Page 6 of The Typo

‘What, right now? It’s nearly ten o’clock,’ I said, glancing at my watch. It wasn’t that I was opposed to going out late in the evening, and on a work night, but it had been so long since I’d done it that the suggestion seemed almost indecent. I reminded myself that for a lot of people, the night would be only just getting started.

‘Yeah, but what else would you be doing at ten o’clock on a Wednesday night? Say you’ll come.’

I was torn between being delighted at her sudden urgent need for my presence, and being somewhat hurt at the assumption that I would have no other plans and could therefore be at her beck and call. I mean, she was absolutely correct in that assumption, but it didn’t mean it was fair for her to make it. Or particularly kind. I paused, trying to make it sound like I was inundated with offers and weighing up my options, a petty response which was ultimately pointless because she merely carried on chatting with whoever else she was with until I gave her my answer.

‘Give me five minutes to get out of my pyjamas and I’ll be with you. Actually, where are you?’

‘Oh Amy, you’re such a home girl. Only you would be in your PJs at this time of night while the rest of the world is out partying. Wednesdays are the new Fridays, didn’t you know?’

She didn’t need to rub it in.

Meg named a bar in the Stockbridge area of the city which had recently been cropping up all over my Instagram feed. If that was the destination, then it was going to take me a little longer than the promised five minutes to get ready. If I turned up in my current slob state, they’d chuck me out right away for ruining their carefully curated aesthetic.

‘Are Cass and Jodie there too?’ I asked, already anticipating the answer. Somehow I knew I was last on the list to be summoned.

‘But of course. And their other halves. We’ve all been out for dinner. Sorry, we figured we’d spare you the smug coupledom.’

‘That’s um … thoughtful of you,’ I found myself saying, although actually I really wouldn’t have minded being a third wheel. It would have been nice to be included for a change. But I couldn’t think of a way of phrasing it without sounding like I was being precious, so I kept my mouth shut.

‘Right, gotta go. Chop, chop, and get down here pronto. I can’t wait to see your face when you hear the news,’ she ended the call in typical Meg cliffhanger fashion.

Despite her entreaties to be quick, I took my time getting ready, every stroke of the makeup brush helping me put on my armour. I’m not sure I could explain it out loud, but it had been so long since I’d goneoutout with my friends that I felt unaccountably nervous. Maybe it had something to do with the way Meg had been so casual about their reason for leaving me out of their dinner plans, that subtle implication that I was the outsider in the friendship group now, the last one to be told important stuff. I frowned. I was reading too much into a throwaway comment. I should live in the moment and enjoy the chance to be sociable for a change. Maybe this could be the night to help me get things back on an even keel.

I splashed out on a taxi to get me to the bar, my nervous chatter with the driver probably a dead giveaway that it had been a while since I’d last been in this world. The poor man was kind enough to humour me, but his broad smile when he dropped me off suggested he was glad to get rid of me.

As I stepped out of the cab and looked at the venue in front of me, I experienced a strong desire to return immediately to the safety and peace of my flat. The bar’s doorway was framed by exotic plants, the colours so bright that they couldn’t possibly be real. Two doormen were standing in front of the foliage, all sharp suits and designer jawlines, probably as much there to pose for pictures as to warn off the wrong kind of clientele. The number of glossy people preening and posing triggered an immediate dose of imposter syndrome.

‘Come on, Amy, why have you turned into such a scaredy cat? You’ve got this.’ I muttered a mini pep talk to myself as I hovered around, pretending to check my phone while waiting for a gap in the photo shoots. I had every right to be here. I was going to have a great time. I hadn’t forgotten how to relax and be sociable.

Summoning my courage, I carefully picked my way across the cobbled street to the entrance, smiled at the doormen, who studiously ignored me, and dived inside. I was hit by a wave of overwhelming sensations. The pounding thud of the music vibrated between my ribs and for a moment I froze on the threshold as the shrieks of laughter and clattering of glasses assaulted my senses. The sickly aroma of alcohol mixed with dozens of different perfumes and aftershaves filled my nostrils, and I fought the urge to turn round and go straight back out again. I’d forgotten how confronting it could be to walk into a bar by myself, the blur of faces looking through me while I frantically searched for the people I’d come to meet.

At last, I spotted them. Meg, Jodie and Cass were tucked away in a booth at the back of the room with their other halves, the epitome of carefree young professionals about town. Meg was throwing her head back in laughter, her hair cascading down her back like an advert for shampoo. Jodie was pouting for a selfie, all cheekbones and sophistication in a pose which would definitely have made me look like a constipated duck. Cass was bending her head towards her husband, every inch of their body language demonstrating their closeness as a couple. Despite my care in getting ready, I felt instantly dowdy in comparison. Smoothing my skirt and tottering towards them, I reminded myself that sometimes it was better not to pay too much attention to the voice of negativity in my head, which always tended to be at its loudest late at night after a busy day.

‘Amy, darling,’ gushed Jodie as soon as she saw me, pulling me into a clumsy embrace, her chair falling backwards with an embarrassingly loud clatter in her haste to greet me.

‘It’s so good to see you,’ I said, trying to make my voice carry above the din. Jodie squeezed me tighter, and squealed a greeting to someone else she’d spotted across the dance floor. It had obviously been a heavy night as I could smell the cigarette smoke in her hair. My friend’s disapproving attitude towards smoking tended to do a one-eighty once she’d passed the three-drink mark, at which point her affection for everyone and everything became a lot more marked.

‘Let me look at you,’ she ordered, pushing me away to arm’s length. ‘Love the outfit. You always are the queen of the charity shop find.’

‘Er, thanks,’ I said, wondering what it was about the very expensive skirt and top bought new and never worn before that screamed second-hand. Logically I knew it was probably the booze talking, but my already low confidence took a further nosedive.

‘I ordered you a mojito.’ Jodie looked around blankly, picking up empty glasses and inspecting them as if expecting them to magically refill with liquid. ‘I did order it, didn’t I?’

‘You certainly did, but then you drank it,’ said Cass with a smile. She stood up and gave me a big hug. ‘You look gorgeous, Ams. And thank goodness, another sober person to keep me company. I won the award of being tonight’s designated driver, which I am telling myself I will be grateful for tomorrow when Millie’s screaming for a feed at a horribly early hour.’

I decided not to confess to already being a G&T down. I didn’t want my friends to get the wrong impression of me drinking alone at home on a weeknight.

‘Come and sit next to me. It’s been too long since we had a proper chinwag. I’m sorry you couldn’t make it to the meal,’ she finished, leaving me somewhat confused.

‘I wasn’t invi—’ I started to say, then decided it was easier not to make things awkward. ‘You’ve had much more important things on your mind,’ I said instead. ‘I’m just glad to see you now. How is the lovely Miss Millie?’

‘Demanding, a complete diva, but utterly delightful. Be careful, I’ve already bored this lot with baby photos and I’m on the lookout for my next victim.’

Once again, I experienced a pang of hurt that I’d missed out on the earlier part of the night.

‘Looking at pictures of the gorgeous bairn could never be boring. I’m always happy to hear how she is, or even see her in person, hint hint. Any time you want a babysitter so you and Gareth can have a date night, let me know. That’s what friends are for. Or if you fancy some non-mum company for baby sensory sessions, give me a call. If I won’t cramp your style of course,’ I added hastily.

‘That’s sweet of you, but I wouldn’t inflict that hell on my worst enemy. Millie screaming by herself is bad enough, but add half a dozen other babies and it’s what I call sensory overload.’

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