Page 51 of Something Borrowed

“Truthful wanker.”

He returns to his subject as we start walking again. “I mean, we went around Europe on trains when we were seventeen. If I’d been with him, I’d have been in one of those hamster balls they put kids in.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You know those balls? They bounce around in them for fun at the seaside, or so Vinnie said.”

“I shudder at the thought of your brother being in one of those. Anyway, it’s all a bit too dangerous for Bennett. He’d like to keep you in a padded room wrapped in cotton wool.”

He sighs. “I shouldn’t criticise anyone for caring about me.”

“I don’t know, Stan. You’ve told him repeatedly to stop smothering you. Surely, if he cares, he should listen to you.” I want to ask why he puts up with Bennett at all, really. But I don’t want to spoil the evening with an argument. Who knows how long we’ll be able to keep doing these things together.

“I don’t want cotton wool,” Stan insists. “I want tolive. I want adventures. I want to create more incredible memories—like…like that trip we took around Europe.”

“And that’s exactly what you should have, babe. You do you.”

I shoot him a fond look as I lead him into the huge bar area. I will never tell him that our European trip was a nightmare for me in some ways. I was a nervous fucking wreck thinking I’d losehim in a museum in France or a beer garden in Germany. I’d had visions of him living the rest of his life in an oompah band with a man called Fritz.

Knowing Stan, he’d have been perfectly happy, and by now he’d be managing a hugely successful German Oasis cover band.

“This place is packed. Here’s a less crowded corner.” I lead him to a quiet spot away from the ever-growing drinks queue. “I’ll get some drinks. Stay here, babe.”

“Okay. Ta, Raff. I’ll have an orange juice.”

I give his arm a squeeze. “I’ll be back soon.”

I fight my way to the bar and catch the barman’s eye. He looks familiar, which in my world means I’ve either shagged him or arranged his wedding.

“Alright, Raff,” he calls. “Looking good as usual.”

Ah, it’s the former.

“Hey,” I say, grinning at him. I can’t remember his name.

“What can I get you, Raff?”

“Oi,” a man says next to me crossly. “He’s only just come to the bar. What makes him so fucking special?”

“He does a wonderful prostate massage, and his mouth is like a Hoover.”

The man blinks, and I smile at him. “But mainly, it’s my charming personality.” The cross bloke rolls his eyes, and I turn back to the barman. “An orange juice and a Bud, please, babe.”

“You enjoying the concert?”

“I am. They’re really good.”

“I presume you’re with Stan?”

I blanch. What does he know about Stan?

He chuckles as he sets the drinks on the bar and takes my money. “You might have mentioned his name a few thousand times the night we spent together.”

“Ah, he’s my best friend.”

“Really? I thought he was your husband or something.”

I stare at him. “And you still shagged me?”

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