Page 22 of Last Night

It feels too karmic that a one-night stand that I attempted partly for vanity –look how easy it is for meto get tail– has ended up with me feeling like the last old mangy stray at the rescue shelter. I have minge mange.

I pull out a nicer dress than usual because, today of all days, my ego can’t take being clad as an ‘escaped toad disguised as a washerwoman’, as Susie and I describe our off-days style.

On the lurching bus ride into town, I consider taking my mind off my nausea by texting Susie a trailer for the Bald Ballsack Zack (ballzack?) anecdote, but I’m distracted by persistent calls from an unknown landline. Only total amateurs answer unknown numbers, you could be tricked into all sorts of unwanted conversations.

My office is in a fashionably bohemian part of the city centre, Hockley, but – less pleasingly – in a basement. You don’t realise how much humans need daylight until you’re without it. Even Goth humans like me.

‘Morning, cunts!’ says my desk mate, Phil, as I and my young colleague Lucy walk in. ‘Oof, big night last night was it, Eve? You’re as green as a Batchelors marrowfat pea.’

‘Thanks.’

‘A lovely pea, I stress. A feminine pea. You’re not the “witch from Oz” sort of green hag.’

‘A feminine marrowfat pea. That’s me.’

I pour myself a black coffee from the filter jug on the sideboard. Phil is in his late fifties and has what my colleague Lucy calls ‘a council meeting beard’, which somehow made me honk with laughter. (‘You know, like Bill Oddie or Jeremy Corbyn’s. Not like a “worn with beanie and sleeve tatts beard”.’)

Phil has confused ‘being lumpenly offensive’ with ‘a great sense of humour and big personality’. Nevertheless, we generally get along, due to my pragmatic decision to take no offence. I would a thousand times rather an abrasive but straightforward Phil, than a snaky, conniving alternative.

‘Are you doing the roller-disco pieces?’ he asks and I confirm that I am. Given I’m physically broken, I’m going to lean hard on puns.

Wheels on Fire? Starlight Ex-YES? Oh God that’s awful. Rock ‘N’ Roller?

My mobile flashes with Ed’s name. Ugh: this is unusual timing and it must be because he wants to talk about the proposal. I’m the last person who owes it to Ed to make him feel OK about saying yes. Nope. No way. I pop a couple of Nurofen Plus out of their plastic casing while scowling at the illuminated handset.

‘That’s a waste of money, you know,’ Phil says, nodding at the pills. ‘They’re ibuprofen. You’re paying that much morefor branding.’

‘I’m a fan of late-stage capitalism and being in debt,’ I say.

‘You must love this job then.’

‘With all my heart.’

‘Politicians should study the phenomenon of Nurofen. People will flush away their money purely for a logo on a packet.’

‘How do you know politicians haven’t?’

Phil keeps squinting at the Nurofen, annoyed by my lack of taking the bait for an argument.

‘Here, listen to this comment on the site,’ he says, to a roomful of two women who are drinking coffee and not listening. ‘An article about BEST RESTAURANTS FOR ROMANCE is very isolating for those of us who are single and makes us feel excluded or unwelcome in such places. Please reconsider your heteronormative focus on coupledom.Jeezo. Life’s hard. We don’t all get to shag Beyoncé. Hey, what do you think to this reply:With your natural joie de vivre it is indeed surprising no one has made you their special companion, Sarah.’

I laugh.

‘I think you will go viral, and get sacked.’

‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’

Missed Call From Ed Cooperappears on the screen. The phone starts flashing with him trying to ring me again. Oh, mate, seriously. Leave me alone.

A text pops up. I slide the bar to open it.

If you’re there, I need you to answer. It’s not about last night and it’s urgent.

‘It’s not about last night’ is strange, and a bit of a mask slip. Ed’s tacitly admitting he knows I’d avoid him on that topic?

It immediately rings again and this time, startled as much as anything, I answer.

‘Hi,’ I say. ‘This best be—’

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