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When I think about the way he stared back at me, his eyes soft and warm, elation wins.
10
Saturday morning disappears beneath the fog of a hangover that pounds inside my head and curdles the contents of my stomach. I clutch my duvet with shaking hands and turn over, squeezing my eyes tight to ward off the cold light of day. Mum leaves for work at ten, banging the front door closed, and the noise makes me groan and bury myself deeper beneath the bedcovers, unwilling to do anything except go back to sleep.
At lunchtime my fight against the encroaching day is lost, and I drag my protesting body out of bed, half-crawling to the bathroom. It's then that memories of last night come flooding back, as if somebody's opened up a dam, and I blink as images flash inside my mind, each one somehow more mortifying than the last.
Charlie dancing on the table, flinging his jacket and tie in Caro's boss's face.
Ellie joining him, teaching him how to twerk, as a hundred consultants stared at them, open mouthed.
Miranda throwing up in the corner of the bar, vomit clinging to her hair as she staggered outside, mascara running down her cheeks.
Then I remember my encounter with Callum, and the rest of the evening pales into insignificance. Groaning, I step into the steaming shower, rubbing my face with the heels of my hands. But even when I press them so hard against my eyes that I see stars, I still can't dispel the images.
That afternoon I head over to Shoreditch where my brother and his wife live. Climbing the narrow staircase that leads to their floor, I attempt to pull myself together and shake off the final vestiges of my hangover. I don't want Alex and Lara to think I'm irresponsible, especially since they're going out and leaving me in charge of Max. Nor do I want my baby nephew to grow up thinking his Auntie Amy is a lush.
Alex pulls the door open before I even get a chance to knock. He's wearing a tight-fitting navy suit with a skinny black tie, his dark hair brushed off his face.
“Thank god you're here, we got the time wrong. We were supposed to be at the church five minutes ago.”
“Is that Amy?” I hear my sister-in-law shout from the bedroom. “Can you show her where everything is?”
I roll my eyes. “I think I can cope.” Max is sitting on a blanket in the middle of the floor, playing with some plastic rings. I scoop him up and swing him around high before blowing raspberries on his neck; my reward is a high-pitched squeal.
A harassed-looking Lara emerges from the bedroom. She's wearing a short floral dress and pretty heels, her hair swept into an updo, enhancing her impossibly high cheeks. She presses her glossy lips to Max's head then kisses the air next to me. “We've got to run, I'm so sorry. I swear the invitation said three o'clock.”
I laugh, mostly because I'm glad it's not me who's panicking for a change. “It's okay, just go. Max and I will be fine.”
“If you're sure...” For a moment she looks lost. Then Alex grabs her hand, folding it inside his, and her shoulders visibly relax. I flash her a reassuring smile and help Max wave his hand at her.
“Say bye bye, Mummy,” I whisper. He babbles incomprehensibly then wriggles in my arms until I put him back on the floor. Alex and Lara leave as I kneel down on the blanket, helping Max put the brightly coloured rings in size order.
We play for a while until Max gets bored and starts throwing the rings away. Then he crawls to the table and pulls himself up, grabbing the magazine Lara's left open. Grinning broadly, his two front teeth showing, he rips out a page and scrunches it up in his chubby hand.
“Ba ba ba,” he says.
“Naughty,” I chide him, gently pulling the rest of the magazine from his grasp. “Leave Mummy's magazine alone.”
Max grins then dips his head to chew on the wooden table, and I realise it's going to be a long afternoon.
Twenty minutes later, I'm feeding Max chocolate buttons in an attempt to distract him from his appetite for destruction. Brown goo covers my fingers and drips from his mouth, staining his otherwise clean vest. I'm about to wipe him when my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I reach in with my clean hand to check the caller.
The number isn't in my contacts, so I let it go through to voicemail. A minute later the screen lights up again, suggesting I may want to retrieve my message.
I put the phone to my ear, still feeding Max with my other hand. He makes a grab for the bag and pulls it down to his feet, chocolate buttons spilling out across his blanket.
He looks delighted with himself, but I can't tell him off because that's when the recording begins.
“Ah, Amy, it's Callum, sorry to call you at the weekend. Look, I really need a favour, so if you could call me back, that would be great. Thanks.”
I sit there for a moment wondering why he's called. Then Max reaches out and grabs my left boob, smearing half-digested chocolate all over my shirt.
Once we've both cleaned up and I've given Max a teddy bear to play with, I press redial. Callum picks up before the second ring has finished echoing down the earpiece.
“Amy?” He sounds breathless.
“Hi. I got your message, is everything okay?” I think I might sound a little breathless, too.
