Hello Team CCC? How are you? I hope you’re having a wonderful week! I’ve been finishing my next draft of Read Yourself Happy, and getting the first glimpse of the cover - and when it’s ready to go, you’ll be the first to see it! I’ve also been slacking off and having an absolutely lovely time lying in my hammock and reading this.
My new novel PITY PARTY is out in two weeks! To celebrate, all subscribers are invited to a fiction writing workshop, on Zoom, 12PM (BST) Sunday 21 July. If you can’t make it, there will be a playback video available.
We’ll be talking about getting started, tips and tricks to stay inspired when you lose motivation, how to write great dialogue, how to balance light and dark - and everything you need to know about querying, and working with agents and editors.
If you’d like to come along, all you have to do is pre-order my new novel Pity Party, in hardback, from any of the following retailers. (If you’re outside the UK, you can preorder in any format.) To order the book from Bookshop.org, click here. To order from Waterstones, click here. To order from Amazon, click here. To order a signed, personalised copy from my local indie, The Margate Bookshop, click here. Then, send a screenshot of your receipt to creativeconfidenceclinic@gmail.com, and I’ll send you the joining link!
One winner will be selected at random - they will be offered either a manuscript feedback session with me, worth £350, in which I’ll read and discuss 10,000 words of their work with them - or they can choose a more general one to one mentoring session with me. The winner will also win a selection of signed books.
I wanted to share a sneak preview of Pity Party with you - this is just for Substack subscribers. I’m so grateful to all of you for reading, supporting and being part of this special space, that I wanted to give you a wee bonus. I really hope you enjoy this, and I hope it makes you laugh!
Love
Daisy XXX
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PITY PARTY: EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT
Like all the best love stories, it began with an act of emotional blackmail.
It was October, a month I always looked forward to, and longed for. The skies darkened. The temperature dropped. And I felt able to embrace my true nature. My mother died when I was little, and I never knew my father; as ridiculous as it sounds, I sometimes suspected that he had been a vole or a dormouse. October was my pre-hibernation period. I liked to fill the freezer with stew and stockpile my thickest jumpers and longest socks. Finally, after the social tyranny of summer, no one expected me to spend my spare time in a beer garden.
Also, I’d broken up with Sean a few months ago. I’d barely noticed that I was going out with Sean, to be completely honest. It was one of those vague, post-graduation things where I was drunk for months at a time, and when I looked up I was sober, hungover, and going out with the world’s dullest man. It was a human version of continental drift. I couldn’t even call it a fling. That made it sound passionate and impulsive. I suspect that we were unwitting victims of a series of two-for-one offers. We’d go for two-for-one pizza on a Monday, and then buy our two-for-one cinema tickets on a Wednesday. Then, after about six months, we were informed that the restaurant had finished the deal and we had to pay the full price. That was when Sean said, ‘This isn’t really working, is it?’
But the break-up was great, because it meant that Annabel could sometimes be persuaded to stay at home and eat ice cream with me. All I had to do was look wistful, and say, ‘I’m just feeling a bit sad about Sean,’ and I’d be excused from the rooftop rave in Clapton, or whatever it was that she had planned for us. But she loved going out, and she longed for me to love it too. Annabel loved autumn as much as me – but to her it meant sequins, fairy lights and cocktails that tasted of cough medicine.
She’d walked through the door, letting in a cool, sweet blast of woodsmoke, and said, ‘RIGHT.’ There’s a certain sort of person who announces their arrival by saying ‘RIGHT’ – they are usually very good at making their friends do things they don’t actually want to do.
Her bright green coat was still buttoned. I was hovering near the kettle, but she opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Pinot Grigio. ‘Hallowe’en is almost upon us, and we’re going out out.’
‘Where did that wine come from?’ I said, confused. ‘I didn’t think there was any left. That’s not like us, not to finish a bottle. Anyway, we can’t go out tonight.’ I wrapped my arms around my body, and squeezed myself, for warmth. ‘It’s Bake Off.’
‘Not tonight. Saturday. Tom and the uni lot are having a Hallowe’en house party. A proper one. I think Hot Ben is coming down for it, do you remember? He went off to Hong Kong for a bit, something to do with his dad. It’s going to be a real reunion.’ Annabel sipped her wine. ‘Do you want to be a French maid, or a bunny girl?’
