and casing the room.
I nod, and excuse myself to go to find Bloomie. I manage to stop at only two groups as I walk around the party, and have a moderately entertaining banter with them. However, my paranoia is now switched on and I’m convinced everyone is laughing at me. I can’t see Jake anywhere. Not that I’m looking for him, I meant because I’m trying to avoid him. I finally find Bloomie in the backyard with Kate—who I didn’t think was coming, so it’s a rather nice surprise—and Eugene.
‘Hello, princesses,’ I say, kissing Kate and Eugene. He’s not really a dork, obviously. He’s in his early 30s, works in finance with Bloomie—they met in a conference call, of all the romantic stories—and is half-French, though he grew up mostly in London and has no trace of an accent. He still has that skinny, sexy, floppy-haired French guy thing going on. He can wear big square scarves knotted around his neck and still look pretty hot, which is an incredible feat when you think about it.
‘What’s news here then? Everyone in the rest of the party is talking about me, apparently.’
Kate nods. ‘You or the economy. And you’re more fun.’
I sigh. ‘Sheesh. How you doin’, Eugene?’
‘Smashing,’ he grins, and looks at Bloomie. She giggles and grins back. What the sweet hell is that about? Other people’s relationships are mystifying.
‘Where’s Tray?’ I say, as though I suddenly noticed his absence and was upset by it.
‘Oh, he’s at home,’ says Kate, looking over to the house as if it was unexpectedly fascinating. ‘He’s…working. Do you have a cigarette, Sass?’
I glance over to exchange a quick look with Bloomie, but she’s still gazing at Eugene. Kate’s staring into space. I wonder what Jake is doing, and involuntarily look at the kitchen window. I only see Ant emptying a bottle of Diet Coke and a bottle of rum into the blender and pressing blend. Dickhead. I get out three cigarettes and light all of them, in my mouth, at once, then hand one each to Kate and Bloomie. An old trick from university. It’s so not cool that it’s almost cool.
‘Wow, you guys…you’re like the Pink Ladies,’ says Eugene.
Oh, for God’s sake. ‘Wrong thing to say, darling…’ says Bloomie, laughing. He looks perplexed. ‘I’ll explain later…’ she adds, and they smile at each other happily. I wait for them to talk more, but they seem to be communicating through the medium of loving gazes.
‘Young love, huh, Katie?’ I say, turning away from the happy couple.
‘Mmmm,’ Kate says absently.
Gosh, what a bunch of funsters.
Bloomie’s BlackBerry rings, and the expression on her face changes from happy to stern so fast it’s like she’s swapping those comic/tragic drama masks. She hands Eugene her drink without speaking, answers it and barks ‘Susan Bloomingdale…’ as she walks away.
‘It’s 11 pm on a Friday!’ says Eugene, half to himself.
‘It’s probably the States,’ I say. ‘She works with the San Fran office a lot, right? Don’t you do the same sort of job, anyway?’
He shrugs in his nonchalant Gallic way, and looks quizzically at us. Well, at me. Kate seems to have checked out for the time being, and is here in body only. ‘I’m an analyst,’ he says. ‘And I’m not obsessed with it.’
‘Neither is Bloomie,’ I say loyally, and slightly untruthfully. ‘She kind of gives everything 100%, that’s all.’
Eugene nods.‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the kitchen to get a drink. Can I get you anything?’
‘I’m all good,’ I say, glancing over at Kate, who’s still mute. ‘She’s all good, too.’
I stand in silence for about 30 seconds, waiting for Kate to speak.
‘Kate,’ I say, taking a drag on my cigarette. She doesn’t respond. ‘Kate, I’m pregnant.’
She’s in a trance. I sigh and look around the back garden. Everyone else is talking loudly or drinking messily. The noise levels of the party seem to have doubled. The Killers are playing very loudly and I hear a whoop from the living room that probably means Mitch is doing The Worm across the carpet. The first houseparty of my Dating Sabbatical is suddenly turned up to eleven, and I’m completely unsure what to do with myself. I’m not even sure if I’m having fun anymore. Everything was fine till I met Jake.
‘Hello, trouble,’ says a voice behind me. I turn around. Oh, my God.
It’s Rugger Robbie. My ex-boyfriend. Break-Up No.2. Fucking hell, I haven’t seen him in years. I thought he moved to Brisbane to be with the girl he met in Thailand. The girl he left me for.
‘Robbie!’ I smile, kissing him hello. I can’t pretend to be upset about it all, five years later. Especially when I’m not.
‘You look fantastic!’ Rugger Robbie says, looking me up and down very obviously. ‘How are you?’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m great.’ He doesn’t look fantastic, so I can’t say it back. The fit rugby body has become a fat rugby body, and his face looks like someone has pumped it full of air from the cheekbones down.
‘So, Sass, what are you up to these days?’ he asks jovially, staring at my boobs. It’s most off-putting. ‘Still living in London?’
‘Yep,’ I say. ‘Are you back here on holiday?’
‘From where—Brisvegas?’ he asks. God, people who say Brisvegas are irritating. ‘Nah, I came home about six months ago.’
‘Is Kerry with you?’ I ask politely. That was her name.
‘Oh, no,’ he says, eyes flicking up to meet mine. ‘We broke up. I’m living with Riggsy and Martin again, just off Fulham Palace Road. It’s just like old times!’
‘How fun,’ I smile. I wonder if he’s still pissing on curtains. ‘Well, nice to see you, I’d better see if Mitch needs any help with, uh, something.’ I glance at Kate, who still seems to be in some kind of waking coma. What the fuck is wrong with her?
‘Hey, uh, can I get your number?’ Rugger Robbie asks. ‘I’d love to take you out for dinner sometime. We should catch up.’
‘Should we?’ I snap, and then catch myself and smile sweetly at him. ‘Afraid I can’t, Robbie. Take care though. Come on, Katie.’ Before either of them can reply, I grab her hand and we stride towards the house purposefully.
‘Whoa, Thelma and Louise!’ exclaims a guy standing outside the door. He’s wearing a T-shirt with an absolutely huge Abercrombie & Fitch logo. ‘Serious faces, laydeeeez! It’s a party! Aren’t you having fun?’
We stop and look at him.
‘Make me laugh, then,’ I say.
‘Uh…’ he says, looking for inspiration to his friend next to him.
‘Too late,’ I say and we walk through.
