Page 2 of Straight to Me

A few months ago, I moved in temporarily with Bex and Kyle and continued to work, although I had become numb to everything around me. My life plan was well and truly in the shitter, and I had no clue what I was to do next or how I would survive. Bex did her best to remind me to have fun, to start living my life again and move on. If only I could be more like her and see a positive in this mess that I called my life.

Bex nudges me sharply as if sensing my misery, making me shift in my high heels. I put on my best fake smile to appease her, and she instructs me to hold her purse, seeing right through me. Checking the smug gaze now plastered on her face, I know she’s up to something naughty.

You can just tell with her. She’s wearing the face that’s caused more trouble than I care to remember. It’s the same face that got us kicked off the hockey team for hijacking a camp minibus on a college trip. It’s the same face that made us bunk off lessons in our final year of exams to go to a theme park miles away from home. It’s the face that, although I fear the repercussions of its mischief, I’ll always follow, no matter what.

From the hidden suspender on her thigh, she swiftly tugs a tiny bottle of what I can only assume is vodka and orders me to drink it quickly. Feeling curious eyes on me, I instantly start to sweat and check the bouncer isn’t looking our way. Fortunately, he’s too busy chatting with his doorman friend.

Unable to think of an excuse and seeing no way out, I do as I am told, throwing my head backwards with the bottle and retching the minute the fiery liquid hits the back of my throat. The tall blonde behind me chuckles with an embarrassed shake of her head as I wipe the vodka that’s missed my mouth, off my chin.

I'm too old for this shit.

Confident I hadn’t embarrassed myself entirely, there was plenty of time for that later, a quick flash of my ID to the doorman gets me inside. A small chuckle leaves me as I put it away and I’m left wondering how the hell I still have to prove I’m old enough at my ripe old age.

Walking into the dimly lit Cathedral Bar, the gentle thud of the music playing in the background helps me to relax a little. I take in a big breath, deciding to try and enjoy myself.

Having to negotiate people as we head to the bar, it’s clear that tonight is far busier than normal. At this early hour on a Friday, it’s usually emptier. There aren’t the usual crowds of youngsters like you find at some of the places around here, just a lot of people, mainly men, talking and drinking as they get in the next round.

I stand out like a sore thumb in my LBD.

I look around for a free table. Over in a corner, a group of men wearing leather biker cuts are drinking. The words ‘Rippers MC, Lancashire’ are embroidered on their backs.Lancashireof all places.

Of course I couldn't just enjoy a night out without being reminded of that damn reset button.

Their presence naturally makes me think of my family and how much I miss them all. Individually.

My mum and dad are now divorced. She lives back up north near my sister and dad maintains little contact from London. He’s always been quiet and relatively reserved, with me anyway. Being the eldest, I was supposed to be in a well-paid job, married and doing well for myself. Like Jess. When my life didn’t turn out how dad planned he seemed disappointed, but I always did my best to ignore it.

I pull myself out of my reverie as a truly ginormous man laughing loudly at his friend’s conversation grabs my attention. His broad shoulders make him stand frighteningly tall and his beard appears to dance on his chest when he speaks. He throws his head back on a laugh, which sounds more like a howl, hitting his friend hard on the back. The friend jolts forward, and it's only then that the notorious one-per-cent-er flash on the front of his cut is visible.

My eyes fleetingly widen, then relax with my smile. Strange and ironic that outlaws would choose the Cathedral Bar to drink in.

Putting my bag on the table I settle into my chair whilst Bex heads to get our drinks. I grab my phone and send Jess a message apologising for not calling her in a while, and checking that she and the family are all okay.

I can’t help but feel selfish; due to being so wrapped up in my own mess, I’ve neglected her and missed our last few weekly catch ups.

Wishing her good luck in her interview next week, I mentally applaud myself for remembering to message her tonight, rather than the day itself arriving and me forgetting.

She replies instantly.

Jess: Hey. Thanks for the message! Don’t apologise, little man is all good. Stop worrying. Just get pissed and remember soon you'll be up here with us. Ps. Bex sent a pic of you in the black dress looking all flappy, HA! You look hot! Cheer up x

Bex sent a picture of me? When? I look hot? I don't think I look hot, but I admit that Jess's message has instantly made me feel better. Dropping my phone into my bag, I look up as Bex heads to our table with our drinks. And so the night begins.

Chapter Three

Two hours later, I’m surprisingly happy and cheery. Nothing to do with the five gin and tonics that I thought would be a good idea to neck. We’re still in the Cathedral Bar. Bex must have known it would make me happy to stay, even if it isn’t her favourite place to be.

My cheeks hurt from laughing too much and my feet feel like heavy blocks of lead from all the dancing. I try to mouth to her that I need the loo but in between shaking her hips at me to the music, she tips a cupped hand to her mouth signalling if I want another drink. With a dramatic pretend vomit and a clear no in my eyes, she throws me the wanker hand gesture. I assume that means I’m having one, whether I want it or not.

Shaking my head, I turn and stride away to the ladies' with my arm high in the air flipping her the V.

In myslightlyinebriated state, I try to focus hard on placing one foot in front of the other. It wouldn’t normally be a problem, but the heels I’m wearing are three inches higher than I typically wear.

In my head I’m fine. I’ve just got to weave around people dancing, get to the stairs, go down to the basement, and mind my head on the low-down beam that I always forget is there.

Spotting the illuminated lavatory sign at the rear of the bar, I know I’ve almost made it. Suddenly, the ginormous bearded man from earlier, shifts his standing leg to the other as I walk past him, and bumps me to one side.

I feel like I’m flying through the air. I’ve quite literally ricocheted off him until my arse hits the deck with a thud. He doesn’t even feel me.

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