Page 90 of The Wedding Pact
‘Why?’ Kenny demanded.
‘We’re not in front of our landlady right now, or our neighbours, so why would we?’
Kenny roared with laughter at this, causing Bel to turn around and ask, ‘What’s going on?’
‘She asked why on earth she would kiss Flynn at midnight!’
Bel thumped Kenny on the leg. ‘Shut up, Kenny, or I’ll fire you.’ This just made him laugh more. ‘Any news on that flatmate of yours?’ she asked August.
August checked her phone – 10.45 p.m. Poor Flynn, that boy was not getting even a drop of work-life balance at the moment.
She went to the bar to get another drink for herself and Bel, and found herself wondering what Abe would be up to this evening over in London. Probably at the top of a skyscraper in the City at an eye-wateringly expensive bar, drinking champagne and surrounded by models.
August shook her head, now she’d tried to picture it that seemed a highly unlikely thing for Abe to be doing.
Perhaps he’d be reclining in a leather armchair with a cigar within the mahogany-panelled walls of an exclusive gentlemen’s club. No, that didn’t seem Abe’s scene either. In fact, did gentlemen’s clubs still exist? Were strip clubs now referred to as gentlemen’s clubs?
‘Two gin and tonics, please, and a couple of Budweisers,’ she said to the barman, removing thoughts of Abe, and how he might or might not be spending New Year’s Eve, from her head. She turned her attention back to her phone and sent Flynn a quick text:Still no sign of coming up for air? I’ve got a beer here waiting for you, but should I get it Deliveroo-d to your office so you can catch up?
A message came back shortly after:Can you add a massive pizza to that order? I’m starving!
Poor guy.Are you serious?she asked.I can send some food and drink your way for real if you like?
No, don’t worry, I’ll hopefully leave soon.
At eleven-fifteen, August made a decision. She picked up her coat and leaned over to Bel. ‘I’m going to go and drag him out of that office,’ she said, speaking loudly into her ear.
‘You’re leaving?’ Bel cried. ‘But it’s nearly midnight.’
‘I’ll try and be back before then, but if I’m not, you guys have a great time.’
‘Did you say you’re going to try and get Flynn?’
‘I’m going to try – even if I have to drag him from his work by the tie.’
Bel raised her eyebrows at that image.
August explained, ‘He’s had a tough year – a big break up six months ago, moving to the UK and not knowing anyone, his insane job, the whole Poppy debacle.’
‘I know, I know, it’s okay, go and meet him,’ Bel laughed.
‘I don’t feel responsible for him or anything, he’s a grown man,’ August clarified.
‘And he’s your friend. I’m not judging you; stop judging yourself.’
‘You’re sure you don’t mind?’
‘No, I don’t mind, go and drag him into the new year. If anyone can get him there, you can.’
August left the pub, skittering past a group of women about to raise a toast of towering champagne flutes and into late night Bath. The ground was wet but the winter drizzle had paused and now the sky was clear and starry, suggesting it wouldn’t be coming back.
Walking past pubs and restaurants with their doors open and revellers spilling onto pavements, August strode through the city she knew so well, weaving through short-cuts and via alleyways until she reached Flynn’s building. It was now twenty-five minutes to midnight, and she needed to get him out of there. It didn’t matter if the ground was shaky beneath them right now, he was still Flynn, and he’d held her up enough times since they’d moved in together, she wanted to support him now.
August phoned him.
‘Hey, I’m so sorry—’ he started, but she cut him off.
‘Are you still at work?’
