Gin, Fizz & Tonic

Resignations and leaving dos

The silence following Bella's pronouncement that it wouldn't surprise her if Zander had tried to get in to my knickers stretches on, louder than the police sirens blaring outside my window.

Shitting hell. In the good old days, you could say, God sorry, I'm going into a tunnel. You're breaking up, and terminate the call. No such luck here, as Bella can see the cork board behind me, which is covered in scrappy notes, postcards and photos that she knows is in my kitchen. I am definitely not on a train.

Forty-eight hours' worth of hangover builds up behind my eyelids, ready to splat itself fully onto my body.

"Don't be daft," I say to Bella. "Like I said, all we did was go out for a few drinks and a bit of boogeying." And the rest. "Zander is all yours. He's missing you so much."

And with that, a bit of early Sunday morning memory graces me with its presence. Zander in my bedroom, red wine slopping out of his glass onto the carpet as he sat on the bed.

Ginny, I love both of you, you know that, don't you? And haven't we always worked well as a group? The three amigos. Dunno if the conventional one-man one-woman thing works for me. Or you. Or her.

At that point, my Prosecco-addled brain hit on a crystal-clear thought I refrained from saying out loud: Actually, mate, I am desperate for a one-on-one thing that neither of you are part of because I am sick to death of the toxic relationship the three of us have with one another.

And then I collapsed on the bed and fell fast asleep.

"Humph," Bella mutters. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you? Call me paranoid, but you haven't answered your phone for the past few days, and I thought—'wonder what my best, my oldest friend is up to?' Someone more suspicious than me might conclude 'no good', right?"

"Wrong!" I say, super-bright and cheery, as though I work in PR already. "Unless 'no good' means drinking an absolute skinful when your New Year's resolution was to quit! Anyhoos, guess who I ran into when Dylan and I went out for breakfast yesterday?"

Brunch, but breakfast makes it sounds more... like something someone who hasn't spent the night with their best friend's ex-boyfriend—the person she is desperate to date again—might do, hmm?

"No idea."

"Liam Pearson!"

Bella's screwed up nose suggests she's none the wiser.

"Super-tall guy? Started school with us in 2006? Me and him shared a desk in English classes? He paid all that money for me to be dunked in the substance that cannot be named at that blasted Children in Need thing?"

"Oh. Him," Bella says, but it's obvious she doesn't really remember him. "Are you pinky-promising sure you and Zander didn't do anything on Saturday night?"

ARGH. She's back at this. "Yes!" I exclaim, conscience wriggling around in that grey area between black and white. "Bella, forgive me for asking, but is getting back together with Zander wise? After you two broke up, you didn't speak to him for two years. And then when you did, you assured me the two of you were much better off as friends."

Someone places a pink cocktail with a jaunty little umbrella on top in front of her. A male someone, judging by the size of the hand. She blows whoever a kiss.

"No, I've done a lot of thinking, and this time will be different. We're grown-ups now. We want different things. Right, I better go. Answer the phone first time next time, eh?"

"Of course! See ya..."

"... wouldn't want to be ya!" she answers, our customary way of ending phone calls, which reassures me. If she's still finishing a conversation that way, she must believe me about Zander.