Haley Hill - Love Is...

He downed one of the tequilas. ‘Ellie, a divorce party is hardly the ideal platform to preach moral standards.’

I snatched the other tequila, thought about putting it on the side, then downed it instead.

Matthew did a double eyebrow raise. ‘I see you’re drinking again?’

I nodded, wiping my mouth.

He stared at me for a moment, looking as though he were about to offer something profound. Then, clearly thinking better of it, he put his arm around me and ruffled my hair.

‘Come on, fag hag,’ he said. ‘Let’s dance.’

A while later, once Cassandra had informed the DJ that we had a ‘gay’ guest, it was as though the playlist donned a pair of leather chaps and dropped an E. And despite Matthew’s sterling efforts, which peaked at a rather gymnastic ‘Vogue’ pose, by the time we heard the intro to a remix of the Village People’s ‘In the Navy’ we both agreed it was time for a tequila top-up. Matthew didn’t bother with glasses this time; instead, he just grabbed the bottle. He took a swig and passed it to me.

I took a gulp and looked around the room. The furniture had been pushed to the side and the fireplace hidden behind the temporary DJ booth, but even through my now blurry vision, I could see that this was otherwise an elegant family room. I found myself imagining Cassandra and Dr Stud, or Stud-Wheeler, as they’d renamed themselves, snuggling on the sofa together, bottle of red in front of them, the latest HBO TV series on in the background. I held the image in my mind for a moment, before contrasting it with tonight’s frenzied quest for oblivion and wondered when it was that they had stopped loving each other.

I snuck behind the bar and picked up a photo frame that had been placed face down on a radiator cover. Straight away I recognised the image. It was a photo I’d taken on our singles’ trip to St Anton: the moment they’d jumped off the ski lift together, now freeze-framed forever. I smiled as I recalled the months I’d spent prior trying to persuade them to meet each other.

‘No, he’s too short,’ Cassandra had said, when I’d shown her his profile.

‘I usually date hotter girls,’ Dr Stud had explained, before selecting the profile of a bikini-clad twenty-three-year-old nursing graduate.

I’d always known though that if I could just get them together on the ski trip then they would understand. And they did—well, for nine years at least. I glanced back down at the photo and took another swig. I would never forget the way they laughed together. It was as though they were the only two who knew the punchline. That kind of love couldn’t simply fade to nothing. Could it?

I looked up to see the redhead giggling and then flashing her cleavage at Matthew. I glared at him. Just as I was about to intervene, Cassandra appeared beside me.

‘Gimme some of that,’ she slurred, snatching the tequila bottle from my grasp. I’d forgotten I was still holding it. She took a swig and then turned to me. Her mouth was smiling but her eyes looked vacant. She nodded to the photo. ‘What goes up, must come down,’ she said, surprisingly succinctly. Then she laughed. ‘No one can defy Newton’s theory of…’ She rubbed her temples and swayed a little. ‘Or was it Galileo?’

‘Newton,’ I said. ‘Gravity. Are you OK?’

She took another swig and then wiped her chin. ‘Never better,’ she said, handing the bottle back to me. ‘Right. Speech time.’

I was still gripping the photo frame as I watched Cassandra climbing onto a chair, microphone in hand. I should have intervened. It was clear to everyone that a public and drunken explanation as to why we should celebrate the breakdown of her marriage wasn’t going to end well. However, as much as I wanted to preserve her dignity, part of me was desperate to hear what she had to say. I gripped the photo frame tighter and glanced over at Matthew, who was now cupping the redhead’s breasts through her dress. In the past year the agency’s divorce rate had doubled. Even my own relationship was in distress. I wanted to know why. Because if I knew what was wrong, then I was closer to finding a way to fix it.

Cassandra wobbled on the chair a little, then steadied herself and tapped the microphone. The DJ turned off the music.

‘Hey, everyone!’ Cassandra shouted.

The crowd cheered.

‘It’s great to see you all here tonight,’ she said, looking around the room and holding out her hands. ‘Some of you knew me before…’ she pointed at a few people in the crowd ‘… and some of you knew me during…’ she pointed out a few more ‘…but now, after nine forgettable years, Richard, or Dick, as I now prefer to call him, is finally out of my life…’ She punched the air and the light from the disco ball caught a tear on her cheek. ‘That bastard might have cost me £1.3 million in settlement and my last fertile years, and…’ she pulled the skin tight on her face ‘…given me greater need for Botox, but now I’m rid of him.’ She punched the air again like a motivational speaker.

The guests cheered and clapped and she gestured for me to bring her the tequila bottle.

‘As I said,’ she continued, having taken another swig, ‘some of you knew me before, and some of you knew me during. But everyone will know me after! Let’s get this party started!’

Cassandra jumped down from the chair and the music was replaced by synthesised siren. A group of faux policemen stormed into the room. They had sunbed tans, thick thighs and crew cuts.

Matthew caught my eye, with a ‘can we please leave now?’ expression.

I glanced back at Cassandra, who had begun to emit a noise not dissimilar to that of a mating tree frog.

Matthew immediately abandoned the redhead and shuffled up beside me nervously. The crowd, mostly comprising single women, parted and chanted as the dance troop ripped off their Velcro fastened trousers in one synchronised movement and went on to execute a choreographed ‘stop and search’ procedure, intermingled with an array of dance moves, which Matthew identified as the rear arrest, the handcuff hustle and the truncheon treadmill.

Once the routine had finished, and the only garments that remained were black satin pouches, Cassandra lifted up her skirt and called out to the dancer with the largest bulge. I did a double take. He looked disconcertingly like Nick.

‘Officer,’ she said, slapping her bottom, ‘I’ve been a very naughty girl.’

After she’d manhandled his pouch, she whispered something in his ear and slipped him a fifty-pound note, followed by a cheeky wink in Matthew’s direction.

A short while later, after Matthew had been the non-consensual recipient of an extended lap dance from PC Schlong, he asked me if we could leave. I led him out of the house and closed the door closed behind us. He glanced around skittishly and then sped down the front path to hail a passing taxi.

I giggled as we climbed in. ‘You can’t have the smooth without the rough,’ I said.

He scowled at me. ‘There was no need for him to dangle the bloody thing in my face,’ he said.

I giggled some more.

‘Stop laughing,’ he said, folding his arms and staring out the window.

I leaned towards him and smirked. ‘You’ve still got some whipped cream on your chin,’ I said, still laughing.

His hand flew to his face until he realised I was winding him up. Then he glared at me. ‘Speak about this to no one,’ he said.

After I’d eventually managed to stifle my giggles, I shuffled up next to him.

‘Cheer up,’ I said. ‘We had fun tonight.’

He sighed. ‘Well, I’m glad you had fun while I was being lap-raped by PC Right Said Fred.’

I smirked. ‘So you didn’t have any fun at all? Not even squeezing Cassandra’s bottom?’