Page 3 of Am I Allergic to Men?
‘TUUUUUUNNNNE!’ she yells.
TLC, ‘No Scrubs’. What an absolute banger. We all attempt to nestle as many drinks as we can into claw-like hands before going to meet Grace and Meg, who are in the middle of the dancefloor – now a huge, sticky, noisy mess of people and lights and alcohol-laced sweat seeping out of everyone’s pores.
Meg sees us and squeals. ‘He’s also known as a…?’
‘DUSTER!’ I squeal back and we all laugh, remembering how Emma misheard that lyric, and join in, singing along and grinding, shades of an old dance routine we learnt as kids being brought before the masses without shame or care. Grace throws her arms around me, Beth’s smile is as big as the moon, while Emma is tasked with holding Meg upright.
Oh my life, I love these girls. I love being the youngest and having this ready-made army of brilliant siblings. Look at Meg, she’s got a baby now, she has a proper little person. I’m an aunt. We’re all aunts. Emma’s a doctor, she’s so smart it hurts my heart, and soon, like Beth and Grace, I’m going to be at university too. We’re taking on the world, all of us. Like proper adults. And who knows where my little troop goes from here but the chapters are all unwritten. For now, I just want to forget about Dickface and dance to TLC, so wildly and loudly that the walls of this place shake. Grace gets a camera out and she turns it on us so we can take a picture. Click. The song changes and Meg breaks out another turbo-charged dance move.
‘I BLOODY ADORE THIS SONG!’
Because it’s Beyoncé. She’s our queen. Grace and Beth double over in laughter.You dance all those sleepless nights away, girl.I look at Emma and point disco fingers in her direction.You’re feeling it, too. Come on, Ems.
‘LUCYLUCYLUCY!’
The moment is, however, interrupted by a pair of hands on my waist. I turn sharply to see it’s one of my best mates, Farah. The bling and the eyeliner are both on point. Tonight, she wears a skirt that I think once had a past life as a belt.
‘Faraaahhhh! Where have you been?’ I throw my hands around her but she pushes me away.
‘Hun, you’ve got to come, yeah. You will not believe what I’ve just seen. Like properly, I can’t believe it. Oh my god…’
The way she shouts the words above the music sobers me up for a few seconds and the sisters turn to see what the commotion is about. Farah takes my hand and we all weave through the dancefloor towards the gents’ toilets.
‘We can’t go in there,’ Emma instructs us but Farah doesn’t care. Her hand wrapped around mine, she charges in, sisters in tow, as the men standing at the urinals all panic, trying to put their tackles away and inevitably peeing on their shoes.
‘Farah, what was it? What did you see?’ Grace asks, panicked.
Farah pushes at the stall doors to reveal one man with his trousers around his ankles, eyes wide open in shock. We go back outside and she scans the room until she finds what she’s looking for. They’re standing near a column by the cloakroom, half plunged in darkness, half illuminated by the lights of the club.Are you seriously joking me?
‘I am so sorry, babes,’ says Farah. ‘I’m not even joking. I was in the gents’ before, don’t ask, and he was there literally in one of the stalls with his hand in her pants, didn’t even close the door. It’s Chloe Hilton, she’s in the year below. I’m fuming for you,’ she says, not even stopping for air.
By the column is Josh, face attached to Chloe, plus the rest of his body too, from hips to legs to hands. We literally only had that fight half an hour ago. We’ve been dating for a year. We’re official on Facebook. You told me this was for keeps. Forever. Is this what this is then? You little piece of…
I don’t know this feeling. Is it heartbreak? I thought I would feel that more in my chest. This overtakes every cell, it simmers in my blood like some potent chemical reaction. And the tears form in my eyes and roll down my cheeks without ebb. It’s a horrific feeling. But oh my word, IT IS… ON. Like Donkey-effing-Kong. I storm over and grab at his shoulder.
‘JOSH! WHAT THE HELL!’
I don’t know where Farah is running to but I hope it’s to get me a big stick. The look Josh gives me in return is pure contempt. We fought, I hurt his little fragile male ego and now this is how he’s going to hurt me. Try harder, Dickface.
‘Excuse me?’ says Chloe, her hands in the air. I glare her down. Yeah, like don’t even try.
Josh’s face drains of colour. ‘Luce, chill. It’s nothing…’
‘So this is what you want?’
‘Yeah…’
‘You’re breaking up with me on my birthday?’
‘You’re selfish,’ he says. ‘You don’t love me, you don’t love anyone. All you love is yourself.’ He remains stony-faced, completely devoid of emotion.
Chloe laughs and, for one moment, I pause. Mainly because I’m summoning up enough vomit to projectile all over the both of them.
‘What the hell, you jumped-up little prick!’ The voice comes from behind me and the fire that radiates through it is big mama energy. Meg. She squares up to Josh and points a finger in his face. ‘Apologise to her now…’ she warns him.
‘Or what? You’re going to take me on with your nursing bra?’
He said that, didn’t he? Meg grabs a drink from someone next to us and throws it at both of them, cider dripping off their faces, hair and Chloe’s super-cheap plastic-looking handbag.
