know. It’s so fucking weird. Me, April. ME? Did you ever think you would see the day?’
‘Of course.’
‘Even after Sven?’
‘Definitely after Sven. He was the rock bottom you needed to hit in order to find the portal to evolution.’
It’s all hugs and squeezing and prosecco getting knocked over. ‘Oh, I love you. I’ve missed you! I’m so glad you came. How are you— Oh my God, ROCHELLE! How ARE you? How are the kids? I’m so happy you’re here.’ I’m shunted aside. Chrissy now has Rochelle-with-the-white-noise-machine in a squid-like vice and I’m left holding my glass, which is somehow empty again already.
I sit staring at nothing for a moment, before taking a breath and swivelling to my other side to a woman whose name I’ve already forgotten. ‘So,’ I ask, smiling. ‘Have they started talking yet? Ball? They can say ball? Oh, yes, that’s so cute.’
By eight thirty everyone is a little bit too drunk to fully appreciate the nouvelle cuisine of halloumi skewers on a tiny mound of gigantes plaki.
‘Halloumi!’ a sozzled lawyer yelps. ‘I just love halloumi.’
‘Me too. Isn’t it the best? I love how it squeaks.’
The table’s united in our shared love of the cheese. We stuff it into our faces with our fingers, talking with our mouths full. Someone’s turned up the music so we shout to be heard. Nobody eats their beans. A waiter brings out a tray of prosecco bottles and we all applaud him. We’re all best friends by the time the sundaes are arranged in front of us; the clumps all united in how good cheese can be and do you want to try a bit of my ice cream. We swap seats and share stories about just how amazing Chrissy is. ‘So amazing, isn’t she?’ ‘Oh yeah, really amazing. Just the amazingest.’ The ice cream melts to soup in its glass bowls, until we’re snapped out of our tiddly haze by three assertive claps.
‘Right ladies.’ One of the lawyers-clump – I think her name is Janet – is standing by the projector screen on which is now a giant freeze-frame of Mark’s head. ‘Now that we’ve eaten, it’s time for the games. Mr and Mrs!’ Everyone starts cheering and whooping. ‘Chrissy, get your cute butt over here.’
Chrissy saunters over in a flurry of netting and collapses into a chair, giggling. Her face is red with alcohol and happiness and I have a flashback to the Sven year and feel deep joy that she’s got here. Well, seems to have got here. Every time we meet up she does complain a bit about Mark and his lack of verbal affection, but still, he must feel vaguely affectionate if he’s agreed to marry her.
‘We asked the lovely Mark here some questions about our girl, Chrissy, and she has to guess what she thinks he’s going to say. If she gets it wrong, well then …’ Janet holds up a bottle of Sambuca with the top already off. ‘SHOT!’
Chrissy laughs behind her hand while we stamp our feet. ‘I’m scared now.’
‘Come on, let’s play.’ Janet clicks the laptop attached to the screen and un-freezes Mark who waves at us all.
‘Hello girlies. I hope you’re all nice and drunk.’
Raaahhh, waaa-heeyy! We are so excited with that. Mark’s set the camera at a weird angle so his chin looks massive. He’s not the most attractive of men, I find myself thinking. Not compared to Chrissy, who’s an auburn-haired goddess. Whereas Mark looks like he hasn’t had hair since Papa Roach were a thing, and his eyes look permanently sad.
The first question floats up on screen in giant novelty balloon-font.
‘What were you both wearing on your first date?’
Janet repeats it out loud and we crane to look at Chrissy who’s laughing hysterically from all the attention.
‘Well?’ Janet demands.
Chrissy sips from her prosecco glass. ‘I’ll be surprised if he gets this right,’ she says. ‘Umm, he was wearing jeans and a Rick and Morty T-shirt, because I distinctly remember being put off by that.’ We find that way too funny what with all the alcohol. ‘And I was wearing my denim dress, with yellow shoes. My summer date outfit.’
‘Do you think he’ll remember that?’
She shakes her head. ‘No chance. He’ll remember his own T-shirt though. He still loves that fucking T-shirt.’
‘Well, let’s see what he says.’
Mark’s unpaused again. ‘She won’t think I’ll remember,’ he asserts. ‘I mean, of course we both remember my failsafe Rick and Morty T-shirt.’ Raaaaaaah Wheeeyyy woooooooh, we all yell. ‘But Chris was wearing