gone overboard.’
‘Thanks,’ I say as I take the glass and sip it, looking around. The women are wearing vibrant-coloured dresses covered in sequins and sparkles. Sophie’s clingy peacock dress, which had felt so expensive before I left, now makes me feel a little bit drab, like a moth in comparison to their iridescent, dazzling butterfly garb.
‘Theo!’ A woman in a very short purple dress trimmed with feathers grabs his arm and he turns, taking another drink from the bottle of champagne. ‘There you are,’ she says. ‘And who is this?’ She looks at me, expectantly.
‘This is Jess,’ Theo answers.
‘Hello,’ I say, wondering if I should extend my hand for her to shake, or clink glasses, or what the etiquette is in these situations. She gives me a faint half-smile and turns, noticing someone else in the crowd.
‘Jack!’
‘My boss,’ says Theo. He reaches forward and fingers the sparkling strap of my dress. ‘You look gorgeous.’
‘Thanks.’
I think he must’ve had quite a lot to drink already. His voice is slurred and thick. ‘Just got to do a bit of mingling, that sort of thing. You’ll be okay here for a moment, yeah?’
I stand beside the bar, holding my glass of champagne, and try to look like I’m just casually people-watching, in the manner of a person who is happy in their own company. After ten minutes, Theo reappears, looking suspiciously bright-eyed. ‘Jess. Sorry. Want to come upstairs?’ he says.
We climb up the narrow metal staircase and onto the covered deck. The rain and wind have dropped, and the air smells fresh and clean. London sparkles, the lights on the embankment glittering like strings of jewels. The London Eye glows in the darkening blue sky and the buildings are a rainbow of lights silhouetted against the night. I turn to murmur something about how pretty it is to Theo, and realise he’s gone – again. This is not going according to plan, and I’m on a bloody boat.
Help, I message Gen and Sophie.
What’s happened? Sophie replies, instantly. Man overboard?
I shift out of the way as a couple, clearly very drunk, rebound against me, giggling, then disappear behind a pillar.
No. Man AWOL.
There’s a moment before Sophie replies.
Oh my God, he stood you up?
No, I tap into my phone, as another drunk man in a mask steps on my foot as he walks past. I glare at him, but I think he’s probably too pissed to notice.
Worse. He’s here, he’s pissed, and I’ve lost him on a bloody boat.
I go back downstairs, feeling like a complete idiot. An hour later, I’ve learned more than I needed to know about investment banking from that bloke in the office who nobody wants to talk to (there’s always one), who has cornered me and downloaded the contents of his brain onto me. Occasionally I see Theo, who’s clearly forgotten I even exist, passing by, always with a bottle in hand, rapidly reaching the staggering stage of drunkenness.
I excuse myself, leaving the office bore talking to another victim who’d found themselves in the corner of doom. And when I come out of the loo, I see what has to be the perfect end to a perfect date. Theo is standing, one arm propping himself up against the wall, the other burrowing like a ferret inside the front of a woman’s dress, with his tongue halfway down her throat. I contemplate getting a drink and pouring it over his head, but I can’t be bothered climbing the stairs and going to the bar, so I leave him there, and chalk it up to experience.
I see I have a message: How’s it going?
God, I love Sophie. I think she’s feeling guilty that my first Tinder date has turned out to be such a nightmare.
Well, he’s now getting off with someone else, and I’m trapped on the boat from hell.
Where are you?
I message her the location.
I’m somewhere near Vauxhall.
Leave it with me, she replies.
A few minutes later, she messages again. Bless her, she’s looked up the boat, worked out where the next stop on the Thames is, and has booked me an Uber. I really do love her.
‘All right?’ says the Uber driver as I climb in, having finally escaped the boat.
‘I’ve had better evenings,’ I say, sitting back against the seat and shaking my head in despair.
I get home forty-five minutes later, having messaged thanks in about fifteen different languages to Sophie, and rummage in my bag for the keys to the front door. I’m just about to put the key