“You okay?” I ask, stepping out.
“Yeah, fine.” She looks effortlessly gorgeous, her black bobbed hair wavy today, and her brown eyes dramatic with heavy eyeliner. Her bright pink shift dress and leather biker jacket are perfectly edgy and perfectly Lizzy. “You’ve made quite an effort, too,” I observe as I link arms with her and we start down the path together.
“Just threw something on,” she says, waving off my compliment. “Nat’s meeting us there. And whatever you do, tell her you love her hair.”
“Why, what did she do?” I look at Lizzy in horror. Nat’s hair is her pride and joy. Thick, blond, glossy, and down to her bum, it’s groomed better than the Queen’s corgis.
“John’s kid got his bubble gum stuck in it.”
“Oh shit,” I breathe, seeing Nat’s face clear as day in my mind’s eye. It’s angry. Very, very angry. She’s met the man of her dreams, but the man of her dreams comes with an added extra: a six-year-old boy who is a little bit of a handful. Scrap that. He’s a lot of a handful. Nat’s not exactly maternal. “How much?” I wince, waiting for it, and then I gasp when Lizzy’s cutting gesture saws at her shoulders. “Oh no.”
“And I’ve split up with Jason.”
I stagger to a stop. “What?”
She shakes her head, tears threatening. “I don’t want to talk about it tonight.”
I snap my mouth shut quickly and, though it pains me, I refrain from pressing. “Okay.” She needs a girls’ night out, and I’m more than happy to provide. “Wait. Does Nat know?”
She nods and quickly wipes under her eyes. “Let’s just have fun tonight, please.”
“Done.” I grab her arm and march on, determined to distract her for tonight, my mind racing with what could have happened.
*
It’s a challenge, but I manage not to choke when I clap eyes on Nat’s dramatic, unplanned transformation. Her long locks are no more, and the scowl on her face tells me that she hasn’t come to terms with it yet.
“Tell her it looks great,” Lizzy mumbles under her breath as we head toward her.
“It looks great!” I shriek, resting my bum on one of the tall stools. Everyone falls silent, Lizzy rolls her eyes, and Nat growls at me. “What?” I ask, shrinking.
“I look about fifty,” Nat mutters.
“No you don’t,” Lizzy and I sing in unison, so fucking over the top. She really does look older. Perhaps not quite fifty, but definitely older than her thirty years.
“I love it!” I declare, happy that I sound sincere enough, prompting Nat’s hands to go up to her hair and feel the lack of length.
“Really?” she asks, looking for reassurance.
“Yes, makes you look more sophisticated.”
She smiles, grateful, and Lizzy knocks my arm as she passes me, her way of congratulating me on a job well done. “I’m getting drinks,” she declares. “Who wants what?”
“Wine!” Nat and I chant.
Lizzy heads for the bar, and I take the opportunity to interrogate Nat. “What’s happened with Lizzy and Jason?” I ask, leaning forward over the table.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs nonchalantly, ever the compassionate type. “She refuses to talk about it.”
“But I thought they were solid.”
“Yeah, me too. Apparently not, eh?”
“You sound so concerned.” I give her a disappointed look, and she just shrugs again. Nat’s not exactly the emotional type. She’s a loss adjuster for a huge insurance firm. A real hardball, and she struggles to separate that from her personal life. Most men are intimidated by her. Most women, too, actually. Tall, leggy, blond, and a bit of an emotional retard.
“My hair was massacred,” she snipes, “so I’m moody.”
Our conversation is cut short—not that it was going anywhere—when Lizzy slides a tray on the table, loaded with not only wine, but shots, too. I look at Nat, who nods her understanding. Lizzy is on a mission to total drunkenness. We both accept the shots she hands us and throw them back as ordered. Then I ponder who of my friends is in the most turmoil, therefore needing my attention. You’d think this would be an easy decision, but Nat was probably as much in love with her hair as I thought Lizzy was with Jason. I flick my eyes between them; both distracted. Nat is still stroking her new bob, and Lizzy’s now daydreaming into her wineglass.
It’s no good. I can’t hold back. “What happened?” I ask Lizzy, knocking her knee.
She snaps out of her trance and looks at me, her usually bright eyes dulling. Then they well up, her bottom lip trembling. “He cheated!” she wails, bursting into tears. “And it’s not the first time, either!”
“Oh my God!” I cry, jumping down from my stool and taking her in a hug. She shakes and blubbers all over me, finally losing the ability to hold it together. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“When it happened before, I forgave him,” Lizzy sniffs. “Thought it would just be a one-off, and I knew how you’d all react. I didn’t want you to think bad of him, and I didn’t want you to think I’m a walkover.”
I look across Lizzy’s head at Nat, giving her a guilty look. She returns it, knowing that’s exactly what we would have done. Bastard, I mouth, and she nods, her lip curling.
Lizzy howls some more, making our tangle of limbs vibrate. “It’s been going on for months,” she sobs. “Some tart in the office. He’s been working late more and more, and I found text messages on his phone.”
Me and Nat scowl at each other, but neither of us say anything, probably because we have no idea what to say, leaving Lizzy to go on and dish the sordid details.
“She’s twenty-one!” she howls into my chest. “Twenty-fucking-one!”
Ouch!
Nat’s face is a picture of horror, and I expect mine is, too. “Let’s drink,” I suggest, now willing to get plastered on Lizzy’s behalf.
*
One hour later…or it could be two—I’m not sure—we are all pretty tipsy, but no one is crying so our inebriated states can only be a good thing. Micky has arrived, and doesn’t Lizzy know it. He looks gorgeous, his man-bun perfect. She’s all over him like a rash, and it’s not a problem for Micky. Though he does keep flicking wary eyes at me, waiting for the warning. It won’t come. Not tonight. Besides, Lizzy needs distracting and I’m too tipsy to care. A bit of harmless flirting won’t hurt.
Polishing off yet another wine, I look around for Nat. I find her on the dance floor, all by herself, swaying to a bit of Moby. A few drinks inside her and she belongs to any dance floor, no matter where.
I shimmy over to the bar to get more shots, since we’re clearly not drunk enough. Ordering four Slippery Nipples with a grin, I bob to the music while I wait for the barman to get our drinks. I slip him a twenty. “Do you have a tray?” I ask.