Page 2 of One Night With You

My attention is caught by the screen of my phone lighting up. Ah. Of course. Behind every woman trying to move on is an ex who can sense she’s almost over him. It’s a message from Abe.

Surely you’re not leaving without saying goodbye?

I swipe left on it, so it deletes without even opening.

‘What time is it?’ I ask, determinedly pushing him from my mind and piling more books into a box for Jackson to tape up. ‘The sofa guy is late. He should have been here by now.’

‘Bet he’s stopped for some essentials after my text,’ Candice sing-songs, joining Jackson on the floor. There’s nowhere else to park themselves: as far as furniture goes there’s only my bedframe and mattress left, which is strewn with a mixture of half-packed boxes and charity bags, and the love seat,which, though empty, has already been cleaned for collection – if the guy ever shows up.

‘Deodorant, breath mints, condoms …’ continues Candice, still teasing me about the man buying my couch.

I scowl. Jackson catches it and laughs.

‘Is the sweepstake up to twenty quid that she’ll shag him, or twenty-five?’ he goads.

I give him a dirty look. ‘Why is it so hard to believe that I can last all year without a man between my thighs?’ I sigh. ‘As my best friends, aren’t you supposed to be more supportive than this? It’s like youwantme to fail.’ I’m trying to guilt them into shutting up so add for emphasis, ‘After everything I’ve been through as well …’

Jackson fishes the orange slice from his drink to squeeze out the juice into his glass. ‘Au contraire,’ he says, licking his fingers and not one bit bothered by remorse. ‘We want you to succeed, my darling.’

‘New city,’ Candice says. ‘New outlook, new life. All of that is a wonderful plan …’

‘But …’ Jackson adds. ‘It’s like we continue to remind you: you cannot leave London with Abraham Lawson as the last man to have been inside you. We’d be worse friends if wedidn’tget you a better parting memory than that.’

‘I asked Jackson if he’d take one for the team, but he refused.’ Candice giggles.

‘I couldn’t think of anything worse.’ Jackson shrugs.

‘Charming!’ I say. ‘I love you too.’

‘Be like snogging my sister,’ he explains. ‘Improper. My services can only lie in teasing you into compliance. It’s for your own good. You won’t be making very good art if you don’t satiate Little Ruby.’ He saysartlike it’s in air quotes, but I’m more put out by him calling my lady partsLittle Ruby.

‘Well,’ I say, waving him over with a wag of a finger to signal which boxes can be taped shut now. ‘You didn’t really send that text, and there’s only us three celebrating tonight, so if you aren’t going to cleanse my palate yourself, we’re rather in a tough spot, aren’t we?’

Jackson laughs. The whole ‘joke’ started last week when Candice had seen me arranging the pick-up with him as I typed on Facebook Marketplace at the breakfast bar, said he was hot in his photo, and before I knew it pulled up his every social media profile on her phone, just from a name and the fact that he used the same photo for all of them. By the time Jackson had added his own Inspector Clouseau skills to the mix, they’d established that he was new to London, originally from Liverpool, and was crisp off a break-up. He’d won an award for outstanding achievement from his university – University of Liverpool, joint degree in Economics and Politics – and was headhunted for some sort of graduate scheme at a financial consultancy. He played a bit of football, and did this thing called LARPing, which we’d had to google. It’s Live Action Role-Playing, where people dress up as characters and act out pretend settings in the real world.

There was a particularly disorientating photo of him dressed in chain mail with a sword belt slung low on his hips, geotagged in Scotland. It was easy to tell by how everything fell that he was ripped, and he was even fitter without his glasses on. By the time our deep dive into who the stranger buying my sofa was had finished, we’d polished off two bottles of champagne Candice had ‘been gifted’ (aka stolen, or ‘reclaimed as payment in kind’, as she sometimes frames it) from work, and were each as randy for him as the other. I liked his abs, Candice liked his shoulders, and Jackson said he couldn’t help but notice the size of his hands.

‘I really did let him know that it’s his public duty to help you out,’ Candice teases.

‘You wouldn’t bloody dare,’ I growl, eyes playfully narrowed.

And yet when the doorbell goes, my tummy does a double dip. With Candice, you really can never be totally sure.

‘I’ll get it!’ she cries, leaping up enthusiastically. She’s revelling in the success of winding me up.

‘Poor bloke.’ Jackson laughs, as I finish labelling a box of books. ‘I wouldn’t leave her alone with him for too long.’

I pause, digesting what he’s saying, and then put what I’m doing down. From here I can just about hear Candice say hello and the deep, manly tones of a quiet reply.

‘You know what she’s like,’ Jackson presses.

I raise my eyebrows, muttering, ‘Her middle name honestly may as well be “menace”.’

Jackson sniggers.

‘Not that you’re any better,’ I point out, and he simply gestures to the air like there’s no other way it could possibly be.

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