Page 1 of The F*ck-It List

Prologue

Bea

I’d never given much thought to how I wanted to spend my thirtieth birthday. But running through Piccadilly Circus in the cold and wet—sans coat—was not a scenario that ever truly crossed my mind. Why am I running? No one is chasing me. I stop for a moment to catch my breath; the black pencil dress I’ve been wearing all day at work is now damp and even more uncomfortable against my skin.

Okay, so running like a bat out of hell may have been a tad dramatic. It’s not Richard’s fault. He tried his best. He booked a table at a nice restaurant—even if it is Italian, which, as much as I enjoy, would never be my first choice. He surprised me by having a group of friends and even my mother there when I was expecting it to be the two of us. I mean, they were mostly his friends and then just Cas and my mum on my side, but that’s fair, it’s not like I have a thriving social life with loads of friends. It’s not his fault I had a shitty day at work and would have rather sunken into a scalding hot bubble bath with a Cosmo than spend the evening out…where the people are.

I would have powered through though; sat there and smiled and laughed at his friends’ not funny jokes and listened to Mum as she told me about all the extra skincare I need to add to my nightly routine now I’ve hit the big three-oh. But I walked in and my eyes immediately zoned in on the bulge in his pocket. No, notthatkind of bulge. It was distinctly box shaped. If he didn’t wear those skin-tight suits, maybe I wouldn’t have noticed straight away and could have relaxed with a glass of wine before the panic really set in. I’d already given the host my coat at that point. Big mistake,huge.

Cas was doing that weird smiling thing where their mouth was pulled up, but their eyes were panicked. They normally look like that when they have to break bad news to me. My mum looked practically ecstatic and, given we were in a chain restaurant, that was suspicious in itself. But Richard gave it away with the nervous excitement he exuded when I walked in, the telling bulge in his pocket sticking out like a beacon. Friends and family gathered around, and I paused mid-step on my way to join them. I saw him reach into his pocket and the way he started to lower onto one knee, my fight or flight kicked in. I went with flight.

Now I’m running, in heels, through the wet streets of London, other city folk paying no mind to the crazed look in my eye as I clop around. Just a regular Friday night for them. My phone buzzes in my pocket—did I buy this dress because it actually has decent pockets? Yes, yes, I did—and I take it out to find Cas’s message.

CAS: DUDE!

CAS: Brutal.

CAS: But fair

CAS: Where are you?

ME: Piccadilly. At the tube station I’m getting on and going home. Meet me there?

CAS: Shit. Yeah, I went the opposite direction to try and find you. I’ll meet you at yours. I have your coat.

ME: Thanks.

I duck into the tube station, tapping my phone at the barriers, and I’m on a train two minutes later. In twenty minutes, I’m in my building, walking to my door, which opens before I can find my keys in my bag. Cas stands just inside my flat, two glimmering pink Cosmos in their hands and Heathcliff, my black cat, peeking his sleek head out from the neck of their fleece.

I take one of the cocktails as Cas steps aside to let me through and throw my bag onto the kitchen counter. Kicking off my shoes, I head to my worn, second-hand couch, and flop down with a huff. Rather than sinking down next to me, Cas sits on the coffee table in front of me, giving a sympathetic smile.

“You doing alright?”

“How pissed was my mum?” Iask first.

They bob their head from side to side as if weighing up the evidence. “She was surprised. I wouldn’t say pissed. But as soon as you left, I kind of headed out, so I don’t know anyone’s full reaction.”

I groan out and let my head fall to the back of the sofa. “Poor Richard.”

“Eurgh,” Cas scoffs. “He’ll live.”

“Cas,” I scold. “He was going to propose to me, and I ran out on him. It’s a shitty thing to do.”

“Maybe, but like I said, he’ll get over it. I’d rather you hurt his feelings tonight than spend the rest of your life with Dull Dick and his mediocre lovemaking.” They take a large gulp of their drink and climb onto the sofa next to me.

Heathcliff, thoroughly unimpressed with all the changing positions, disappears into Cas’s brightly coloured, psychedelic fleece. He slinks out of the hem, comes over to me, and is climbing up to nestle on my shoulder. I scratch at his head while I scowl at my best friend.

“I never said he was mediocre.”

“No,” they agree, taking another big gulp, so big in fact, their drink is nearly gone while mine is barely touched. “You never saidanything. If he was great, you would have been raving about it, and if he was terrible, you would have been complaining about it. I never heard anything, so he was mediocre.”

I tut and roll my eyes, but they’ve pegged it. Richard was in fact utterly uninspired in the bedroom. Just like most of the men I’ve been with. Eurgh, why isn’t life like one of the beautiful books on my shelves spanning the entire wall opposite where I sit. Where nice mousy girls find themselves on great adventures and meet brave warriors with solid eight-packs who hate the world but fall in love withher and live in the wild but always have minty fresh breath. Why can’t I leave this mundane life and have an adventure?

“You can!” Cas says and I startle, looking over at them. Their fleece is gone, leaving them in a patchwork shirt over the denim skirt and neon pink fishnets. I hadn’t even noticed them taking it off and I definitely hadn’t realised I’d spoken out loud. “If you want to do something with your life, do it!”

“You say it like it’s easy.” I sigh. “I’ve got a job and responsibilities.”

Cas blows out a long breath and puts their now empty glass down on the table before linking their fingers on their lap, levelling me with a serious look reminiscent of a teacher getting ready to scold you for not handing in your homework on time. Whichneverhappened to me, by the way.