‘Can I be the girl in pyjamas and a dressing gown who goes home at 8 p.m. to watch Practical Magic?’ I whined. ‘Anyway, Bel, I was never really in that group, they’re all so full on.’ I decided to play my only card. ‘And I only just broke up with Sean! I need more time.’
‘You did not “only just break up” with Sean,’ said Annabel. ‘I’m pretty sure that you dumped him just after the clocks went forward. And they’re about to go back again. And you told me the sex was very bad. If you go to this party, your odds of having great sex will increase significantly. Plus, I won’t go without you. And I have to go, because this might be my very last chance to get off with Tom.’
‘Annabel, how many times have you got off with Tom before?’ I started to count and ran out of fingers. ‘I make it at least fourteen, if you count the ball when he had to stop and puke in the fountain. You told me that he sucked your chin! And what about the chewing gum thing?’
‘What chewing gum thing?’ she asked, confused.
‘You know! When he left his chewing gum in, when he was going down on you.’
‘Are you sure that was me?’ Annabel frowned.
‘I had to help you get it out! Do you not remember the lube? The gloves?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ She nodded. ‘And one day, I shall do the same for you. I’m pretty sure that’s the sort of thing that happens to everyone at least once. You’re a very good friend. And if you come to the Hallowe’en party, the universe will deliver you a karmic reward.’
‘Fine,’ I say, finishing my wine. ‘I’ll go to the stupid party. But I reserve the right to leave when I want. And don’t get off with Tom if he’s chewing something.’
‘I can make no promises,’ said Annabel. ‘And we’re going as bunny girls. I’ll sort the costumes.’
The date of the party loomed, as though it was an exam. And when I started to think of it in those terms, I cheered up a bit. Firstly, all I had to do was pass, by going to the party. Secondly, this was a rare chance for me to do some- thing nice for Annabel. I owed her. I felt as though I was going to be forever in her debt. When my grandmother died, a lot of people said ‘Just let me know if you need anything!’ and I never heard from them again. Annabel just kept coming over with home-made soup. It was the loveliest shock. I didn’t know her that well, then. I thought she was the person you called if you wanted to get hold of some drugs. Not chicken and noodles in a Thermos.
On Saturday, at 5 p.m, I heard a knock on my bedroom door. It was Annabel, in a cream silk dressing gown, holding her curling tongs and a bushel of ears. ‘Happy Hallowe’en!’ she shouted. ‘Or as I call it, Sexy Christmas! I’ve come to zhuzh you! I have extra false eyelashes, and I’ve brought a bra for you.’
‘Why? I have plenty of bras!’ I said, confused.
‘You do. I’ve seen them all, and that’s why I brought reinforcements. Now, what are we thinking? You’ve got those nice black high-waisted shorts, maybe with a pair of fishnets . . . ’
‘What black shorts?’ Annabel opened a drawer, and rummaged around for a bit, before pulling out a pair of knickers. ‘Dude, I’m not wearing those.’
Eventually we agreed on a compromise. Our hair was sprayed, tonged and sprayed again. I wore Annabel’s bra with my emergency job interview trouser suit and went as Business Bunny. Annabel wore two pairs of false eyelashes, and very little else, and went as Classic Bunny. ‘If we don’t pull tonight, it won’t be our fault,’ she said. ‘You can keep that bra. Your tits look excellent.’
She looked in the mirror and hoicked hers up – a quick pat and jiggle, evoking a certain sort of man in a certain sort of pub fondling his car keys after finish- ing his pint. Passing a thumb along the BMW logo, for luck. Annabel had BMW breasts, no doubt about it. Not subtle. But coveted volubly by many men. Their value was indisputable.
I looked down at my own. It didn’t matter what Annabel said, I felt pretty insecure about them. What was that car they made everyone drive in the Soviet Union? Or the one with three wheels, that chases Mr Bean?
She grinned at me. ‘Come on. Tonight, Katherine is back. We have just enough time for a very quick glass of wine before we have to get the bus. Stop fiddling with your ears. You’ll mess your hair up!’
‘Do I have to wear the ears at the bus stop?’ I said, sulkily. ‘Trust me, you’ll feel underdressed without them.’
