Page 31 of Am I Allergic to Men?
I sincerely hope I was dressed for the part.
‘Christ, it takes me a weekend to get over a hangover these days,’ Meg adds.
‘This is just not what I remember. What I remember was…’
They all wait with anticipation to see what I say next. It seems they’re hoping for some breakthrough moment when I’ll be eating roast chicken and then the memories will flood back to me. Unfortunately, my mother’s roast chicken is far too dry for that.
‘I remember we’d sit here and watch a crap DVD or an episode ofDawson’s Creekand hear all the stories you guys had. Meg and Beth talking about their nights out, men and sex. You made it sound so fun. I worshipped the tits off you all. All that freedom and fun. The way we’d laugh for hours till our stomachs hurt. Now you’re talking about herbs.’
Emma laughs under her breath, ‘I never had sex stories.’
‘True, you just stayed dull.’
‘You can watch all ofDawson’s Creekon Netflix,’ Meg informs me. My eyes widen with excitement. ‘I watched it all again recently and still crushed over Pacey Witter.’
We all sigh. God, we loved that boy. He’s the only man I’d fight this lot over.
‘But what other stories are you talking about?’ Meg asks, curious. ‘We had sex stories?’
I sit up for a moment to prepare myself. ‘You once told us about some Dutch man you met on a night out. You brought him back to yours and shagged him in the kitchen and you said you didn’t even know his name.’
Meg flares her nostrils. In fact, she rolls her eyes back in her head to have to think back that far.
‘I did do that. Once. Don’t tell my daughters I did that, please. That is everything I’m trying to tell them not to do.’
‘But you gave us every detail. You said he had abs like a draining board and you both lay naked on your kitchen table and swigged at a vodka bottle in the moonlight.’
Grace and Emma look at each other almost in worry at my corny recalling of these events.
‘You remember more than I do and you weren’t even there,’ Meg adds.
‘I was thirteen, fourteen? When you came back and told me that story I thought you were a goddess.’
Meg sits there, pensive to hear those words in her trackies and bed socks. She slowly sips at her wine, as if hoping it will help her work out where those goddess years went to and where she did indeed meet that Dutch man. Did he have a name? What happened to him? Why didn’t she lock that down?
‘Luce, it was just a one-night stand. Something to do in my twenties, some rite of passage. I’d almost forgotten about him…’
‘Because you married your grumpy man Northerner? Does he do the sad woodsman thing in bed too?’ I ask, giggling.
‘No, but the man has timber,’ she retorts, opening her eyes widely. ‘Hun, I’d be lying if I said I don’t think about Dutchman occasionally… once a year at most… but those days are behind me now, unless you want to hear about the time Danny and I—’
‘NO…’ Emma intervenes. ‘I don’t want to hear sex stories about a man I’m going to be sitting across the table eating roast potatoes with tomorrow.’
I flap my hand around to quieten Emma. ‘Tell me…’
‘He once dropped me during sex?’ she bursts out. Is this the most interesting sex story she has of late?
‘Oh, we knew this already… You may proceed…’ Emma says, going back to her dip.
‘He dropped me, I twisted my ankle. We broke some drawers.’
I search her face. This is not the same as her telling us how a Dutchman took her knickers off with a spaghetti server and I think she kinda knows it.
‘Or I could tell you about the time we had sex in our Volvo and got caught by the police?’ she says, a cheeky glint in her eye.
‘Noooo…’ Emma protests. ‘I’ve sat in that car. I don’t want to hear this story.’
‘Tell me more…’
