Page 28 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
I laugh. ‘I believe you can still have sex after you have children.’
‘But it won’t be like before…’
I widen me eyes. ‘Because I’ve had a baby come through my lady parts?’
‘Because we have a baby…Oh my God, we’re parents.I’m a father. We need to have really crazy sex, like upside down and hanging off a wardrobe, hairy pits and everything.”
I laugh and hold him close to my chest. I mean sex would be nice, I guess. If I wasn’t so tired and if he follows through on the promise that I won’t have to do anything to my body hair, and we could keep the lights off and the covers on.
I study Will as he still stands there dancing. He’s broken out into some strange body-popping move but I am distracted by his eyes: wide like I’ve just hit him around the head with a saucepan. ‘Have you taken something…?’
He stares at me with big eyes, dilated pupils. I grab at his cheeks and look at him intently.
‘No…? I’m just drunk. I…’ He pauses for a moment then goes slightly pale. ‘Crap. But when I was in the loos, I told Philip I had a mild headache and he gave me a pill.’
‘A pill?’ I ask, my eyebrows raised high.
Both of us look at each other. Philip is not the sort of organised first-aid person to be carrying around painkillers, plasters and a pack of handy tissues.
‘Oh my Goddy God. He said this would do the trick… Has he drugged me?’ he says in a paranoid panic.
‘You didn’t question the fact he was offering you a tablet in a public toilet?’
‘No? That was a nice respectable establishment. They’re fully organic. I wasn’t at a rave. I didn’t even see if it was marked. What if it was ecstasy or Molly or LSD?’
Words trip out of him now as he stares maniacally at the biscuits that he was once in love with just moments ago, rubbing his temples like he’s trying to keep his brain inside his skin.
Will and I weren’t angels in our youth but I’m unsure how his thirty-year-old constitution can handle this. For now, he feels like a child who’s had too much sugar; this is not aPulp Fictionmoment. But on the tip of my tongue, what I really want to say is we’re parents now. We should know better. Don’t pass out on me either. At least I’m sober and carrying a bit more weight on my bones so it should be easier to carry him into an Uber. The CCTV will record the moment a woman with a giant rack and voluminous dress gave a grown man a piggyback and sent a display of Pilsner flying.
‘Philip didn’t give you any clue what the tablet was?’ I ask.
‘No. Isn’t that a funny name too, Philip. Philip.’ He repeats it in regal tones.
‘Yes, when said like that. He’s a bit try-hard.’
‘He’s very cool. I don’t think I’ve ever been that cool.’
‘Have you seen what he’s wearing? That’s an old man vest. My dad wears those vests. I hardly think he’s a barometer of what’s cool. He’s wearing a fucking monocle.’
‘I just wish I had that bravery to wear what I want, make a statement, be effortless and confident.’
I cup his sad face. Don’t we all?If you started wearing vests like that though, your nipples and chest hair would make you look like an Italian gangster.He stands there in his jeans and Converse, eyes glazed and doleful. ‘But you’re a beautiful butterfly, you don’t need to be like the others,’ I tell him.
He laughs and hugs me again.
‘What are we doing here?’ I ask.
‘Oreos and one drink at this trendy bar and then home, I promise.’
‘Promise?’
But before he has a chance to answer, he sprints towards the till in the style of an overexcited toddler.
‘BETH, THEY HAVE TIC TACS! CAN WE GET TIC TACS?!’
When we get to the bar, and are queuing up, the group has shrunk considerably. Magnus has had the good sense to return to his wife and child, and Joyce has also absconded so we are left with Sam, Philip, Will, myself and Kiki and Shu, who are originally from Hong Kong but work as designers. They smile a lot and have a quirky kawaii thing going on with their clothes that is both cute, cool and which makes me insanely jealous as I’d never be able to carry off cat ears unless it was Halloween. In the queue now, I’m standing next to Philip who is as much of a wanker as I anticipated. He’s standing there with a rollie and a hand on his hip harping on to the group about Grayson Perry. I’m almost disappointed that Will thought this douche had any positive qualities at all; he’s a million times better than Philip.
‘I mean the expression is either too graphic or too understated. There’s no happy medium. No one does diptychs anymore either. There’s no point,’ he says, posturing through his cigarette as he talks about the artist. I pause to hear the word diptych. You’re the diptych, Philip. The girls nod in agreement out of sheer manners. Will is finding it hard to focus; he keeps shifting his eyes side to side like he’s just working out how far his field of vision can stretch.Oh please, don’t, Philip.
