'Morning,' I know I sound like a miserable twat, but I'm trying really hard not to be.
Tom looks up from his copy of Interiors Weekly and lowers his glasses to the end of his nose. 'Darling, why the long face?' he asks. I can't even muster up the energy to plaster on a fake smile. I slump in my chair, and Tom's sprawled across my desk, like mature ivy, within a second. 'Here, this will cheer you up.'
He presents me with a feature in the magazine he's reading and there, sat casually on the velvet chaise lounge at Lusso, is me. 'Wonderful,' I sigh. I don't even bother reading it. I need to eradicate all things relating to Lusso from my mind.
'Man trouble?' He gives me a look of sympathy.
No, not man trouble – there's no man to be having trouble with. I sulk. I knew it would be the last time I saw him. When he stalked off, I knew deep down that I wouldn't see him again. I've not been checking my phone every ten minutes, I've not been mooding over it and I'm not twiddling my shirt as I think this. I reluctantly admit...I really miss him. How ridiculous. He was a rebound fuck.
'I'm fine,' I find the strength to slap a smile on my face. 'It's Friday, I'm looking forward to getting plastered tomorrow night.' I need a good night out.
'Are we really getting plastered? Fabulous!'
My attention is turned to the office entrance when I hear the high pitched screech of Victoria.
'Oh...my...God! You will not believe what I just saw.' She's on the verge of passing out.
Tom and I both look at her blankly. 'What?' we ask in unison.
'So, I was in Starbucks, waiting for my double shot cappuccino with extra chocolate, and this guy walks in – I recognise him from somewhere. I'm not sure where, but he's one hot piece of man. Anyway, he's just stood there, minding his own, and this woman comes strutting in and tips a frappuccino all over him,' She pauses to draw breath. 'So, the woman starts screaming at him, calling him a lying, selfish arsehole, and then just walks out, leaving him dripping in frozen coffee and cream. It was all very dramatic.'
I sit and watch as Victoria recovers from her two breath commentary about the happenings of Starbucks on a Friday morning. Nothing like that ever happens when I'm in there.
'It sounds like someone's been a naughty boy,' Tom smirks. 'How hot was he?'
I roll my eyes. No doubt Tom would have flown to his rescue.
Victoria hands come up in front of her, palms forward. 'We're talking Men's Vogue.'
'No!' Tom takes his glasses off. 'Is he still there?'
She screws her pretty little face up. 'No.'
Oh, this is ridiculous.
Patrick comes barrelling into the office. 'Guys, have we any work to do, or is it fart around Friday?' He passes us swiftly, heading into his office and shutting the door behind him.
'You two, let's get on with some work, shall we?' I shoo them away from my desk.
'Oh, I forgot.' Tom swings around. 'Van Der Haus called to say he'll be back in London on Monday. He'll call you upon his return. He's emailing you the specifics and had these sent over. Is he hot?' His eyebrows jump up suggestively as he hands me an envelope.
'Very.' I take the drawings, widening my eyes for affect.
He screws his face up. 'How come you get all the dishy clients?' He walks back to his desk. 'What I wouldn't give to have an Adonis walk in here and throw me over his shoulder.'
I wince at Tom's referral to Harry's performance the last time I saw him and pull my phone out of my bag when it starts bleeping with a calendar reminder. Oh, my hairdresser's appointment, tomorrow at noon. I forgot about that. Well, that's improved my mood slightly. And I'll be nicely groomed for our big night out. Perfect.
I work my way through heaps of quotations, delivery schedules and contractor requirements, before calling my live clients to check all is well. It is, apart from Mrs Peters swags and tails drama. An email lands from Mikael. I scan it quickly, deciding to look at it in more detail on Monday.
Sally comes scuttling up to my desk with a delivery. 'Urm...I think this may be for you, Louis.' She shifts from side to side with a box in her hand. 'Do you want it?
What? Yes, I want it. If it's a delivery for me, then I guess I want it. Oh, this girl is painfully anxious. I take the box from her hands.
