the waistband of my skirt, trying to feel less sticky and uncomfortable, I wished I’d packed a clean top. I would have a beer, cool down, see Luke and then head home.
Examining my reflection briefly in the rounded mirror designed to let people know who was about to appear around a corner, I grimaced at my flustered, red face. Clipping my brown hair back, swiping my fringe aside, I grabbed at my things and strode on out, just wanting to get into the evening air. I knew Luke wouldn’t care, or notice, what I looked like. He’d seen a lot worse over the years – after Phil and Jenny’s engagement drinks (I still swear it was food poisoning), fresh back from my spinning class, and the time he’d walked in on me removing the moustache I’d convinced myself was real with hair removal cream – but I wanted to look nice. As a group, graphic designers were quite cuttingedge and I didn’t want to stick out. I used to enjoy shopping for clothes – finding vintage pieces on Portobello Road, designer steals in charity shops – but now my wardrobe was pretty functional: a lot of blacks and greys, clothes suitable for a barrister that could double up at events like this too.
It was heaving, the roof terrace filled with people milling about as I pushed my way through, secreting my briefcase under a table of drinks. Peering round the crowd for a glimpse of Luke, his dark brown hair, his Romanesque profile (my grandmother always told me Luke had a good, strong jaw; I’d never really been sure how to respond so had often opted for ‘all the better for chewing things with’), I reached for a beer bottle nestled in a bowl of melting ice cubes.
Just as my fingertips brushed the ice-cold glass I heard a noise, then someone stumbled into me, a stiletto heel sinking into my foot, cold liquid tipped down my shirt.
‘Argh.’ Tears stung my eyes from the sudden pain as sticky alcohol trickled down my chest.
‘Oh God, oops, these shoes are the actual worst.’
Someone was clutching my arm and I looked down to see a tipsy Little Mermaid, all big caramel eyes and long red hair, swaying slightly in front of me. ‘I told Mike not to pour me that third one.’ She giggled, a high noise that made a few men nearby look round at us both. ‘Fourth one,’ she corrected herself. ‘Fourth one. Naughty.’
I think she was talking to herself. She’d stopped clutching my arm at least.
‘Let’s get you a drink,’ she said, eyes lighting on the table and selecting two champagne glasses from it. ‘Here,’ she said, handing one to me. ‘I’m Storm, by the way. I don’t think we’ve met. Are you one of the freelancers?’
I dabbed pointlessly at my shirt with one hand before accepting the fluted glass. ‘I’m Lo—’
The mermaid didn’t seem to register I was speaking. ‘. . . but then I’m new and everyone has been soooo welcoming. My last company was full of a load of bitches so it’s been schamazing to be in a place where everyone is so nice, you know . . . ’
I was suddenly desperate to get out of there. I shouldn’t have come and now I was sticky with sweat and Prosecco and I just wanted a cool shower and to be back in my own flat, alone, dry, cool, in a place where schamazing was not a word.
The drunk mermaid was still yabbering at me though, her coral lipstick smudged. Suddenly her eyes swivelled over my shoulder. ‘Oooh, squeeeee, Hot Guy alert. Three o’clock,’ she said in a pantomime-whisper behind one hand, then she clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God that is sooooo inapprope at a work thing, but he’s a dreeeeamboat, don’t you think?’
Dreamboat? Is that a thing? I hadn’t dated for almost a decade. Was this the kind of lingo kids were using nowadays?
‘Who?’ I followed her gaze, seeing Mike, Luke’s boss, his stubbled head slightly sunburnt, who raised a glass at me. I nodded and then, as I did, I saw Luke just behind him, searching the crowd. His face lit up as his eyes came to rest on me.
‘Oh my God he is totally looking over now,’ Storm half whispered, sloshing Prosecco on the wooden boards between us. ‘Have I got anything in my teeth?’ A hand gripped my shoulder as she flashed me two rows of gummy teeth, right up