don’t know. And I’m talking to Rich again. He’s been discussing the ideal time to send out group emails. His invitation to the farewell party – 2 pm last Thursday – was apparently very carefully thought out.
‘Friday is the best day for group banter,’ he nods. ‘I’m at my funniest on Fridays. Wednesdays you’d have to email me something pretty damn good to get me to respond. And on Mondays and Tuesdays, I don’t want to hear from anyone unless I skipped out on a bar bill or trashed your gaff on the weekend.’
‘Maybe you should write up these guidelines and send them to all your friends,’ I suggest.
‘I know,’ he sighs. ‘But they’d label me, you know. “Pushy”. “Bossy”.’ He holds his hands up in an exaggerated ‘quote mark’ mime.
‘“Anti-social”. “Surly”. “High Maintenance”,’ I continue glibly, then look at his pretend-hurt face with mock surprise. ‘Too far? Did I go too far?’
‘Fuck it, Abigail, why are you single now, when I’m leaving?’ says Rich, leaning back and looking at me.
‘You’ll get over it,’ I say tartly. Bonjour confidence. Churn et burn.
‘Dreadful timing. Dreadful.’
‘By the way,’ I say. ‘Who’s Plum talking to?’ This flirting is good, but Plum’s admission about feeling alone has made me feel protective of her.
‘Dan and Pete. I work with them.’
I look over and see Plum laughing and shaking her head at something one of them is saying. She looks her happy, pretty self. High five, Plum, I think. Bulletproof.
A second later, my sister Sophie and Luke walk in to the party, followed by Robert. Sophie and Luke look worried, and Robert is squinting and tripping over something at the door.
Sophie searches the room and we meet eyes. Something is wrong. Weren’t they supposed to be at someone’s 30th tonight?
‘Excuse me, Rich,’ I say, and hurry over to Sophie. Before I can get there, I’m almost knocked over by a bear hug from Robert.
‘Abbbyyy,’ Robert croons into my ear, and leans back to beam at me. I realise that he’s absolutely hammered. He’s actually cross-eyed. I look at Sophie and Luke in alarm.
‘What the fuck?’
‘He said he had to talk to you about being bulletproof,’ says Luke, sighing. ‘We were just up at The Anglesea Arms, so we thought the walk might sober him up.’
‘It’s been an eventful night,’ adds Sophie quietly. ‘We’ll tell you more later.’
I turn to Robert. He’s staring into space. ‘Are you OK?’
He focuses on me. ‘Oh Abby . . . I want you to know . . . I am so full of shit. You should not listen to me. I know nothing.’ He can barely talk, he’s slurring so badly.
‘Do you want a glass of water?’
‘I’d like a pint of WINE!’ he shouts excitedly. People around us start looking over. It’s only 10.30 pm. ‘What are you looking at, googly?’ Robert points at a guy with glasses. ‘Do you google in your googlies? HA!’ He turns back to us and puts up his hand for a high five.
‘Shut. Up!’ I hiss at him through clenched teeth. I turn to Sophie and Luke. ‘Let’s get him downstairs.’
‘I’m going to talk to Rich,’ nods Sophie. ‘We can’t turn up to his party with a gibbering drunk he doesn’t know and not even say hi.’
‘You’re a hi,’ says Robert, and starts laughing helplessly.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘I’ll get him out of here.’
I turn to Robert. ‘Robert. Robert.’ He turns to me and closes one eye to focus. The other is bloodshot. ‘Let’s go downstairs.’
‘Abby-gail,’ he singsongs, obediently following me out the door. I turn as we leave and see Plum looking over. She’s just talking to the tall guy now, who looks completely besotted by her. I give her a questioning thumbs up and she nods.
‘I’m not ash drunk ash I’m pretending,’ whispers Robert, extremely loudly, stumbling down the stairs to the main bar.
‘Really,’ I say, scanning the room for a spare table. Spying one, I grab Robert, sit him down, and then get a pint of water for him and a glass of wine for me. When I get back, he’s slumped in his chair, blinking groggily.
‘What happened, Robert?’ I say.
‘You never call me Rob,’ he replies, making a valiant attempt to sit up straight. ‘Everyone elsh does. Why?’
‘I don’t think of you as a Rob,’ I say. ‘You’re a Robert.’
‘I am. I am Robert.’ He sighs. ‘Was at another fucking 30th. For Dave. Another fucking groomsman.’
‘Dave, Luke’s groomsman, yes,’ I nod. I’ve never met him.
‘And his sister is the . . . the one I told you about.’
‘Which one?’ I say, confused. Robert never talks about his ladyfriends in any kind of detail.
‘The one. The one from the party. With the train and no shoes.’
‘Dave’s sister is the girl you proposed to?’ I ask. ‘Like, 10 years ago?’
‘Yes. Her. Stupid. Stupid Robert.’
‘Did something happen?’
He sighs, and swings his head to the side and gazes at me. ‘You’re so pretty.’
‘Robert!’ I snap. I’m intrigued. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘She was there. Louisa.’ He rolls out the name slowly. Looooeeeeeeessaaaaa.
‘Oh, shit,’ I say. ‘But, surely . . .’
‘Surely it was years ago. Surely you’re over it, Robert. Don’t call me Shirley. HA!’ Robert laughs and slaps his knee.
‘How’s it going?’ says a voice, and I look up. It’s Luke.
I stand up and, with my back to Robert, ask quietly: ‘What happened with Louisa?’
‘He told you about her?’ says Luke in surprise. ‘God, she’s an evil bitch. We saw her, she’s with her husband, everyone was very civil, then Rob drank straight whisky for two hours.’
‘That’s such a bad idea,’ I shudder at the thought.
Luke nods. ‘So was Louisa.’
‘He told me about proposing to her,’ I say as quietly as I can, so Robert won’t hear.
‘Which time?’ replies Luke with a wry smile.
‘It