'Thank you, Sally. Will you make Patrick a coffee?'
'I didn't know he wanted one.'
Oh, the panic on her face has me wanting to make her a coffee. 'Well, he doesn't look right. Let's look after him.'
'Is he okay? He's not ill, is he?'
'No, but I think he could do with a coffee.' I press, trying my hardest not to lose my patience.
'Of course.' She scuttles off, her brown plaid skirt swishing around her court shoes. I couldn't even hazard a guess at her age. She looks about forty, but intuition tells me she'll shock me and be nearer my age. I open the box and find all of the material swatches I ordered for The Life Building. I throw the box under my desk. I'll deal with them on Monday too.
–
As six o'clock approaches, I pop my head around Patrick's door. He really doesn't look right.
'Patrick, I'm off. Are you okay?'
He looks up from his computer and smiles, but his eyes don't sparkle like usual. 'I'm just feeling a little peaky, flower.'
'You should go home.' I'm worried.
'I think I will.' He heaves his big body up from behind his desk and turns his computer off. 'Bloody woman's fed me something dodgy.' he mutters as he picks up his briefcase.
'Everything's been turned off. You just need to set the alarm.'
'That's good. Have a good weekend, flower. I'll see you on Monday.' He wipes the back of his hand over his sweating brow. There's definitely something wrong.
'Okay, see you on Monday.'
***
I stand in my bedroom ready to go. My hair is behaving – happy that it's been blow dried into a nice quiff, courtesy of Philippe, my hairdresser – and the new outfit I picked up from Selfridges was a panic buy to make me feel better but fits perfectly.
I walk into the kitchen, finding Beth hanging out of the window having a sneaky fag. What's she thinking about now? She looks her usual lovely self, in a cream backless dress.
'Wow!' she blurts. 'Someone's out to impress tonight.' She jumps down from the worktop, slipping her feet into her gold heels. 'Who's in your room?'
I doubletake back to her, "no one?"
"Then who helped you paint those pants on?"
I arch an eyebrow at her, running my eyes down her dress. 'Pot...'
She laughs her carefree laugh that never fails to bring a smile to my own face. 'Here.' She hands me a glass of wine. I take it gratefully, pretty much necking it. It's very welcome. 'The taxi's here.'
I dump my empty on the side and follow Beth out to the taxi. I'm looking forward to my recovery night, but ignoring the fact that my recovery night is to recover from a few steamy encounters with a steamy male, and not to recover from the breakdown of my four year relationship with Luke. It's ironic. I never felt the need to go out and get steaming drunk after my break up with Luke.
–
We walk into Baroque, spotting Tom and Victoria at the bar immediately.
'What the hell?' Tom exclaims, running his eyes up and down my black clad body on a grin. 'Louis, you look lethal!'
'Really good, Louis.' Victoria adds.
'Thanks.'
'What are you having?' Beth asks.
Well, I've already had a glass of wine, so I guess I should stick. I did say I was going to have a good drink. 'Rose, but make sure it's Zinfandel, please.'
Beth orders the drinks, and we make our way to a tall table near the DJ. Tom's wearing his new coral shirt and too tight jeans and Victoria looks as pretty as always. Everyone's really made an effort tonight, me included. Why is that?
As the wine flows down, my troubled thoughts flow away. We're laughing and chatting, and I'm beginning to feel normal again. I feel foot loose and fancy free. I like it. My Mum has always said "Alcohol makes for loose lips and loose lips sink ships". This, I have just discovered, is most certainly true because I'm totally lit up, and I've filled everyone in on recent events. Considering I wanted to forget about it, I'm doing a bloody good job of hanging on to the memories.
Tom is thrilled about all of the rebound sex I've had. 'So, he just stalked off and you haven't seen him since?' he asks critically.
Victoria pipes up. 'That's really un-cool.'