She was right. We were on the top deck with another three bunnies, a sexy cat, Dracula, and someone who claimed to be Eddie the Eagle. (He said his actual skis were in his brother’s loft, he’d spent most of the afternoon constructing the cardboard ones he was carrying. Everyone on the bus admired the skis. We were all complicit in the same lie, but it really seemed to help Eddie’s self-esteem.)
The bus journey started to feel quite cheerful. When we got stuck in traffic, a different Bunny produced a bottle of wine from her handbag and passed out disposable cups. At first, I shook my head. ‘Single-use plastic is the number one cause of environmental—’ Annabel elbowed me hard in the nipple. The pain sliced through my coat, my suit jacket and the borrowed bra. ‘That’s really kind of you, me and Katherine will share!’ She grabbed the cup and passed it to me, whispering, ‘Dude. It’s Saturday. Have a night off, for the love of God. Or Jack Skellington.’
The wine was warm and syrupy, and I knocked it back. ‘Sorry,’ I murmured. ‘You see, this is why I didn’t want to come tonight. I always say the wrong thing. You were born to be social. I’m missing the magic gene.’ A seed of fear started to sprout in my gut, its tendrils rushing up to my throat and trailing all the way down to my toes. I felt anxious in my ankles; that was a first. ‘What if I’m in the corner, all night? What if I try to be brave and start a con- versation with someone and they laugh at me?’
‘You don’t need to be brave.’ Annabel shook her head. ‘You know these people. It’s just the old uni gang.’
‘That doesn’t help.’ I winced, thinking of the ‘old gang’ – dirty pints and drinking songs and boys that would break off in the middle of a conversation to take their shirt off if they thought they heard the Baywatch theme. Even if you were in Starbucks with them at three o’clock in the after- noon. ‘I’m not sure that anyone from the old gang would piss on me if I was on fire.’
‘That’s because you didn’t get to know them. You were either hiding behind your hair, or hiding in the toilets,’ said Annabel. ‘You’re a hidden gem. And now you’re going to dazzle everyone who didn’t get to know you before. You’re one of a kind, a classic.’
‘You’re drunk.’ In fairness, I wasn’t really sober enough to make any accusations. What was in that wine?
‘I know, but . . . OK, how about this. You’re my friend. I can see how great you are. When you go out and hug the wall and don’t talk to people and act as though you’re not a pleasure to spend time with, you are insulting my good taste.’
She reached into her coat – I assumed this was a last- minute bra shuffle, but she pulled out a small silver flask and passed it to me.
‘What is this?’ I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘It tastes of bark.’
‘Not sure,’ she said, before swallowing and grimacing. ‘It was a fiver from the shop at the top of the road. I think the man said something about wormwood. Now, Katherine, listen to me. What do you think everyone else at the party is doing right now?’
‘The macarena? Cards Against Humanity? Spooky pinata?’
‘They’re drinking.’ Annabel didn’t say ‘duh!’ but she was definitely thinking it. ‘Most of them probably started at lunchtime. No one is going to be in any fit state to judge you. If you say something stupid, they won’t care and they won’t remember. You could probably meet a guy and de- liver a ninety-minute lecture about the climate emergency, and he’ll wake up and think he had a bad dream about the apocalypse. Obviously, try not to do that.’ The bus started to turn a corner, and she pressed a bell.
It was easy for her to say. My apocalypse was imminent. It roiled behind Tom’s front door.
Annabel knocked at number 42 – which suggested that life, the universe and everything could be found within this house. Was that a conversation starter, or a nerdy detail that only a weird girl would know? I might meet the Douglas Adams fan of my dreams, or I might be directed to the Dungeons and Dragons party that was happening two doors down. (I’d never played Dungeons and Dragons, but maybe I should start.)
‘Waaaaaaaaaaay!’ We were greeted by a skeleton wearing bunny ears. ‘Annabel! And, ah, Annabel’s mate!’
‘You remember Katherine!’ Annabel stood on her tiptoes to kiss the skeleton. I waved, wiggling my fingers, feeling exactly like a minor member of the Royal family who had been sent to open an abattoir.
‘Drinks!’ said the skeleton, grabbing Annabel’s thigh and pushing her through the hall. ‘Was that Tom?’ I whispered. ‘And was he making a spooky noise, or is that just how he says hello?’
