Page 29 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
‘I like Grayson Perry. I like the courage and the mixed media,’ I say.
Philip gives me a look that I can’t read. Was I not part of this discussion or were his opinions only meant for the architects? Will squeezes my hand. He looks more energised than me but we’ll blame the possibility that Philip may have spiked him. Do I ask Philip about the drugs? It would sound like I’m telling him off which would not be cool yet possibly quite parently. I wish Will would control his face a bit more as he’s showing us that he has Oreo crumbs lining his teeth like he’s been eating soil. Don’t smile too much, Will. Philip starts jabbering on at Kiki and Shu about Hockney. Sam is on her phone and seems to be inviting the world along to this bar.
‘Babes, it will be incredible. Jacques can get us in on the guest list. I have him on the other line too.’
Even from outside, the bass pulsates under my feet. Oh my geez, it’s going to be loud in there. Sam had better be buying the drinks too because this doesn’t look like the sort of joint that has 2-4-1 deals on the cocktails or dry-roasted nuts behind the bar. I actually used to queue outside these sorts of places; the queuing was the foreplay to the main event. We’d be chanting and dancing, half cut, dying to get inside, arguing with everyone that we should have got here sooner but using that time to catch up and take selfies before the bad lighting became the enemy. Philip suddenly turns to us, looking a bit panic stricken.
‘Shit. They’re checking people on the door.’
I arch my head around the queue of about ten people to see three burly security guards at the entrance. I glare at Philip, who is patting down the pockets of the baseball jacket that makes up his ensemble. Surely if you’re packing illegal substances then the best thing to do here is to just go home, Philip. I can lift up this barrier for him if it makes things easier.
‘Sam, babes. They’re checking bags.’ I look over. She’s complicit in this? I look to Will, imagining his office to look like something out ofBreaking Bad.
‘It’s OK. I know these guys.’
Philip doesn’t look certain and I see him tuck something down the back of his waistband. In his pants? Definitely don’t be doing any more drugs from this one, Will. He then whacks out a small plastic bag of weed. He is a veritable pick ’n’ mix pharmacy tonight. Please don’t attempt to shove that up your bum in front of me. He looks at all of us. Will sets eyes on that bag like it’s a bomb. Damn it. I grab it. The queue before us creeps forward. I’m holding drugs. What if they tackle me to the ground, call the cops and I get arrested for possession? I have a baby. I can’t even put this in my bag because they’ll search it. I hate you all. I slip the plastic bag into my bra behind a breast pad. I will have to disinfect my tits before I give them to my infant son. I really hate you all.
‘Evening.’
The security guard is the sort with no neck who you feel has a poster of Jean-Claude Van Damme on his wall at home. I give him my bag and smile, gripping on to Will to help him stand a bit more upright. He removes half a packet of Oreos that I’ve twisted shut with an old hairband.
‘For if you get hungry later?’
I laugh unconvincingly. He digs through my handbag in the same way I look for my keys. I know my bag is cavernous and receipts line the bottom like bedding material. I also carry an assortment of pens, none of which would work. He then pulls out some small plastic-wrapped items.Please. Don’t.
‘What are these, madam?’
‘They’re breast pads.’
‘Like to pad your bra out?’
I feel the judgemental collective breath of the queue behind me.
‘I’m breastfeeding. It’s so my breasts don’t leak.’
‘Milk?’
I don’t know how to respond to that. We all wish they leaked gin but no one’s figured out how to do that yet.
‘Never heard of them.’
‘Oh.’ I just hope he doesn’t ask for a demonstration as an eighth of weed will fall out of my cleavage.
‘So you’re saying they’re like sanitary pads for your boobs?’
‘Kind of.’
‘Then why aren’t you wearing them?’
‘They’re spares.’
I can’t tell if he thinks I’m lying. He puts them back. He then pulls out two double A batteries, some old hand cream I’ve never used and a charger cable. Mary Poppins ain’t got nothing on me. He gives me the look my mother has given me for years.You need to have a good clean-out, love.After scanning down to my shoes, he then looks at Will.
‘We don’t normally allow for trainers.’ Will and I watch as the others get ushered in. Sam waves to the bouncers like she’s their old friend but still caterwauls down her phone, not really bothered about us. Do I fight the trainer thing? I have in the past but inside me tonight there is also mild excitement brewing at knowing that Will’s battered Converse and my old Adidas Superstars may have saved us from this night out. ‘But I’ll let you in.’ Seriously? My shoulders slump. He scans us both again. I know Will looks completely wired but what else is he looking at? Do we not match this place? Does he really think those breast pads are hiding drugs? ‘Go on in, have fun.’
He says that last part like he’s allowed us to have our fun tonight, he’s enjoyed wielding that power. I grab Will’s arm and we proceed. His arm is hard like he’s tensing every muscle in his body.Chill, Will.Inside, it’s as I imagined: dim lighting, neon menus and searing drum and bass blasts out the speakers, so loudly it’s really just people standing around sipping drinks made by their ‘mixologists’ and nodding at others because conversation is near impossible. There’s a small dancefloor to the rear, queues to the bar, queues to the toilets and exposed light bulbs hanging from the ceilings. Will’s wide eyes now look like they’ve been caught in headlights so I back him into a quiet corner.
‘How’s it going? Do I need to book you into rehab yet?’
