“What about cocktails later? We have to pace ourselves.”

“To hell with that. Let’s order a bottle.”

“Uh, Sez?”

“Mmm.” I took a sizeable swig.

“Maybe we need more food.”

I sat up as straight as I could and had a little think. Yep, I was very close to the tipping point. I’d soon be drunk. “I totes agree.”

She grabbed a menu off the bar and read through it quickly, then signalled to the barman. “Can we get some skinny chips, please?” He seemed to ignore that she’d just ordered the cheapest thing on the menu—and a side dish.

“Of course, madam.” Madam. There was that bloody word again.

He left us alone and Cat raised her eyebrows at me—maybe she didn’t like that word either. I noted that her brows were perfectly shaped and guessed she went to the brow bar regularly.

“What on earth is a skinny chip?” I asked, eyeing the menu.

“I doubt the skinny part has anything to do with kilojoules. It’s probably just French fries.

“Oh right.” I sipped my prosecco, but just a tiny sip. Not to worry, carbs are on the way!

We sat in comfortable silence for approximately eight minutes, each of us taking micro sips of our bubbles, until the skinny chips arrived. Cat was right, they were French fries, and they were gone in less time than it took to cook them.

Cat licked salt off her fingers. “So, you’ve had some time to think about your little love triangle.” I cringed at the term. “What are you going to do?”

My mouth formed a perfectly straight line. After a moment of further contemplation, I replied, “I’m just going to see.”

“You’re just going to see what?”

“What happens.”

She shook her head, as though trying to dislodge a bug on her face, or perhaps she was trying to make sense of what I was saying. “So, you’re going to continue with both of them and just see what happens?”

“Yep,” I said with far more certainty than I felt.

“Huh.”

We sat side by side, both of us looking forward.

“That might work,” she said eventually.

“I hope so,” I replied.

*

We skipped the cocktails at Bar Termini—partly because we’d spent quite a lot of money at the oyster bar, but mostly because we were drunk by the time we left. Skinny chips and oysters do not soak up much prosecco.

We rode the tube, then the train, home. On the train, Cat suggested we open some wine at her place to keep the festivities going. As my bubbles buzz was wearing off, I wholeheartedly agreed.

Jane was home when we arrived, but was heading out for the evening, so it would just be me and Cat. I still hadn’t met Alex. I had moved from suspecting he didn’t exist to deciding he definitely didn’t.

Minutes after we arrived, Cat opened a bottle of red while I rummaged in her cupboards for two matching wine glasses. “Success!” I said, holding up a pair. Cat threw me an odd look. “What? I like them to match.” I placed them in front of her and she poured two generous glasses.