shudder even more violently than her. ‘Is it me, or are drinks stronger now than when we used to go out?’
‘You’re just out of practice,’ Marissa chides. ‘This is exactly why I try and get you to come out more.’
‘It’s all right for you, yours has no alcohol in it. And it’s so loud. Was music always so loud?’ I ask, shouting.
‘It is pretty loud in here,’ says Becca. She takes a swig of her drink and her eyes nearly pop out. ‘I don’t think I’m ever going to sleep again with all these e-numbers.’
‘And look how young everyone looks. I feel like I’m at a school disco,’ I say.
‘Listen to you,’ says Marissa, tutting. ‘Cleo’s going to think that she’s out with grandmas.’
Marissa might be the most grown up out of all of us with a mortgage, husband, baby on the way, a dog and a garden shed, but she’s showing no signs of slowing down.
‘We’re not leaving here until you’ve drunk one too many jam jars and had a boogie.’
I look over at the empty dance floor and wonder if I can have a dance and get it over with. Although with my moves, someone would probably film it and it’d go viral and that’s not really how I want to get internet famous.
‘One more cocktail, then we dance,’ I say, hoping it will have filled up by then.
‘I’ll get the next ones in then,’ says Becca.
I turn and look at her empty glass in horror.
‘What? That tasted like Refreshers; so good.’ She slides her feet back into her shoes and heads off to the bar.
‘Whatever happened to them?’ asks Marissa.
‘Refreshers? I’m pretty sure you can still buy them,’ I say, pulling out my phone to google it and I might just check how many people have viewed my posts whilst I’m there.
‘Oh no, you’re not looking at your phone whilst we’re in the bar,’ says Cleo. ‘Looking at and talking about Instagram is banned.’
Marissa and I look at each other in horror as it’s our favourite topic of conversation.
‘What else are we going to talk about – work?’ I ask.
‘Ew, no,’ she says, screwing up her face. ‘That’s banned too.’
‘Then what’s left?’
The three of us look around the bar for inspiration.
‘How about real life?’ says Cleo.
‘Real life,’ I say, whistling through my teeth, wondering what on earth I have to talk about. ‘Um, so what are people up to next week?’
‘Ooh, I know, I’m starting a new pregnancy yoga class,’ says Marissa, looking at Cleo for approval.
‘Nice,’ says Cleo. ‘I’m sure that’ll be really good for the birth.’
‘Sod the birth; I’m there to find new friends.’
I laugh. ‘Isn’t it supposed to be about stretching?’
‘Please,’ says Marissa, rolling her eyes. ‘Anything baby-related is only about finding friends.’
‘Don’t you meet those at NCT?’ chips in Cleo.
‘Not anymore. Now you shop for them at yoga, hypnobirthing, Bumps and Burpees and Mum Calm. I’ve spent a bloody fortune so far and I still haven’t found my new BFFs.’
‘Luckily for me,’ I say, not realising I’ve been in danger of losing my bestie to a pack of yummy mummies.
‘You know what I mean,’ she says, blowing me a kiss.
‘At least it’s all good content for your Insta feed,’ I say.
‘There is that, and it’s good way of finding followers too.’
‘Hey, banned,’ says Cleo, looking at her watch. ‘At least you managed a few minutes without mentioning it.’
‘We gave it our best shot. Can you hold this?’ asks Marissa, handing me her drink. ‘I only need to see liquid and I have to pee these days.’
‘So what have you got planned next week, Izzy?’ asks Cleo as Becca comes back with a tray of drinks.
‘I’m going to watch a charity ice hockey match with my parents.’
The tray starts to wobble and the drinks spill a little over the top.
Cleo reaches over and takes the tray before putting it on the windowsill. She doesn’t notice that Becca’s gone white as a sheet at the mention of the charity event.
‘That sounds good,’ says Cleo, dishing out the jam jars.
‘Uh-huh and then I’m going to a masterclass next week to hear Small Bubbles talk about becoming an influencer,’ I say, quickly moving the conversation on.
‘Really? You’ve kept that quiet,’ says Cleo, laughing.
I’m a tad excited about it and I may have mentioned it once or twice or three billion times at work.
‘Small Bubbles?’ says Becca, the colour feeding back into her cheeks.
‘Yeah, you know, Lara McPherson,’ I say.
‘Any relation to Elle?’
‘No,’ I say, shaking my head.
‘Then, no, I have no idea,’ says Becca.
I’ve probably mentioned her at home before but Becca’s not really into social media and the names don’t stick.
‘She’s got millions of followers on YouTube and Instagram? Has a book out? A make-up range?’ says Cleo. Becca shakes her head.
‘Well, it’s going to be good,’ I say.
‘But technically you can’t talk about it as that’s Instagram related,’ says Cleo.
