you double dip in the garlic sauce? She’s been after you for ages, according to Tori. What’s her name again …?’
‘Rebecca – well, Becca – I presume her full name’s Rebecca.’
‘So, not much talking then? All action?’
‘No, Mikey. Leave it.’
‘Such a prude.’
But I’m not a prude. You know what I am? I’m embarrassed. Yeah, I went on a date with Tori’s mate, but we didn’t go to the new tapas place for a meal. We just went there for a drink. It was all I could afford and as much as I fully support equality, I can’t let a girl pay for anything on a first date. Look, I know I’m old-fashioned in that sense, but so what? It’s how I was brought up.
‘Seeing her again?’ Mikey probes.
‘Nope.’
Mikey pushes himself off the BMW, tutting.
‘I suppose she wasn’t “The One”,’ he says, making inverted commas with his fingers whilst still holding his glass and ciggie. ‘You’re so hard to please, Jimbo. Yeah, you’ve got the whole sexy look going on, but who you holding out for? Salma fucking Hayek?’
‘Nah, she’s too old.’
‘Ha. Well, I hope you let Little Miss Becca down nicely. We don’t want another girl in Liverpool crying herself to sleep over Jimbo Glover, do we?’
I hadn’t needed to let Becca down nicely. I’m not soft. The way she sipped that Rioja when I told her what I did for a living, well, let’s just say I’m glad she didn’t choke. Girls like Becca want a fella with their own desk. Not one they share with other toll-booth workers. To throw her a lifeline, I told her I still lived with my ma. A white lie, but the final nail in the coffin.
‘You have a seriously warped opinion of me, don’t you, Mikey?’
‘Let’s go and get a top up,’ Mikey says, rattling the ice around his empty glass.
Inside, passed out on the pastel-pink sofa in the lounge, are Snowy’s twins, still in their warm coats and woolly hats, the CBeebies bedtime story glowing from the telly. Snowy gets the tequila out. I decline. God, I feel so boring. And guilty. Guilty for all the times I laughed at the designated driver or rolled my eyes at how dull people were for bringing their car. At least Snowy had raised a good point. I won’t have to cope with a rotten hangover tomorrow.
Something as cold as ice clasps the palm of my hand.
‘Looks like you need some sort of pick-me-up?’ It’s Helen, Snowy’s girlfriend, one hand holding a bottle of opened prosecco, the other holding mine.
She’s not dressed for a cold bonfire night. Her tight jeans are ripped at the knees, a loose Oasis t-shirt hangs off one shoulder revealing a red bra strap. Long, thick, red locks bounce over her other shoulder.
‘I’m not drinking, Hel—’
‘Ah, shut it, Jimbo. We ALL know you’re not drinking; you’re DRIVING. Show off.’
Her lips, a little smeared, match her lingerie with shocking power, but the rest of her face is fresh, clear, rosy. Helen has flawless skin. Snowy and Mikey are stumbling by the breakfast bar trying to force the contents of a tequila bottle into a giant water pistol.
‘I feel like I’m standing in a zoo, looking at all the animals behind the bars,’ I say.
‘That’s why I NEVER drive,’ Helen says.
‘Didn’t know you could drive.’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Jimbo.’
I sip my Coke, like a loser. ‘No way, Hels. I know everything about you. Twenty-two years, you can learn a lot about someone in that time.’
‘Fuck me, Jimbo. Is that how long we’ve known each other?’
‘Yep. Since Year Seven.’
‘Year Seven was TWENTY-TWO years ago?’
‘Do the maths, Hels.’
‘I was shit at maths. God! I still feel twenty-two.’
‘Well, if it’s any consolation, you look about twenty-three.’
Helen lifts the bottle of prosecco and swigs. ‘Charmer.’
‘On a good day, I mean. On a bad day, I reckon you look about twenty-eight.’
Her hand is still in mine.
‘Come with me,’ she says.
No. I tug my hand away and shove it into my jeans pocket. I’m not going anywhere with Helen. With a few drinks down me, yeah, I always follow her, listen to her. She bloody loves an antisocial one-on-one. But it feels very different tonight. The blend of bright kitchen lights and my being fully aware of everyone in the room makes slipping away awkward. And as innocent as it is, being sober doesn’t hand me an excuse.
A squirt of liquid hits me between the eyes. Snowy’s got the tequila gun in his hand,