Both Louise and I turn to face her, eyes wide and hopeful. Bibi always has the answer, she is so wise and all-knowing. She will solve my pitiful life for me.
She holds the room for a moment, leaving an overly dramatic pause as she looks between the pair of us. And then she reveals her solution and it is exactly the right answer.
‘We shall get 10am day-drunk.’
CHAPTER TWO
By midday we are already pissed and staggering into The Swan – our grotty local pub – five minutes from our front door.
God, we love this place. I mean, if you happen to be in bed at 11pm, trying to sleep as swarms of drunken idiots shout outside your window, it’s a nightmare living so near a pub. But luckily we’re usually here, the onesbeingthe nightmare.
It’s not that it’s a nice bar. Actually it’s fully gross. We tend to refer to it asThe Swabinstead of The Swan, because honestly, you’ll need a whole range of tests at your local free clinic after consuming anything on the premises. But familiarity breeds contempt – and contentment. It isourdisgusting disease hub and we won’t hear a bad word said against it. Unless it comes from us.
Bibi gets us drinks – pink and insulting wine as per – and we settle into a corner booth. We are the first and only people here, a fact we are drunk enough to be proud of.
‘I HATE DATING,’ I scream into the empty room anda frightened-looking Franco – the pub manager – cowers a little behind the bar. He knows us. He knows we are messy and confrontational when drunk. Poor guy also once accidentally saw me naked, but that’s a whooooole other story.
‘I DID TOOOOOO BEFORE SVEN,’ Louise shouts and we both giggle.
‘I HAVE NO STRONG OPINIONS ON IT REALLY BECAUSE I NEVER DO IT,’ Bibi yells and we all collapse across the booth.
‘What is this?’ A groggy Louise reaches beneath her, pulling out a magazine lodged beneath the lurid pink corner cushions. She lobs it at Bibi, who throws it at me.
It lands in my lap and I peer at it through watery, drunk eyes. It’s a battered old copy ofCosmour, the best mag of the nineties and noughties. I was a subscriber until it died a death a few years ago and it stirs up all kinds of feelings in me, seeing one again. Curious, I study the folded edges and shouty coverlines about orgasms and the Taliban. I don’t recognize this issue.
‘Oh, no way, I used to loveCosmour!’ Louise shouts, shuffling closer in the booth to look over my shoulder.
‘Me too,’ I laugh, flicking through the pages. So much fun and nostalgia reflects back at me. I pause about halfway through on a brightly illustrated feature with an eye-catching headline.
‘Read it to us!’ Louise claps her hands and even cynical old Bibi gives me an unguarded, encouraging smile.
I clear my throat and begin in my best grown-up voice.
The Seven Relationships Every Woman Has in Her Quest to Find the One
Research says we all endure the same kind of love stories in life. Here,Cosmourwriter Demi Doris breaks them down
‘Er, Bibi, are you going to actually work today?’ An anxious-sounding voice interrupts my reading and we turn as one to glower at Franco.
Technically, Bibi works here.
‘Maybe, Franco,’ she slurs, very obviously – as my grandmother would say – pissed as a fart.
‘Erm, well.’ He purses his lips, unable to follow through with any kind of authority. ‘OK, but five minutes, all right?’
‘Fuck you very much, Franco, that’s really decent of you,’ Bibi gushes, breezing over the insult. She stares him out until he shuffles away, looking scared.
‘Aw, you should be nicer to him,’ Louise says, always the best of us.
‘He’s a dick,’ Bibi pronounces, as Lou giggles, turning back to me in the booth. ‘Keep reading,’ she says urgently, looking excited.
The Seven Relationships Every Woman Has in Her Quest to Find the One
Research says we all endure the same kind of love stories in life. Here,Cosmourwriter Demi Doris breaks them downThere are plenty of depressing things women have in common: periods, weird nipple hair, earning much less than men for doing the same work (ugh, let’s not even right now). And now we get to add one more thing to the list: our relationship patterns. New research has found that we all – more or less – endure the same kinds of relationships before we settle on The One. But, whether they’re the friend you shagged just because they were there, or the guy at work you were so sure was a mistake, your big love is in there somewhere – FACT.
Intrigued, I skip down, scanning the seven boxes detailing the different relationship types: The First Love; The Work Mistake; The Overlap; The Friend With Benefits; The Missed Chance; The Bastard; and The Serious One.
‘Ha!’ Louise is still reading over my shoulder. ‘I’ve had some of those. Do you remember that guy Gabriel from the pantomime I was in years ago? Who told me his penis was allergic to condoms and then gave me syphilis? Talk about work mistakes!’ She laughs and leans her head on my shoulder affectionately, but I’m not really listening. I’m thinking; counting.
