Zara Stoneley - Bridesmaids

‘All we think about is getting off, footie, having it off, computer games, what a normal sex drive is, food and, well, sex.’

‘Most of those seem to be the same thing.’ I arch an eyebrow in what I hope is a sophisticated not a pervy way.

‘Exactly, being a ‘yoof’ is bloody hard work.’

I laugh at the way he says yoof, it’s so completely not-Freddie.

So, anyway, I did know him. Otherwise I wouldn’t have done what I did.

Well, who knows, I might have done. I was bloody desperate. And he was laid back and friendly, not pervy at all.

We got chatting over coffee, then ended up being practically swept out at closing time, and we moved onto the pub on the corner and realised we were in the same boat. Roughly.

Well, he hadn’t been dumped, and he wasn’t currently living with his mum. But he was being chucked out of the flat he was currently sharing, because the other two flatmates had become a far too cosy couple. And he wasn’t really ready to settle for living in a dump but couldn’t afford somewhere up-and-coming on his own.

After two drinks, Freddie waggled the card that the estate agent had given him. ‘Shall we call her? We could just about afford that flat you’d fancied, between us. Or is that a bit weird? You can ignore me if it’s too weird. I’m not usually this forward but it’s just I’m solvent, got an okay job, pretty well house-trained, you’re, er,’ I wait for him to say desperate, but he doesn’t, ‘keen on the same place as me, and we do kind of know each other, and, er, I think it could work.’

When I’d spotted that flat I’d just felt deep down it was the One. Even though the rent had made me feel queasy, I’d been tempted with youthful optimism, to arrange a viewing anyway. Even if it was far, far more expensive than I could afford.

I’m not quite sure what I thought would happen, even I knew that estate agents didn’t tend to come with soft hearts and big discounts.

In my head while the agent had been talking to Freddie, I’d been fantasising, but all the while knowing that I couldn’t really afford to take it on, on my own.

Freddie was peering over his pint at me. ‘You really liked it, didn’t you?’

And with those few words there was some kind of unspoken agreement between us. We’d hit on the idea. We could take the place on together. So, we did.

Without knowing it Freddie had turned into my knight in shining armour.

That was well over a year ago, so we’ve been together longer than a lot of couples I know.

We also bicker a lot less. Though he does take the mickey a bit sometimes. But he has supported me through the Andy years, and I’ve supported him through the revolving doors years. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he shags round, he just seems to pick the wrong girls. Which I am beginning to suspect he does on purpose.

‘Oh, sugar.’ My phone beeps with the alarm I set earlier and stops my musings about Freddie. ‘I’m going to have to ditch the kittens for now and do the apple. You couldn’t look after them for a bit could you?’ I give him a slightly beseeching look. ‘Please, I’m begging?’ I indicate the kittens, then do a go away flap with my hands, and try to do my own imitation of cute, which I’m not sure I pull off.

‘Boy, you’re demanding, if only I’d known what I was letting myself in for when I signed that flat share contract!’

But I know he’s kidding.

He gets to his feet and expertly scoops up all three little felines in his big capable hands. ‘Come on fellas.’

‘I think one of them might be a fellee.’

‘We’ll be in my room if you need us.’

‘You’re a star, I owe you one!’

‘Several I’d say.’ He winks and kicks open the lounge door. ‘I can take them back to Lora’s if you like, on my way to the pub?’

I feel a totally irrational twinge in my stomach. Freddie likes Lora. He keeps saying he doesn’t, that they’re mates like we are, but he’s round there in an instant if he has an excuse. And I’ve seen the look in his eye.

I want Freddie to be happy, but I’m ashamed to say I’m selfish enough to not want to lose him. Not yet. And anyway, Lora would be a disaster. She’s far too calculating for Freddie, and she’s had more men than hot dinners this year.

Okay, I’m being bitchy. I confess. I don’t want to lose my best – well, only – male friend. Though Lora is a bit of a ‘rum ’un’ as my uncle used to say. Freddie deserves better.

I’m also being daft. He’s offering to help me out, and I’m not so silly that I don’t realise what a good move it would be to say, yes.

‘Wow, would you? That would be so helpful. There’s a basket thing in the kitchen. I’ll pop in and see her later, tell her I’ll try again tomorrow if she likes. I’d do it myself, but Coral will be calling any sec to discuss last minute plans.’

Freddie rolls his eyes. ‘We’re definitely out of here if Queen C is calling. See you later, and don’t take any shit from her ladyship.’ He blows me a kiss, then holds up a kitten and waves its little paw in the air. ‘Bye-bye Mummy! Love you! Don’t send me away, purry pleeeease!’

I shake my head at him. ‘Shoo!’

I have an apple, and I have a white plate. Oh, and a very red lipstick. And less than an hour to create an Instagram image that will leave Coral’s fans and sponsors wetting their knickers – with excitement not incontinence. She has a very youthful following.

She wants to plug a lipstick she’s been sent ( Oh, God, I love these cosmetics, I need them to send more, make it good or I’ll fucking kill you ), and she also wants a nod towards her (or should I say our?) trip to New York. She suggested I took a bite out of it and left an artistic lip print. Have you ever tried to do that? This apple looks like it’s been ravaged by a vampire two seconds after a blood sucking session.

I doodle a lipstick heart on the plate and reach for a fresh apple just as Darth Vader suddenly explodes into the silence. Well, not actually Darth himself, it’s my ringtone. Which means it is her: Coral – you have to find fun where you can, don’t you?

‘Where are you?’

No ‘Hello’ or other pleasantry. ‘Hi, Coral! I’m just doing this lipstick shot; I think the bite isn’t—’

‘Oh, forget that.’ I can picture her making a dismissive motion with one red-talon-tipped hand (she gets a free weekly manicure as well). ‘Take the day off.’

‘But I—’ I was about to point out that it is already five o’clock and the day is nearly done, and I was also going to say I needed the money so I wasn’t about to forget anything, but she interrupts me again.

‘What difference is one more day? You’ll be taking nearly three weeks, anyway.’

‘Three weeks? But, New York isn’t hol—’

‘Oh, didn’t I say? I don’t need you tagging along with me any more.’

‘What? Tagging? But—’

‘I’ve decided you’ll cramp my style – this is New York, darling, not some suburban—’

‘But, photos, you need photos taking.’

‘Crystal will help me.’

‘Who’s Crystal?’ I know I sound suspicious but I can’t help it.

‘She’s American.’ She says it like that means she is everything I am not. Stylish, for one. ‘She follows my blog and suggested this trip, she’s so dynamic, so savvy, so … with it, you know?’ I’m already sick of hearing about Crystal. ‘And it’s more of a holiday than anything. You can run off and do whatever you do, water plants or find a boyfriend, or something. You’re always saying you don’t get enough free time. When was the last time you had sex? Use it or lose it love.’ She makes a disgusting squelchy noise, which, luckily, I find easy to ignore.