and Greg stood behind him, chanting along with everyone else.
‘And I am so fired,’ I groaned, watching Ted march off down the middle aisle and storm out the back door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Saturday morning was announced by a single drop of water, landing directly on my face. Bloody condensation in the shed, I thought, rolling over and bumping into another body. Lying on her side, surrounded by a nest of pillows and cushions, was heavily pregnant Lucy, happily snoring away under my sheet. I sat up, the night before slowly seeping back into my memory, to see Sumi wedged onto the world’s smallest sofa and, when I looked over the edge of my mattress, Adrian was curled up in a ball between the bedframe and the front door. Empty pizza boxes were stacked up at the side of the sink and my head throbbed with recollection. Patrick followed by podcast followed by Pinot Grigio.
After The Artist Formerly Known as Snazzlechuff’s big announcement, absolute chaos had broken loose. And by chaos, I meant three teenagers turned their chairs over and had to be escorted out of the convention centre. After that, came the social media decimation, the Snazzlechuff Is Over Party, Hashtag Cancel PodPad and, my personal favourite worldwide trending topic of all time, Who the Fuck Is Ros Reynolds? It was an excellent question and not one I was certain I could answer.
By the time I’d fought my way off the stage and down to find my friends, John had disappeared, late for work at the bar, and there was an email in my inbox from Ted confirming that since Snazzlechuff Says was not going ahead, my services would no longer be required at the office. Those weren’t the exact words he’d used but I got the general gist. I’d been sacked. But this time, I wasn’t overwhelmed by shame. It wasn’t my fault. Or at least not entirely. And this time, I had my friends to support me, I would work it out somehow. We left the convention centre and went straight to the closest pub where I gave them a blow-by-blow recap of my Patrick predicament and proceeded to get very, very drunk.
Sacked, single and hungover. The perfect start to my parents’ special day.
‘Are you awake?’ I asked Lucy as I saw one eyelid flicker.
‘I’m thirty-seven weeks’ pregnant, I don’t sleep,’ she muttered. ‘I just close my eyes and hope that when I open them, the baby will have fallen out.’
‘God, it hasn’t, has it?’ I rubbed my hand against my face. ‘I felt something wet on my head?’
Lucy stared straight at me.
‘Are you asking if I got up, straddled your face, waited for my waters to break and then got back into this position, all without you noticing?’
I looked up at the ceiling and back down at my friend.
‘Yes.’
‘You got me,’ she grunted, closing her eyes again. ‘Was it a boy or a girl?’
‘You didn’t have to stay over, you know,’ I said, somehow managing to smile at the bodies crammed into my tiny space.
‘Please,’ Adrian grunted. ‘As if we were going to leave you alone.’
‘The first night is the most dangerous,’ Lucy added. ‘Sumi needed to be here to chop your hands off if you tried to change your mind and call him.’
I lay back on my bed and smiled happily. All my friends around me, all my friends (bar Lucy) hungover. Just like the good old days. Another drop of water landed on the top of my head. I looked up at the ceiling, which was moving too quickly, the room spinning around me.
‘What’s that sound?’ I asked, leaning over Lucy to move the curtain.
‘In England, we call that rain,’ Adrian replied from the floor. ‘Listen.’
‘I thought that sound was in my head,’ I groaned. It wasn’t just raining, it was torrential. Water was splitting the sky in two, it was practically coming down sideways.
‘At last,’ Sumi said in a muffled voice, still face down on the settee. ‘Maybe it won’t be so bloody hot today.’
‘But Mum and Dad’s party.’ I flexed my head left and right, wincing at the headache that was starting to scratch away at my temples. Outside the rain was coming down so hard, I could barely see the house. ‘She’s going to be so upset.’
‘Rain on your wedding day is good luck,’ Lucy replied. ‘Don’t worry.’
I flipped my legs out of bed, narrowly avoiding stepping on Adrian’s face. ‘What about rain on your fortieth-anniversary slash marriage-vow-renewal day?’