I’m not quite crying. ‘I thought being her would make me feel good about myself, but it’s just made me feel worse because he only likes me because he, he … thinks I’m her.’
‘I’m so lost right now, honey. I don’t really understand what you’re saying but I’m sorry you’re hurting.’
‘No one knows me,’ I wail, my voice a squeaky wail.
‘I know you.’
‘You don’t count.’
‘Well, thanks April.’
‘I’m not April, I’m GRETEL, that’s the whole thing.’
‘Hon, I’m worried about you. Are you alone? Are you safe? You sound really drunk. I’m here in the flat if you want to come home. I love you. I love you. It’s going to be OK. Hen parties are triggering nightmares and it’s totally OK to just come home. Say you’re sick or something. I love you.’
Megan’s kind words may as well be made with Teflon. ‘I have to go Megan.’
‘April!’
‘Sorry, I’m fine. Just fine. I’m safe. Sorry. I love you.’
‘April, wait—’
I ring off.
Stare at my phone.
I don’t want to feel like this – lost and pathetic – the very cliché of being left on a shelf I don’t want to be left on. A tiny part of me wonders if this is a good idea but the other part of my brain has already dialled his number. I sit up as it rings, pants still adorning my feet. I sniff and wipe my face.
‘Gretel?’
‘Guess whose drunnnnnnnnnnk?’ I’m full of fun and joy and I’m having such a brilliant time in this wonderful life of mine.
I feel Joshua’s smile break over the line. ‘Well hello you,’ he says. ‘Hang on, I’m just in the pub with Neil. I’ll duck outside.’
I find I’m smiling too. I wipe myself as I listen to him telling Twatface Neil that it’s me. Cradling my phone under my neck, I pull up my pants, flush and then take myself out of the cubicle. I’m just done washing my hands when he’s back.
‘I’m here. Hello. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.’
‘I missed you,’ I say. So cute, so goddamned cute.
‘Someone’s been drinking.’
‘There’s that too.’
‘Anyone shoved a penis straw up their vagina yet, or whatever it is that happens at hen dos?’
‘Joshua, that has never, ever, happened at a hen do. Well, actually, it probably has.’
He laughs because I’m witty and fun and cool and brilliant to spend time with. ‘And there I was, thinking I was missing out.’
I look at myself in the mirror. Make-up smeared off, hair sweaty from the heat, dress sticking to my clammy body. Face blotchy. My whole look reduced to the words ‘train wreck’. I blink twice and picture how he thinks Gretel looks right now: grinning, red lipstick perfectly applied, sipping on an ethical straw, hair over one tanned shoulder, mischief in her eyes. Hell, her eyes might even be sparkling, though that doesn’t even exist in real life. At no point in the history of hen dos has one ever prompted Gretel to consider her own life choices and romantic prospects. I blink again and see Gretel form in the mirrored glass. She waves hello. She winks at me, and I find myself winking back.
‘I’m not calling for any reason other than to say filthy things,’ I watch Gretel say seductively down the phone.
More laughter. ‘Can I send you on more hen dos if this is what happens?’
‘Why aren’t you here right now? There’s so much I want to do to you.’
I hear him gulp. ‘Yes? Like what?’
‘Anything you want, I’ll do.’ It’s best to keep it vague, let them fill in the blanks with whichever porn they watch and feel shame about afterwards.
‘OK, and now I have an inappropriate erection in the middle of Soho.’
‘No such thing as an inappropriate erection in Soho.’
‘How can you be crazy hot and crazy funny at exactly the same time, Gretel? That’s not very fair on a man.’
I smile again and my reflection smiles back. That red lipstick really does suit her. I’ve never had the confidence to wear red lipstick before. ‘What are you thinking about?’ Gretel asks.
‘Things that aren’t helping this erection go away. Honestly, I’ve had to turn to face the wall.’
‘I wish I was there. I could do things with that situation.’
‘Please get on a train back to London now. I’ve said “please” and everything.’
‘Sorry, no can do. But wait till I next see you—’
I hang up, mid-sentence, cutting him and his erection off. I laugh at how easy it is for them to believe your pretence. I sort out my real