This was rare for a Friday. Normally, it was just me lolling on the sofa with a book and they stayed out until late, returning home at two or three in the morning when the mingled fragrance of frying bacon and cigarette smoke wafted upstairs to the attic and woke me. But as Ruby had dumped Jasper, and Mia wanted to discuss her hen party, we were staying in. Ruby, in an astonishing first, had offered to cook but changed her mind later that evening and said why didn’t we get a Deliveroo instead.
‘I haven’t got my phone on me,’ she said, looking from Mia to me as we sat around the kitchen table. It was a cunning ploy she’d pulled before since it meant one of us had to order via our phone, thereby paying for the delivery.
‘I’ll get mine,’ said Mia. She went back into the hall to find her bag.
‘How was it?’ I quickly asked Ruby.
She frowned back.
‘Ending things with Jasper?’
‘Done,’ she replied, flicking a hand in the air. ‘Although do you know what he said?’
I shook my head.
‘How did I know I hadn’t given it to him? Ha! As if I’m the one who’s been shagging everybody between the age of eighteen and eighty in London.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine. Amazing. I didn’t even cry.’
‘I mean down there.’
‘Oh. Better. On these very strong antibiotics which mean I can’t drink so—’
‘Why aren’t you drinking?’ asked Mia, breezing back into the kitchen.
‘Having a night off,’ Ruby replied, putting a finger to her lips at me.
‘Seriously?’ Mia said, opening the fridge. ‘I’ve brought back a bottle of champagne to try. Although not champagne, technically. Sparkling English wine. Hugo says we should think about it for the wedding.’
‘Go on then,’ said Ruby.
‘That was difficult. Flo?’
‘Yep, please.’
Mia reached into the back of the glass cupboard for the champagne flutes which had been my parents’ wedding present. They were almost never used. Drinking from glasses that Mum would have unwrapped at the start of her marriage gave me a pang of wistfulness but Mia soon interrupted that.
‘Christ, these are dusty,’ she said, blowing into one.
‘Can we have Thai?’ said Ruby, re-establishing control over dinner now that she didn’t have to pay for it.
There followed a fifteen-minute discussion on which Thai we would order from, which nearby Thai had the best ratings, whether it was the Thai we ordered from last time which did the prawns that gave Ruby a dodgy stomach, and whether we should order one coconut rice or two. Thai menus – long on noodles and rice – were a problem for me, so I ended up ordering a soup and some vegetable spring rolls.
Dinner sorted, we carried our glasses to the TV room and took our usual seats: Mia and Ruby spread across the sofa, me in the armchair by the window. Tonight I barely noticed the divide because I needed to reply to Rory’s latest message without interference.
Earlier that day, I’d texted him saying we were preparing for a big event next week with Fumi, hoping that he might be impressed with the coup of landing such a star. He replied but didn’t mention this. Instead, he asked if I was free the following weekend to stay with his parents in Norfolk. But then Zach had appeared upstairs and bossily said could I order the wine for the event because he only drank beer, so Eugene and I spent an hour on the Majestic website sniggering at the pretentious reviews. And while we were doing that, Jaz dropped in after school with Dunc in order to show off his new reading badge and I’d completely forgotten to reply to Rory.
Mia picked up the remote control; I stared down at my phone.
‘I’m thinking London,’ she said, flicking through channels.
‘For what?’ replied Ruby.
‘My hen. I don’t want to go away. I don’t want us to do the walk of shame through Luton wearing sombreros. I want it to be chic. Drinks and dinner somewhere and then a bar afterwards. No penis straws. No penis anything. If I see a penis on my hen I’ll scream.’
Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘What’s the point in a hen party if the bride isn’t neck-deep in penises? I’m going to buy you one of those giant penis outfits! Owwww,’ she said loudly, as Mia thwacked her on the leg with the remote control.
‘I mean it, Rubes. None of that. And absolutely no stripper. If I get even a whisper that you’ve paid some greasy waiter to