‘Anyway,’ I say, standing in between the two of them, ‘Lauren and I are leaving soon. Have a nice night. Happy New Year.’
‘I’m not leaving,’ Lauren laughs. ‘This is a blast.’
A server appears with a tray full of tequila shots, closely followed by Tara, who’s now wearing some tinsel on her head.
‘Drink up, everyone!’ she demands. ‘Youse are all far too sober for my liking!’
The tipsier Tara gets, the stronger her accent becomes. I can tell she’s tried to soften it over time, but this is far more endearing. We all take a shot at our host’s request.
‘Who’s this bonny lad?’ she asks, looking at Ed. ‘Tall one, aren’tya?’
‘Ed,’ he replies, holding out his hand. ‘I’m a friend of Graham’s.’
‘Well, you’re very welcome, Ed. Oh, Kate, you must come and meet me friend Peter. I know you’re not working tonight but his wife just left him for someone offEastEnders.’
Lauren chuckles as Tara links arms with me, drags me out of the living room and into a second lounge area, where I’m introduced to a man in a dark grey suit, just as the tequila begins to kick in.
‘Kate, this is me friend Pete, a fellow Geordie. He’s a producer on the show. Peter, this is Kate.’
Peter looks more than a little drunk.
‘Nice to meet you,’ I say.
‘A fellow ginge!’ he says, looking genuinely pleased. ‘I like you already.’
‘She’s helping me with my issue,’ Tara says. ‘You know, the thing we were talking about. She could help you.’
Peter stares blankly.
‘My divorce,’ she mouths silently.
‘Muddy floors?’
‘Jesus, Peter, do I have to hum theEastEnderstheme tune?’
The penny suddenly drops. ‘Ah, shit, yes,’ he replies, getting flustered.
I reach into my bag. ‘So nice to meet you,’ I say, handing him my card. ‘If you need some advice, feel free to give me a call– but for now, I say we do shots and get mortal.’
‘Mortal!’ he exclaims. ‘I love this woman!’
Tara screams with laughter and goes to find the nearest server, while I inwardly congratulate myself for successfully googling the Geordie term for drunk in the bathroom.
Ed
‘How could I have possibly known that she’d be here?’ Graham asks, grabbing another canapé off a passing tray. ‘In the years we’ve known each other, have you ever witnessed any psychic behaviour from me?’
‘No,’ I reply. ‘But I wasn’t implying that you were somehow paranormal– it’s just far too weird that we’d both end up here.’
‘Not really,’ he says. ‘Agents, lawyers, hairdressers. . . they all run in the same circles. London’s really not that big.’
I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more inaccurate statement in my life. ‘How much have you had to drink?’ I ask him.
‘Not nearly enough,’ he replies. ‘So. . . is she single, then?’
‘Who?’ I ask, following his gaze.
‘Lauren. She has such lovely hair. What colour would you say that is? Pink? Peach?’