Beth rolls her eyes, looking at the pair like they're a sandwich short of a picnic. 'Isn't it obvious?' she huffs. Tom and Victoria look at each other, then to me. I shrug. Is what obvious? Beth shakes her head. 'You lot are dense. It's simple...Harry wants him. No man behaves like that over a quick screw. I've told you this, Louis.'
'Why would he disappear then?' Victoria leans in, truly captivated by Beth's explanation for Harry's behaviour.
'I don't know! I'm just saying. I've witnessed the chemistry. It's way off the scales.' Beth flops back on her tall chair in complete exasperation.
I laugh. I'm not sure if it's too much wine, but that's just...funny. 'It doesn't matter. He was a rebound fuck and that's it.' My explanation doesn't seem to satisfy because they all carry on studying me with doubtful looks on their faces. I don't even think I'm satisfied with my explanation, but it's been four days and I've resisted the overwhelming temptation to call him. Besides, he hasn't called me or made any further appointments, so that pretty much says it all. I'm moving on. I'm just massively pissed off with myself for relenting to his persistence, putting him in the position to drop me – and he has.
'Oh, can we change the subject, please?' I snap. 'I'm out to enjoy myself, not to analyse the details of my rebound fuck.'
Tom stirs his pina colada. 'You know, everything happens for a reason.'
'Oh, don't start with all that airy fairy crap!' Beth chides him.
'It does. I'm a firm believer in it. Your rebound fuck is a stepping stone to the love of your life.' He winks at me.
'And Luke was a four year stepping stone.' Beth points out.
'To stepping stones,' Tom sings.
Beth joins the toast. 'And shots!'
I finish my wine and raise my glass in agreement.
'Yes, shots!' Tom shouts, dancing off to the bar.
–
We sway down the road to our next destination, The Blue Bar. We make it past the doormen, although one does eye Tom's shirt suspiciously. Tom and Victoria charge for the dance floor when they hear Flo Rida and Sia singing about Wild Ones, leaving Beth and I to get the drinks.
I order a round and take Tom and Victoria's over, putting them on a ledge nearby under their instruction. The dancing is that serious; they could be some time. When I join Beth back at the bar, she's talking to a man. She doesn't know him. I can tell because she's notched up her flirting by a few gears.
As I approach, she raises her voice over the music. 'Louis, this is Greg.'
I smile, putting my hand out politely. He looks normal enough. 'Hi, nice to meet you,'
'Yeah, and you. This is my mate, Alex.' He signals to a cute, dark haired guy next to him.
'Hi,' I shout.
He smiles confidently. 'You wanna drink?'
'No, thanks, I've just got one.' Rule number one: Never accept drinks from strangers. Nate's drilled it into me since I started going out.
'Nah problem,' He shrugs.
Beth and Greg move away from us, leaving me and Alex to make conversation. I didn't really want this. I came out to be rid of men in general. Now I've been lumbered with one.
'What do ya do?' Alex asks me.
'Interior design, you?'
'Estate agent,'
I inwardly groan. I have an aversion to estate agents – cocky, over confident, gold plated salesmen. Alex is all of these, with the added bonus of a dodgy cockney accent.
'Nice.' I say, because he's just lost all of my interest, not that there was any in the first place.
'Yeah, got myself a few grand bonus taday. Give me a shit pit and I'll sell it, nah problem. I'm living it large in Landon and laving it.' Oh God, slime ball! 'Ya fancy going out samtime?'
NO! 'Thanks, but I'm in a relationship.' It's a good job Cockney doesn't know me and my bad habit. I'm twiddling my collar frantically.
'Ya sure?' he asks, inching closer and stroking my arm.
I pull away, planning my escape. 'Positive.' I smile sweetly, looking around for Beth.
Within the space of time it takes me to raise my glass to my lips, Cockney quickly disappears from my line of vision. It takes me a few seconds to piece together the events that are unfolding before my eyes, but when I do, I'm appalled.
Harry has Cockney in a firm grip around his neck and pinned up against a pillar.