this time, Richard drags himself away to answer it. Craning his neck to try to see who's at the door, Lars turns back and looks directly at me. "Did you not zay you heff been e-mailing each other?"
I nod silently.
"So e-mail him and ask him vy he dunked you in ze big end."
"You mean dropped me in at the deep end." I smile. "In fact, left me in the lurch would be even better. No, even
I
have too much self-respect to chase him for an explanation." I stand up. "Right! Enough of this depressing bollocks, let's party!"
I put on a good show of being the life and soul with the rest of Richard and Lars's friends who are now arriving at the party, but inside I'm dying. Not from embarrassment that my friends had to hear my tale of abandonment, but from genuine disappointment and, if I'm honest, a little bit of hurt.
My brief taste of the heady mixture of alcohol-fueled lust and a warm spring day has reminded me just how much I miss intimacy. I had been coping well with celibacy, but now I feel like my insides are on spin cycle. A little bit of what you fancy leaves you wanting more, but sadly "more" doesn't seem to be an option.
Locking myself in the downstairs bathroom for a brief respite from party chitchat, I lean my forehead against the cool wall tiles and wonder whether my next date will be as bittersweet. After all, I've promised to have two more.
T here's a team of
Till Divorce Do Us Part
dancers jumping around inside my head as I attempt to lift my face from the pillow. It flops down again almost immediately.
Basically, I drank to forget. And drank. And drank. The party had eventually whittled down to the usual suspects, and we'd all sat round the kitchen table talking bollocks and teasing Lars about his new Garth Brooks album blaring out of the CD player.
It led to Richard demanding that everyone had to come up with a spoof title for a country and western song, and Tab had kicked off with "Get your tongue outta my mouth, cos I'm kissing you good-bye."
By the time it got to Richard, who came up with "Her teeth were stained, but her heart was pure," I was in danger of wetting myself and had to sprint to the loo. The next thing I remember was Richard shaking me awake in the spare room, where I lay after apparently crashing there an hour earlier.
He said he fully intended on leaving me there until morning, but trouble was, my gaping mouth was pressed against Kara's pink suede jacket. Worse, as Richard gleefully pointed out to me, I had drooled all over it and left a stain that, rather prophetically, resembled an angry woman with her fist in the air.
Once stirred from my slumbering stupor, I became obsessed with getting home to my own bed so I could tuck up in my fleece jammies and lie in to my heart's content the following morning.
Except my hangover clearly has other ideas, and I can't fall back to sleep because of a persistent thumping between my eyes. The phone rings, the usually faint tone sounding like Big Ben going off next to my head.
"Hello?" My voice cracks with inactivity.
"Hi pumpkin. You all right?" It's Olivia. "I was just checking you haven't forgotten lunch."
I have. "Lunch?" I rub my right eye, trying to soothe the dull throbbing.
"Jess! I knew you'd forget. Don't you
dare
try and wriggle out of it."
My hand automatically slaps against my forehead, not a good idea in my current state. "Oh God, the parentals." It's our collective pet name for Mum and Dad.
"You got it. One o'clock sharp. You know how Mum hates us to be late."
I groan with a ferocity to rival a wounded warthog. "I've got such a terrible hangover I can barely form a sentence. I'll just hang out in the den with Matthew and Emily."
"No you won't." Olivia's tone is faintly apologetic. "They're not coming. Emily has a tummy bug, so Michael's gratefully staying at home with both of them. It's just you and me, I'm afraid."
Four cups of black coffee and several cold water face sluices later, and I'm on my way to Surrey, wearing the same
I nod silently.
"So e-mail him and ask him vy he dunked you in ze big end."
"You mean dropped me in at the deep end." I smile. "In fact, left me in the lurch would be even better. No, even
I
have too much self-respect to chase him for an explanation." I stand up. "Right! Enough of this depressing bollocks, let's party!"
I put on a good show of being the life and soul with the rest of Richard and Lars's friends who are now arriving at the party, but inside I'm dying. Not from embarrassment that my friends had to hear my tale of abandonment, but from genuine disappointment and, if I'm honest, a little bit of hurt.
My brief taste of the heady mixture of alcohol-fueled lust and a warm spring day has reminded me just how much I miss intimacy. I had been coping well with celibacy, but now I feel like my insides are on spin cycle. A little bit of what you fancy leaves you wanting more, but sadly "more" doesn't seem to be an option.
Locking myself in the downstairs bathroom for a brief respite from party chitchat, I lean my forehead against the cool wall tiles and wonder whether my next date will be as bittersweet. After all, I've promised to have two more.
T here's a team of
Till Divorce Do Us Part
dancers jumping around inside my head as I attempt to lift my face from the pillow. It flops down again almost immediately.
Basically, I drank to forget. And drank. And drank. The party had eventually whittled down to the usual suspects, and we'd all sat round the kitchen table talking bollocks and teasing Lars about his new Garth Brooks album blaring out of the CD player.
It led to Richard demanding that everyone had to come up with a spoof title for a country and western song, and Tab had kicked off with "Get your tongue outta my mouth, cos I'm kissing you good-bye."
By the time it got to Richard, who came up with "Her teeth were stained, but her heart was pure," I was in danger of wetting myself and had to sprint to the loo. The next thing I remember was Richard shaking me awake in the spare room, where I lay after apparently crashing there an hour earlier.
He said he fully intended on leaving me there until morning, but trouble was, my gaping mouth was pressed against Kara's pink suede jacket. Worse, as Richard gleefully pointed out to me, I had drooled all over it and left a stain that, rather prophetically, resembled an angry woman with her fist in the air.
Once stirred from my slumbering stupor, I became obsessed with getting home to my own bed so I could tuck up in my fleece jammies and lie in to my heart's content the following morning.
Except my hangover clearly has other ideas, and I can't fall back to sleep because of a persistent thumping between my eyes. The phone rings, the usually faint tone sounding like Big Ben going off next to my head.
"Hello?" My voice cracks with inactivity.
"Hi pumpkin. You all right?" It's Olivia. "I was just checking you haven't forgotten lunch."
I have. "Lunch?" I rub my right eye, trying to soothe the dull throbbing.
"Jess! I knew you'd forget. Don't you
dare
try and wriggle out of it."
My hand automatically slaps against my forehead, not a good idea in my current state. "Oh God, the parentals." It's our collective pet name for Mum and Dad.
"You got it. One o'clock sharp. You know how Mum hates us to be late."
I groan with a ferocity to rival a wounded warthog. "I've got such a terrible hangover I can barely form a sentence. I'll just hang out in the den with Matthew and Emily."
"No you won't." Olivia's tone is faintly apologetic. "They're not coming. Emily has a tummy bug, so Michael's gratefully staying at home with both of them. It's just you and me, I'm afraid."
Four cups of black coffee and several cold water face sluices later, and I'm on my way to Surrey, wearing the same
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