Oh my god, this is the best night of my life.
December 31st
Kate
‘Dancing? Are you kidding me?’
‘But it’s New Year’s Eve,’ Lauren replies, like I’m not acutely aware of the day. ‘You always go dancing.Wealways go dancing.’
She starts to shimmy in her chair as she lights a cigarette. I’ve been living with Lauren since I got back from Castleton, as my Airbnb won’t be available for another week. So for now, I have to put up with her chair antics and 6am shower singing.
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘We do go dancing. . . with Ed.’
‘So this year, you’ll be travelling light,’ she answers. ‘It’s fine. Also, I think it’s exactly what you need. Booze, good tunes—’
‘Surrounded by couples. No one to kiss at midnight. . .’
‘I’ll kiss you,’ she replies. ‘As long as you don’t wear that horrible lip gloss you’re so fond of, I’ve seen the way your hair sticks to it. That stuff’s like Gorilla Glue.’
‘Tempting, but I think I’ll pass,’ I say. ‘Besides, you’ll have Dave. I’ll be a third wheel. No thank you.’
‘Nope, I’m afraid to say that Dave is no longer with us.’
‘What? Oh my god, what happened?’
‘Oh relax, he’s not dead or anything, I just chucked him. There’s only so much football I can tolerate. I swear he was more interested in looking at my 75-inch TV than at me.’
I’m reminded that my future Airbnb only has a pitiful 32-inchtelevision and feel that Dave may have been wrongfully and unfairly dismissed.
‘Have a look through my wardrobe,’ she suggests. ‘Or I can drive over and pick some stuff up for you?’
‘No need. Besides, I have to pop in to a client’s little gathering at seven,’ I tell her. ‘I’d rather not, but my boss is insisting I go to scout for potential clients. I mean, seriously– does she want me to break up a marriage and then have them hire me? It’ll be an hour at the most and then I’m coming back here to watchTop of the Popsfrom 1978.’
‘OK, Boomer,’ Lauren replies. ‘Who’s the client? Anyone interesting?’
‘Their divorce isn’t public yet; you know I can’t discuss the—’
‘NAME PLEASE.’
‘Jesus, it’s Tara Mitchell-Brown. Stop yelling.’
‘Are you kidding? She’s a train wreck, I frickin’ love her. I’m so coming with you. I can totally pop in for drinkies and a snoop around her house.’
‘No way,’ I reply. ‘I can’t just bring my friends along; that would be highly unprofessional. A partner, maybe, but not a friend.’
‘You’re not just bringing your friend along; you’re bringing your award-winning hairdresser friend along. You know fuck all about the world of celebrity. I can guarantee that this girl knows me. You’ll impress the shit out of her and all her soon-to-be-divorced friends. Think of it as networking.’
She’s absolutely right, of course. I never thought of that. To me, Lauren is just my best mate, the girl with the cool school shoes who helped me through my parents’ divorce and never once complained when I saw less of her to see more of Ed. She’s a big deal to me. But I forget that she’s also a big deal to a lot of other people, too.
‘OK, fine,’ I tell her. ‘But best behaviour, please.’
A silence falls on her side of the couch. ‘Lauren. . .’
‘Yep, yep, best behaviour. Brownies’ honour.’
‘You were thrown out of the Brownies.’
‘Good talk,’ she says. ‘I’ll use the shower first.’
