Shite.I blocked her number, didn’t I? No wonder I didn’t get any texts from her.
The realisation that this could all be as much my fault as hers has me in an immediate spin.
I’m a fool.
A complete fucking idiot.
A terrible sister.
An awful human being.
‘Wait. Did you unfollow me?’ she gasps.
And the rest.
‘So, all this time you thought Ideliberatelymade you redundant? That I gave all those emails to Karen as evidence againstyou?’ Her hands fly to the sides of her head, just like Geoff – I mean Jiff. ‘Oh my fucking God. And you thought I was having anaffairwith Dickhead Dan?’ She makes vomiting noises.
I gulp. When she puts it like that it sounds… well, it sounds…a lot like I’m the dickhead.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.
‘Me too,’ Ava says, flinging her arms around me. ‘I should have been there for you when it all kicked off. Instead of making assumptions and being bossed about by Karen and some faceless prick they brought in to fire everyone.’
‘Let’s try to forget about it for tonight.’ I desperately need to process this properly, with the help of some pebbles or a babbling brook or even some throat singing. ‘We’ll circle back to it in the morning.’
‘Great idea,’ Ava says. ‘Let’s get shitfaced!’
While I battle the sticky floor and bits of broken glass that litter my path to the bar, I watch my sister and Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen dancing like someone is poking them with electric cattle prods. I’m pleased to see they look carefree and happy.
There is a lot of braying going on. Grown men, wearing neon-coloured mankinis, are treating innocent bystanders, like myself, to an intimate glimpse of their hairy chests and bums which are covered in an assortment of barcode and Welsh dragon tattoos. It is highly unappealing not to say unhygienic, but what is abundantly clear, is that they are playing the world’s loudest, rugby-themed drinking game. By the looks of them, the game started twelve years ago and is still in full swing.
‘I love men with thick necks, Gav,’ I hear my sister saying. She is hanging from a man wearing a lilac-coloured bra and knicker-set. It appears to be made of industrial-strength stretchy lace and he is punching the air in celebration.
I shudder and take a step back from the heaving throng, who have now turned an area of the bar into a dancefloor.
I much prefer a tall, long-legged man myself. My mind wanders to Oliver. I’ve completely blown it with him. I knock back my drink, and order three more cocktails.
While I wait for Ava and Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen to finish dancing, I slip into a nice little fantasy where Ryan has just come over with a bottle of Crystal and is dangling the keys to his helicopter at me, when, before I can dart away, one of these hairy beasts, Jimbo, throws an arm around my neck. He winks lasciviously and waggles his appendage at me.
I unpeel his arm and watch as he starts doing, what I assumeheassumes, is a routine fromMagic Mike, using a dirty bar cloth and a cocktail umbrella stuck between his teeth.
‘No thanks,’ I say, turning back to the bar.
He throws his head back and howls with laughter, ‘Squinty! I’ve got a live one here mate! Gorgeous knockers mind.’
Absolutely charming.
‘You have such a beautiful way with words,’ I yell back as he yanks me in close, so that I can enjoy the view of his hairy chest from up close.
A thunderous cheer goes up around the bar and I discover that these male strippers, behaving for all intents and purposes like posh ladsare,in actual fact,posh lads. They are a professional rugby team full of heroes, newly arrived here to celebrate their recent cup win dressed in slithers of Lycra for two whole weeks. We quickly learn that they have also been out for a vindaloo, which apparently tapped into their natural competitive streak, and now several of them have recently experienced an explosive rear end discharge.
Their manager must be so proud.
My sister and MJ, as she insists on being awkwardly called by me this evening, dance over to see what the fuss is about. I take this opportunity to slide out from the headlock.
‘That’s my sister,’ Ava says, pointing at me. ‘She’s a very successful life coach. And this is MJ. She’s her… company director. And I’m an influencer!’
Me and MJ exchange a guilty look.
