‘No problem,’ I reply. ‘I’ve just been shown a pic of my ex with another guy’s hand on her arse, so I’m ready for a break from the people here too.’
‘Ouch,’ she responds. ‘That’s not good. You OK?’
‘Totally fine,’ I lie. ‘We’ll just have to dance my troubles away. Though I haven’t seen you dance yet, come to think of it. . . I’ve seen Alfie, and he’s like the Michael Flatley of four-year-olds, but it might not run in the family. I mean, I can’t let my best mate date someone with no rhythm.’
She laughs and moves herself into the middle of the floor and begins drunk dancing like she’s been uncaged. It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever seen. I move in beside her and we spend the rest of the evening there,Soul Train-ing ourselves up and down the living room, along with everyone else. I try not to notice Sarah looking for Matt, and I try not to get annoyed at Matt for not spending every second he can with this amazing woman. She has no pretention, no self-conscious swagger, she’s just her funny, beautiful self.
By the time my head hits the pillow at 4 am, I’m buzzing. I can’t remember ever having so much fun with any of the women I’ve dated, or even my mates. Sarah makes me feel like everything will work out. Like everything will be OK. . . but how can it be? Right now, my head is full of images on loop – Sarah in the grotto, scooping up Alfie; Sarah in the black dress; Sarah squealing as she skids around the ice rink; Sarah in Matt’s T-shirt in my kitchen; Sarah smiling and holding my gaze for just a second too long over lunch; Sarah grinning and laughing as she dances rings around me in the living room. The woman I can’t stop thinking about is in bed right now, asleep next to my best friend. This is all very fucking far from being OK.
Chapter Sixteen
I reluctantly surface at nine, to the sounds of Matt and Sarah giggling in the kitchen like teenagers. They must have had sex, there is no other scenario which explains why anyone would be this happy first thing. Thank God I slept through any humping noises. She’s also wearing Matt’s shirt again and if I were him, I’d never let her take it off.
‘Morning, sunshine,’ Matt says as I slump on to the couch. ‘I was just about to wake you.’
I groan. ‘Why the hell would you want to do that? I feel like death. Grotto doesn’t open until twelve. Let me die in peace, please.’
‘Breakfast,’ Sarah chirps, like a woman who’s impervious to alcohol. ‘I have to pick Alfie up from his sleepover at half ten; I thought it would be nice if we all had breakfast first.’
I bury my head into the back of the couch. I’m not in the mood for this. I don’t need someone to make me eggs Benedict when I can just have toast like a normal person. God, eggs. I feel like I might throw up.
‘Come on,’ Matt insists, hitting me with a pillow. ‘I’m buying.’
I grunt in agreement and trudge to the bathroom to wash my face. Being the hungover third wheel was not part of my Sunday plan.
We end up at The Bridge Bar and Grill, thankfully a short walk from our flat and the only place around here that doesn’t have a menu filled with hand-raised avocados and free-range cutlery.
I settle for a double bacon bap and free coffee refills while Matt and Sarah order a breakfast platter to share. If they start feeding each other, I’m leaving.
‘You’re looking less green,’ Sarah remarks as she dips a hash brown in ketchup. ‘Feeling better?’
I nod. Maybe breakfast wasn’t the worst idea in the world. It’s amazing what a bit of grease can do.
‘I’ll survive. At least it’s better than those breakfast monstrosities your excuse for a coffee shop sells.’
Sarah laughs. ‘The breakfast wraps? I thought you liked them! Fine, next time I’ll just bring you one of those weird bran muffin things.’
I make a face. ‘Christ, no, the last thing Santa needs is flatulence.’
Matt’s looking a tad lost. ‘You guys have breakfast together?’
‘I throw him a freebie every now and again,’ Sarah replies, laughing. ‘In exchange for his employee discount at the food court. To be honest, it’s nice to have someone to hang out with.’
Matt smiles and continues eating his breakfast, but I can tell he’s not exactly comfortable with the whole thing. Personally, I’d have played down our little meetups a bit more, but Sarah isn’t secretly pining for me, so why should she?
‘Did you see Greta’s wedding invitation?’ I ask, steering the conversation away. ‘I left it on the hall table.’
He nods. ‘She cornered me last night. Sarah’s coming as my plus-one.’
‘Too right,’ Sarah asserts. ‘It’s at Claridge’s. I can’t even afford to have lunch there. . .’
‘At least you have a plus-one!’ I exclaim. ‘I’m going to be that weird, solo guy who gets pity looks from the rest of the guests.’
‘Angela still not returning your texts?’
I scowl at Matt. ‘No, and I think that arse-grabbing photo means she’s not likely to anytime this century.’
‘So, find someone else,’ Sarah suggests. ‘You must know someone, Matt.’
