Page 27 of Swiping Right (and other disasters)

“I don’t even know where to start with that one.” Kiera swayed as she tried to organise her thoughts. She leaned against a wooden post. “You’re now reducing yourself and every other gay man to an outdated stereotype and you know it.” She put her gin on a table and folded her arms. “You know it,” she repeated.

“Ok, Mrs-smarty-pants, but it’s working for me though,” said Charlie, and as if on cue one of the barmen walked past and winked at him. “My salt and pepper George Clooney hair is a hit with the boys.”

“Ok. One – he was about half your age. Two – what about Ralph?”

Charlie’s face darkened. “Uncalled for and not fair.”

“I’m just saying, things don’t always remain the same.”

“Ralph was decades ago.”

“Eight years ago.”

“Whatever,” said Charlie, downing his drink. “Ralph was a disaster and I won’t make that mistake again.”

Kiera shrugged. She felt an edge of guilt for raising the spectre of Charlie’s ex-husband, the man who’d broken Charlie’s heart. He’d never really got over it. He never mentioned Ralph, and normally Kiera followed his lead.

“So, what? Here’s to hedonism?” said Kiera, raising her glass.

“Here’s to that,” agreed Charlie. “Time for cocktails, darling.”

If Kiera had been woozy before she was now definitely wobbling a little. They had returned to the dancefloor, but eschewed the hardcore dance music for the room playing noughties pop classics. There was nothing like a bit of cheesy music and a daquiri to help you forget about the painful things in life. They danced like they’d used to, in their twenties. Kiera wasn’t sure when she’d started to feel so old.

“This is amazing,” she shouted at Charlie.

“I know,” he said. “Partying is the only answer, darling.”

“I need to go to the loo, but I’ll be right back,” she said, kissing him on the cheek as she went.

The toilets in the club were gender neutral, and very busy. She joined a queue of others whose bladders were calling.

“Oh no, not a queue,” came a voice from behind her. Kiera turned around to see a slim woman with red curly hair down to her shoulders.

“I know. I hope you’ve got a good pelvic floor,” said Kiera, with a smile. The woman laughed and brushed her hand against Kiera’s arm.

“Ha, I wouldn’t know where to find it, let alone check if it’s any good,” she said. She was wearing a black vest top, dark blue denim jeans and a silver chain around her neck.

“Oh, I’m sure you could make an educated guess. I love your eye makeup – so dark and smoky.” It was the kind of remark that Kiera would never have made sober.

“Aw thanks. You’re gorgeous. I love your hair,” said the woman, who reached up to touch it. Kiera stopped for a moment. Was she being chatted up? Was she chatting this other woman up?

“Oh, um, thank you,” she said. “I’m Kiera.”

“I’m Enid.”

“Nice name, very vintage,” said Kiera, trying not to make an Enid Blyton reference that might make her seem even older than she actually was.

“Yes, that’s me, vintage. It’s my birthday, actually.”

“Oh wow, is it really? Happy birthday,” said Kiera, shuffling closer to the cubicles as the queue progressed.

“Thanks,” said Enid, putting her arms around Kiera and kissing her cheek. Kiera wasn’t sure whether it was the alcohol or the feel of lips on her cheek, but she felt a definite tingle.

“Oh look, my turn,” said Kiera.

“Come and have a drink with me when you’re done. Help make my birthday even happier,” said Enid with a cheeky smile.

Ten minutes later, Kiera was trying to persuade Charlie to accompany her to the area of the club in which she could see Enid and her friends clustered. There was a foil balloon bobbing about, too. “Look, darling, they don’t want me there cramping their style. I’d only get in the way. Ooh, is it that one?” he asked, pointing his drink in Enid’s direction.

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