Page 30

He comes to a halt by our bags and the remains of our picnic.

A huff bursts out of him, and he rolls his shoulders and head back like he’s shrugging off some unseen burden.

‘It’s just hard, okay? I feel like there are all these expectations and I don’t meet them.

Or like, if I tell a girl I’m “family-orientated” she thinks it’s cute until I have to cancel a date because Dad’s had a bad turn, and then suddenly I’m the problem for not prioritising my own life and my relationship instead.

And that’s if I even get past the first date … ’

Poor guy sounds so dejected, I feel a moral obligation to fix it.

He needs a hype woman in his corner! Maybe he needs a wing-woman?

I could totally go out to bars with him or look through his Bumble chat history to tell him where he’s going wrong.

I’d say I could set him up with one of my friends, but I don’t think he’d like any of them very much.

I don’t think I like any of them very much.

We’re a shallow, vain little group. A guy like Leon needs someone – hardy. Warm. In touch with her emotions.

‘Do you tell them about his MS?’ Francesca asks, and Leon pulls a face, wobbles his head in neither a shake nor a nod.

Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner…

‘Depends,’ he says. ‘Don’t think it’d make much difference anyway.’

I tell him, ‘You’re being way too hard on yourself! I mean, no shit would a girl not want to date you if you’re coming in with this defeatist attitude and feeling all sorry for yourself! You need to change your outlook, Leon! Manifest .’

‘With sparkle emojis,’ Fran says, catching my eye with a cheeky grin.

‘Yes! Exactly! Leon, honey, you’re a catch.

I mean, yes, you’ve got no coordination and are so clumsy it’s like we can’t take you anywhere, but you’ve got that whole beefy weightlifter thing going with the shoulders and the thighs.

Those are some good thighs. And sure, you’re not always forthcoming when it comes to making conversation, and you take a while to open up to people and that can seem a bit like maybe you aren’t interested or—’

Leon peers down at Fran. ‘Is this supposed to be making me feel better, d’you think?’

She giggles. Look at you go, girl, giggling away. Look at you go, Leon!

‘No, it is!’ I insist, and scowl. ‘I’m not saying it right.

I just mean, you’re a decent guy, and you’re not giving them a chance to see it.

Like, you take care of your family! You own your own house!

I never remember what your job is because it’s something really boring, but, like, obviously that translates as being stable and sensible—’

‘I’m a conveyancer.’

‘Sure, whatever that is. And you’re really sweet! You’re always doing stuff for other people. You do all that volunteering at a dog shelter, right? I’d bet that your problem is that you’re going in expecting these girls to feel let down by you, so you don’t even try.’

He shrugs, grumbles something, and his shoulders bunch up, suggesting I’ve struck gold.

I beam, proud of myself for helping him out, not sure how much of this will stick in the cold light of day when we’re all sober, but right now I feel like an absolute genius.

Fran is laughing, and pats his shoulder sloppily in a ‘there, there’ motion.

‘It’s okay,’ she slurs at him. ‘No judgement here; my dating life isn’t much to write home about either. My longest relationship is with a guy who’s marrying someone else.’

A laugh bursts out of Leon, deep and bright, and I snort so hard that I choke on my drink and it comes spurting out of my nose.

It dribbles all over my face and down my front, and I spill some more from my cup down my legs when I lurch to cover my face.

I kick over an open bottle of Coke, spilling it on some of the food and onto the floor.

I’m soggy and dirty and it’s so worth it, because I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that.

One time, when Kayleigh was hosting a dinner party – her favourite thing to do in that fucking flat, the one I found, the one she bought – I was helping her prep and I accidentally put goat’s cheese into the stuffed pepper appetisers instead of feta, and you’d have thought I’d set the curtains on fire, the way she reacted.

It wasn’t the vibe , she insisted, and she made sure to tell everybody, ‘We had a bit of a whoops with the peppers – so sorry, everyone! Might have to get you one of those posters for the kitchen so you can identify different types of cheese next time, Gemma, lol!’

Nobody cared about the fucking goat’s cheese, but they never let me live it down, either.

Fran is fussing about handing me napkins and asking, ‘Are you okay?’

‘Um. Y-yeah.’ My throat hurts a bit and there’s a nasty stinging feeling right up the top of my nose, but that won’t last. Leon has bent down to mop up the spillage and salvage the food. ‘I’m … I’m just going to go get cleaned up.’

I skip delicately over our things – which, with the amount of alcohol I’ve had, is far more likely to look like the ungainly lumber of a T-Rex as I lurch all the way across into the opposite wall, my hands smacking into it and my body following. I’m laughing even as Leon winces audibly.

‘I’m good, I’m good!’ I turn around for my suitcase, and which one was it? There, on the end. Nope. Other end. The one with the garment bag looped over the handle.

I go to remove the dress and dump it onto one of their bags while I go and change, but in the space of time it takes me to pick it up, I’m already turning back to the others with a gleam in my eyes.

‘D’you guys want to see something truly awful?’