Rory was staring at me, unconvinced. ‘All these years you remain a complete cynic, and now suddenly we’re excusing a man who is really channelling Christian Bale in American Psycho?’
I stuck my tongue out at him, rearranging the flowers and leaving the notecard in my desk drawer. Rory was overreacting, right?
***
‘He did what?’ Isla sipped her cocktail – something fruity, something pink – before leaning in over the table and putting her hand on mine. ‘I know you hate when I say it, but everything –’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Everything does not happen for a reason.’
She threw her hands up. ‘Then explain why the exact veil I wanted appeared on Vinted last week.’
‘Coincidence.’ I slurped my own cocktail, a non-alcoholic Moscow mule. ‘Purely coincidence.’
Maeve, who had been staring into space next to me, shook her head before giving her input. ‘People like to think everything happens for a reason in order to give their life meaning.’
I snorted. ‘Well, aren’t you the bringer of doom.’
Adrian down-days were getting rarer and rarer to the point of extinction, but today was an exception. She took one of the three shots she’d lined up in front of her. We hadn’t intended our after-work drinks to include shots – I was absolutely not in the headspace for alcohol after last night – but there had been no dissuading her.
‘Well, I firmly believe it does. If that translates into me trying to give my life some meaning, then so be it.’ Isla took one of the shots herself. ‘Maeve, finding ex-boyfriends on dating apps is a rite of passage. Put the shots down.’
After weeks of resisting, Maeve had finally downloaded Link (Rory and I were trying not to hold it against her), in an obvious attempt to try and see if Adrian was dating. A couple of nights ago I’d caught her dropping her location pin right next to his flat at 2 a.m., in a desperate attempt to catch him (without being caught herself).
‘I mean, look at this one’ – she held up her phone, showing us a photo of her ex-boyfriend grinning from ear to ear on the streets of Rome – ‘I literally took this photo. I bet, if you zoomed right in on his eyeballs, you’d see me.’
I gently pried the phone out of her hands. ‘Which we’re definitely not going to do.’
‘And written on my forehead’ – Maeve was trying to grab the phone back – ‘would be the letters M-U-G.’
Isla shot me a look, and surreptitiously stole another one of the shot glasses, dumping the tequila into a plant pot. Maeve was too busy wrestling with me to notice.
‘Anyway, enough about that prick.’ Isla slid my mocktail over to Maeve to placate her. ‘Back to business. He left flowers on your desk? And his phone number?’
Maeve relented. ‘I will agree to shelve my wallowing, but only because I need to know if we’re dealing with a creepy stalker or a Richard Curtis-level romantic gesture.’
‘It’s still up for debate.’ I tucked Maeve’s phone into my back pocket and played with a napkin, tearing it into tiny pieces. ‘Rory is firmly on the side of creepy stalker.’
‘Shocker.’ Isla rolled her eyes. ‘I think it’s romantic. It was a corporate event. He probably just asked at reception. Plus, this is the perfect way to get your confidence back after the almost-ghosting.’
I winced, my pride still not recovered. ‘Alternatively, maybe I should buy a double lock for our front door.’
‘Penny’ – she flicked me with her straw, getting gin in my eyes – ‘must you always be so pessimistic?’
I held the heel of my hand to my eyelid. ‘Thanks very much for that. And yes. I must. In fact, Isaac has cleared me out of all optimism for the next twenty-six years.’
Maeve clinked her one remaining shot against my drink. ‘Cheers to that.’
Isla sighed. ‘And here I was, thinking that tonight might be fun. Silly me.’
‘We can’t all have hot doctors waiting for us at home.’
I shoved Maeve. ‘That’s disgusting. I shared a womb with that doctor.’
‘Not at the same time, though. Which counts for something.’
Isla scrunched up her nose. ‘Are psychologists meant to be this messed up?’
‘No.’ Both of us said it in unison, matter-of-factly.
‘Speaking of my hot doctor’ – Isla winced – ‘sorry, Penny. Is the sten booked yet?’
It was a miracle that I’d managed to do anything productive today, but Rory and I had finally sat down together, booking out a meeting room and coming to an agreement about the most important part of our maid of honour slash best man duties. We’d compromised on the lodge with a hot tub in the Yorkshire Dales, where the boys would spend an afternoon go-karting, and us girls would go for a Taylor Swift-themed bottomless brunch. Isla was a diehard. I’d nailed this.
‘We may have booked something, but no spoilers, sorry.’ I tapped my finger against the side of my nose. ‘I’m taking it to the grave. Or, to the opening moments of the hen do. Whichever comes first.’
Maeve, who was in on the secret, patted Isla’s hand. ‘I can read you like a book. I promise Rory isn’t going to force you to abseil down a cliff, or almost drown in a kayak.’
My sister-to-be looked incredibly relieved.
‘Good, because I haven’t been sleeping well. I’ve had visions of us all camping in the middle of nowhere with only matches and Super Noodles to keep us going.’
It was a good job we’d never shown her the rough list of original ideas.
‘I’m offended that you thought I’d let it come to that.’ I stole my glass back from Maeve and tipped the last of it down my throat, crunching on the ice.
‘I know what you and Rory are like with each other. I’ve never known two people so obsessed with compromise. It’s like you get so stubborn about pleasing the other one that you lose sight of the goal.’ She tilted her head. ‘No offence.’
Maeve was nodding along with Isla. ‘It’s true.’