‘No, that was Tommo,’ said Annabel. ‘He lived with Tom in second year and tried to start that business, do you remember? He was going to sell shots that came in spherical containers. The idea was that the bars would install marble runs . . . I can’t think why it didn’t take off. And that’s how he says hello.’
The kitchen was full of bunnies. The sitting room was full of bunnies. When I put my coat upstairs, I noticed that every other person in the line for the bathroom was wearing white fluffy ears.
‘I didn’t realise that the bunny thing was an official theme,’ I shouted to Annabel.
‘It isn’t!’ she replied. ‘Ann Summers was doing a two for one. I wish I’d known, I bought ours from China. The shipping cost a fortune.’ She brought her hand to her mouth. ‘Shit! I mean, I looked in all the charity shops first, and I tried to make some ears ...’
‘It’s OK ...’ I sighed. ‘What’s done is done. We’ll just have to be bunnies again next year. And the year after that.’ All I ever asked of Annabel was that she remembered her water bottle and turned the lights off before she left the flat. She treated me like the environment police.
‘Honestly, K, you should have seen my attempts. The first one looked almost human. The next one was close, more of a hare ...’ She broke off and looked at me. ‘I think I hear the “Monster Mash”.’
She grabbed my hand, and we took the stairs two at a time.
I love the ‘Monster Mash’.
It’s the best song to dance to because you don’t have to be sexy. You don’t have to be anything. The beat is irresistible. I’ve tried yoga, breathwork, tantric YouTube meditation exercises, you name it, and I can confidently say that nothing puts me in my body like the ‘Monster Mash’.
We walked into the sitting room – the one place in the house that anyone had made any attempt to decorate. A line of bat bunting fell from the middle of the ceiling to the floor. I assumed it had come loose, but maybe it was meant to evoke chaos and decay. The sofa had been pushed back against the wall and shrouded in a white sheet. It looked like a ghost sofa, and it was protected from spilled drinks. I recognised the red, chilli-shaped fairy lights that were hung over the mantelpiece, from every student bedroom I’d ever been in. The room was choked with the ghosts of parties past, suffocated by them. This was just a repeat of every single college Hallowe’en party I’d ever been to.
For a moment, I felt depressed. We were supposed to be growing up, maturing, blossoming. But in the year since we graduated, I’d gone backwards. I’d made the big move to London, but I wasn’t really living. When my nanna died, I promised myself that I was going to really live. No one was there to criticise me and complain, to say my skirt was too short, the room was too warm, and everything was too expensive. I was free. I was going to be more Annabel. Instead, I’d hidden under Annabel’s coat – not just metaphorically. I’d let myself drift into a relationship based on a mutual fondness for pizza! Pizza wasn’t even my favourite food! At student parties, I’d always been a mouse. But tonight, I was a Bunny. So I grinned at Annabel, jumped up and down, and started doing an extremely stupid dance of my own invention, with slightly less self-awareness than the inflatable waving balloon men that live outside used car dealerships. I rode the beat, evoking Wolf Man, and Dracula’s Son. There were jazz hands and spirit fingers. And maybe ninety seconds in, I realised that I was being watched.
This could not be good. Was everyone looking at me? Were they all laughing? Like a child, I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling my face growing redder and redder in the dark. But I kept going. I was Moira Shearer in The Red Shoes, cursed to keep dancing until the music stopped. But with zombie arms.
Then I felt a warm hand on my elbow. It slid to my wrist, encircling it, before raising my hand above my head, and leading me into a spin. Annabel? The hand felt too big for Annabel’s. It scratched slightly, but not unpleasantly. The skin under the knuckles was ever so slightly rough. I looked up over my head and followed the hand to a muscular arm, a broad shoulder, and a smiling face.
‘I LOVE THIS SONG!’ said the face.
The chillies were giving out just enough light for me to take it in. Floppy hair, a full mouth, small eyes – horribly handsome, but happy handsome. I imagined that he was in the habit of approaching strangers and shouting out his enthusiasms. Had we been in an art gallery, if I’d been standing in front of Whistler’s Mother in a state of quiet contemplation, I’d have forgiven him for yelling ‘I LOVE THIS PAINTING!’
