CHAPTER 34

The hen party continued pretty much as anyone would have expected. Stripper, squealing, shots, dancing, confessions of love and questionable snogs. And the party gal version of me showed little sign of slowing down. Espresso martinis really keep you going.

But as soon as midnight strikes, the lonely hour hits. Some people, who weren’t quite as dedicated to the party train as I was, have already left. Some claimed they had to get the last train home. Others said they had an early start the next morning. Some snuck out without so much as a wave.

And Tilly is nowhere to be seen. Even the hen has gone home.

It’s clearly time for me to bow out semi-gracefully. I retreat to the safety of the loo.

But the queue for the loo is long and lonely. As I stand, lightly swaying, I can’t help but notice how loud everyone is being now that there is no music to drown them out. The girls next to me are talking about their boyfriends, both of whom sound horrible. So I try to block them out. But blocking out the noise means I quietly think about Peter. He wouldn’t be a horrible boyfriend. I think about the way he always used to bring me a cheese and crisp sandwich whenever I was hungover. The way he helped my mum with the crossword by working out the answers and then giving her easier clues. There was one particular night I remember crystal clearly – we were sitting on a random bench, late at night on the way home, not saying a huge amount. But looking back, I wonder if I could have leaned across and kissed him. I didn’t, of course. Because we were just friends.

But I don’t think of him as just a friend any more.

I break out of the line.

I don’t need to pee. I need to tell Peter how I feel. I need to tell him now, before he goes to Australia. I need to tell him now, before I bottle it.

I need two burritos and a taxi.

CHAPTER 35

I ring his doorbell a couple of times, not 100 per cent confident I’m at the right place.

‘Bea? What are you doing here?’ He squints a bit in the dark and turns on another light. ‘What are you wearing? What the hell is on your forehead?’

I had forgotten about the Lycra. And the tattoo.

‘It was Tilly’s hen party. Are you going to let me in?’ It’s cold. My feet are doing a mini march on the spot.

‘Come in. I’ll make you tea. Are you drunk?’ Yes, very.

‘I brought burritos.’

‘With guac?’

‘And two types of beans.’

‘Perfect.’

‘Not for anyone who comes across you tomorrow.’ Gross. Why did I have to go there? Fart jokes are never appropriate, but especially not tonight. I’m meant to be the most attractive version of myself tonight.

‘So how was the party? From the look of things, pretty good.’