Page 2 of The Vow We Made
1
The Messy Girl’s Night
VICTORIA
Three Years Later…
“Are you okay?”
I stare into my friend’s fearful eyes, reminding me of the day she hurried through the hospital corridors with Bronte and Faith in tow. Still gowned in their bridesmaid’s dresses, they arrived, hoping to find my new husband and I laughing about the silly bump we’d just had in the bridal car. Of course, that wasn’t what happened.
“Vickie?” she questions again.
I shake my head too. “Sorry, yes. I’m fine.”
My friend can read me like a book. I’ve known Steph for the full thirty years of our lives and she knows everything about me. We were born months apart, grew up in the same house and she’s the closest thing to a sister I’ll ever have, so more than anyone, she can tell when something is on my mind.
She stops for a second; unsure of what to say then carries on with caution in her voice.
“Are you thinking about him again?” My eyes close and I take in a deep breath. I’ve been found out. “Don’t Vickie. That man does not deserve your grief in the first place, so don’t waste any more time mourning for him.”
I glance briefly towards her then huff out a laugh. “Mourning is not what I’m doing for Andy and you know it.”
“Okay, but you were mulling over the past and it can’t be healthy. I worry about you, that’s all.”
My eyes fill with tears, but I manage to hold them back. It’s probably the booze affecting me.
“I’m here Steph. I was the lucky one, remember? I survived.” I wipe my eyes, taking a minute to compose myself with a deep breath through my nose and blowing it out slowly. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” I choke.
“You’ll get there Vickie. Nobody said this would be easy,” she smiles. “How about, just for tonight, we go for it and to hell with everything else.” Her arms fling out to the side, knocking her off balance. She’s already well on her way.
“Okay.” I nod.
She rubs my arm while I sniff and wipe away a rebellious tear running down my cheek. “Hey Miss ‘super make-up artist,’ you’re not convincing me here.” She signals to my face. “You may need a little touch-up.”
“Oh Jesus.” I take my compact mirror from my bag and dab the tears away. That will have to do until I get to the loo, but for now, I’m ready to go.
“Better?” I ask.
“Better.” She winks.
Faith and Bronte arrive back from the bar. I grab one of the two shot glasses handed over and knock it back while bouncing on my feet to the music pumping around us. The smooth liquid barely touches my lips before the burn hits the back of my throat. It’s the only way to drink tequila and hopefully drown out the loneliness inside. I want to move on. I’m done with this pain.
“Another!” I shout, raising my glass towards the girls who cheer and whistle at my suggestion. Steph is on the case quickly and it isn’t long before the slow burn, once again, slips down my throat.
A mix of ‘Set You Free’ by N-Trance beats through the sound system; my friends know how much I love this song and join my wild antics. Jumping and waving our hands in the air as if we have nothing to care or worry about, we know perfectly well we’re being watched by multiple male eyes. It sparks the exhibitionist hiding deep inside each of us and our bodies exaggerate every beat while playing up to our testosterone fuelled audience. Arms entwine, hands explore and fingers lightly brush skin in a bid to keep them guessing. It’s all in the name of a good time.
Another tequila is thrust my way and takes a single second to knock back. My whole body is charged with alcohol. I’m on top of the world and maybe a little dizzy but the same can’t be said for Steph. Before I can comprehend what’s happening, she charges past me; her complexion grey and sweat drips from her forehead. I follow behind as she crashes through the door of the ladies and past the girls already waiting in line. I catch the ‘tuts’ and huffing and puffing while I hurry past, but predictably, nobody mutters a word at our queue jumping. I’m more likely to get an apology than a complaint in this part of London, everyone is far too polite.
Steph stumbles along the line of cubicles; her body retches and I knock and shout at each closed door in the hope of finding one empty. A latch clicks and I pounce towards the sound, nearly crushing the poor girl currently trying to leave. “Get in here,” I shout over. Steph makes it but only just in time to empty the contents of her stomach.
“Vickie! There you are,” I hear Bronte shout as she makes her way down the line of loos with Faith just behind. Almost immediately she knocks straight into the cubical entrance. “What the fuck is she doing?” Bronte asks peering over Steph’s crouched body.
“Chucking my guts up,” our drunk friend shouts from below before her head flops backwards and she wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her silk shirt. A stupid, soppy grin lights up her entire face, giving the rest of us an attack of the giggles. With expert hands, Bronte reaches down and pulls her limp body to standing then balances our drunk friend against the toilet door. “There you go. Stay there a minute.” Her eyes roll as she turns back towards us. “She’s in a bit of a state. Should we get her home?”
Faith waves her hand dismissively. “She’ll be fine now it’s out of her system.”
“I’m not sure.” Bronte crosses her arms while biting the inside of her cheek. “She’s been knocking them back.”
