‘FromKilling Eve? No. You need to stop watching that shit. Guess again.’
‘Gimme a clue. Is it someone off the telly?’
‘Yes. . . kind of. . . do not say Sandra Oh.’
‘Fuck, I dunno. Someone offEastEnders? Claudia Winkleman?’
‘Angela.’
My eyes begin panic-scanning the room, until I spot her at the bar. She’s standing in the middle of a gaggle of girls and she’s staring right at me.
‘Oh shit.’
‘Yep,’ he replies. ‘I told you not to look.’
I watch her slink over towards me, drink in hand. She has decided to stick to convention and is wearing a red, fringed dress complete with a feathery headpiece. I really wish she didn’t look so good.
‘Fancy seeing you here,’ she remarks. ‘Wouldn’t have thought this was your kind of place. No reindeers.’
‘I was here last year,’ I reply, with a sigh. ‘But you know that, considering you were with me.’
‘Oh yeah,’ she responds, shrugging. ‘Must have slipped my mind. How are you, Matthew?’
‘Still going by Matt,’ he answers frostily.
‘Fabulous. . . enjoy your evening, boys.’
I don’t respond; there’s no point. She’s already walking away.
‘You alright?’ Matt asks, passing me a shot. ‘Honestly, Nick, you’re well rid.’
The throat burn from my tequila makes me wince, but I manage to force a smile.
‘I’m fine,’ I reply. ‘It’s just weird that one minute you’re with someone and the next they’re acting like they barely know you. You’ve got a good one with Sarah, mate. Hang on to her.’
Matt slides another shot across the table. ‘The night is young, my friend. Here’s to being rid of Angela, getting drunk and getting pizza on the way home.’
I cheers him and let the tequila do its worst.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Nick,Nicholas. . . you need to go.’
That voice makes one eye shoot open and I immediately wish I was dead. You have got to be shitting me.
After my fourth tequila, the rest of my New Year’s Eve is a bit of a blur. I remember dancing to a house version of ‘I Got Rhythm’ with a very tall woman. I remember trading my hat with a bald man for his cigarette holder, and I remember not being able to find Matt after the bells. However, I do not remember the events leading up to this moment.
‘Angela? How the hell—’
She hits me with a pillow, trying to speed up my revival. ‘Get up!’
I bolt upright, my head spinning. All I can taste is booze. Angela paces beside me in her yellow dressing gown like an agitated lemon.
I feel underneath the duvet. No underwear. Fuck, this is bad.
‘You have to gonow,and this never happened,’ she insists. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. Why do I drink vodka? Nothing good ever happens when I drink vodka.’
I rub my hands over my face. ‘Jesus, fine. I get it. Where are my clothes?’