‘Then I give up. I have nothing else to talk about.’
I’m pretty sure any minute tumbleweed’s going to roll past us.
‘See, this is why I keep telling you that you need to date more,’ Cleo says to me, causing Becca to perk up, nodding.
‘Exactly what I’ve been saying to her too. It’s been years since Cameron,’ she says.
‘Who’s Cameron?’ asks Cleo and I purse my lips.
Becca looks at me a little guiltily; I guess she assumed that Cleo already knew.
‘Just Izzy’s last ex,’ she says, shrugging it away like it wasn’t a big deal; like I hadn’t phoned to tell him Ben had died only to discover he was in bed with another woman. ‘And it’s time for you to move on. If only to give us things to talk about in moments like this.’
‘But I haven’t got time for a boyfriend. I’m far too busy doing things that you won’t let me mention.’
‘Faffing about on Instagram is not a good enough reason to stop you from dating,’ says Cleo.
Becca looks at me and raises an eyebrow. She knows that Cameron spectacularly breaking my heart is why I haven’t exactly been rushing to join Tinder, but even she’s started trying to encourage me to meet someone new.
‘You should message Luke from work,’ says Cleo.
‘Who’s Luke?’ asks Becca.
‘An arrogant guy who I will not be messaging.’
‘So not Luke, but I agree with Cleo. Why don’t you look around tonight?’
Cleo pulls a face. ‘People don’t really meet in bars anymore. But perhaps we could turn your Instagram addiction into a Hinge one.’
‘I just hate the idea; you’re trying to find a soulmate, not order a pizza.’
‘That’s the beauty of Hinge,’ says Cleo. ‘It’s not all about the swiping.’
‘Even still. I just don’t think that I’m up for meeting someone online.’
‘What about that guy?’ says Becca, pointing to someone on the other side of the bar.
‘He looks about twelve. Plus, I refuse to date anyone who wears skinnier jeans than I do, or anyone who straightens their hair.’
‘Urgh, I forgot that you like them grungier than Nirvana,’ she says.
‘Who’s Nirvana?’
Becca and I stare at Cleo. It’s times like this when the age gap feels like a chasm.
‘I don’t like them that grungy, I just like them a little scruffy. That’s all.’
‘Like him,’ says Becca, pointing out the window.
I watch as she points to a little Mexican café across the road. A guy with a faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt and non-skinny jeans is folding up chairs before carrying them inside.
‘Now he is exactly your type.’
‘You can’t tell that someone is going to be your type after a split second of looking at them,’ I say, staring at the man as he walks back out onto the street.
He looks familiar and it takes a moment for me to place him. And then suddenly I realise – it’s him. He looks different now than he did that day. Slightly fuller in the face. Slightly longer hair. A bit of stubble where before he was clean-shaven.
My cheeks start to burn and my heart is racing. I cling onto the windowsill to stop my feet from giving out from under me. It’s almost like I’m being pulled back to that day and all the emotions that went along with it.
I’m vaguely aware that Becca’s talking but I have no idea what she’s said; I’m too busy staring at the man through the window.
‘Izzy, are you OK?’ Cleo asks.
Marissa comes back and I can hear them whispering.
‘Izzy, what is it?’
Becca puts her arm round me and looks at me before following my gaze to Aidan, who I’ve been searching for for two years – the guy I never got a chance to thank.
‘It’s him,’ I say in disbelief.
‘Him who?’ asks Marissa.
‘Him, the guy who helped me that day at the station when I’d just got the news about Ben. When I broke down.’
Becca and Marissa look out the window in disbelief.
‘Blimey, you never said he was so cute,’ says Marissa.
‘Funnily enough that wasn’t on my mind at the time,’ I say, then regret it.
‘I didn’t mean to—’ Marissa starts.
‘I know you didn’t. It’s just…’ I stop myself. If I talk about it I don’t think I’ll be able to stop tears from falling, and this isn’t the time or the place.
‘So, are you going to thank him?’ asks Becca. ‘I know you’ve always wanted to.’
‘Not now, I mean I wasn’t expecting…’ I can’t speak to him. Not today. ‘I hadn’t really thought of what I’d say and he’s just finished work; he’ll probably want to get home. I’ll come back another day.’
We all watch as he takes the sandwich board back inside the café and shuts the door.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to go over?’ asks Marissa.
‘No, I’ll go another time,’ I say, finally finishing my first drink before starting on the second one. The strength and the taste don’t seem to bother me now. ‘Did you still want to dance?’
‘We don’t have to if you—’ says Marissa.
‘Let’s go,’ I say, firmly.
I look over at the little café just as the lights in the shop go out. I’ve waited over two years to thank him; a few more days won’t hurt.