Even so, my first instinct was to run away. Or to say, ‘I think you want my friend Annabel. She’s the hot one.’ But I bit my lip. We had at least a minute left, and this beautiful boy wanted to dance the Monster Mash with me. I already had more in common with him than I did with Sean. So I said ‘ME TOO!’ and hopped from foot to foot, bouncing and wiggling. And when the song finished, I took a deep breath, crossed my fingers, and said, ‘DO YOU WANT TO GET A DRINK?’
‘I WOULD LOVE THAT! I’M BEN!’ He picked up my hand, as if to shake it, and he did not let go.
In the kitchen, we found some bottles of beer that were almost cold, and Ben produced a bottle opener from his pocket. ‘That’s very organised,’ I said.
‘I’m not usually like this, but I moved house today. This was one of the last things I unpacked, and I thought it might come in handy,’ he explained.
‘Happy moving day!’ I replied. ‘Is that why you’ve got all of that fluff on your jumper?’ I picked a white wisp off his elbow.
‘No, that’s my costume. I was supposed to be a mummy, but most of the toilet paper fell off before I got here.’ Ben tapped the top of his head. ‘Tom gave me a Frankenstein mask, but I seem to have lost it. Shall we go outside?’
Out in the fresh air, I groaned with relief, like a zombie who had died all over again. We sat on the garden wall. I unbuttoned my jacket and spread it out so we could both sit on it. The cool air felt delicious on my skin. ‘Ahhh! That’s better!’
It occurred to me that I could feel quite a lot of cool air on my skin. And then I realised why. ‘Shit!’ I jumped to my feet. ‘I’m topless! I forgot!’
Ben burst out laughing. ‘How did you forget?’ He stood up. ‘I suppose I have to be a gentleman and let you put your jacket back on. Damn my good manners.’ He lifted the jacket off the wall and draped it over my shoulders. ‘There are so many things I want to say, but the polite thing to do would be to compliment your tailor.’
At the other end of the garden, I saw three bunnies smoking. They were all wearing stockings, suspenders, and nipple tassels. ‘I suppose, even without the jacket, I’m kind of overdressed. How do you know Tom?’
‘Not that well, to be honest. I was in the same year as his brother Miles – I knew Miles from school, and we ended up at uni together. I got back from Hong Kong a couple of months ago, and now . . . ’ He shrugged. ‘It’s as though I’ve forgotten everything I ever knew. Everything I say sounds strange. When I told Tom how cool it was that he lived at No 42 ...’
‘Life, the universe and everything!’ I said excitedly. ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy!’
‘Exactly!’ Ben nodded. ‘You know! Tom just looked at me as though I’d started speaking in an alien language. Which is apropos, I suppose.’ He smiled and took my hand again. ‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘Katherine,’ I said, after a moment. I’d briefly lost track of what Ben was saying, because I loved listening to the sound of his voice. It was so warm. It was almost posh, adjacent to posh, but really without any accent at all. He sounded as though he never stopped smiling. He sounded like someone who would watch his whole house fall down around him and then say, ‘Well, we can’t stay in, so we might as well go out for lunch.’
‘Katherine, how do you know Tom? Do you live in London? What do you do?’ He gestured to the jacket, the ears. ‘I assume you’re in the rabbit business.’
‘I don’t really know Tom either,’ I said. ‘But my friend Annabel is embroiled in a long-standing flirtation with him.’ Ben laughed. ‘I love that! You sound like an Agatha
Christie book. Tell me you’re a 1940s BBC announcer.’
‘I wish,’ I said. ‘I just started a new job at a start-up called Shrinkr. They work with businesses – trying to get them to implement better sustainability policies, so that when they boast about being environmentally friendly, they’re telling the truth.’ Even though it was dark, I knew Ben could see me blushing. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit of a nerd about that sort of thing. It’s my big passion. But I’ve only got a six-month contract. Maybe I’ll be returning to Rabbits Incorporated before I know it.’
‘That’s really cool,’ said Ben, putting an arm around my shoulder. I allowed myself to relax into his warmth. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before, and it was thrilling. This was flirting! I was doing it! It turned out that it didn’t have to be a complicated series of confusing signals and second-guesses. I realised that I almost always felt slightly scared of something – but beside Ben, all that free-floating fear dissolved. I couldn’t believe this was happening. And at a Hallowe’en party, of all things!
‘It’s brilliant to be doing something you love, and some- thing that’s changing the world for the better. I don’t think it’s nerdy at all.’ He grinned. ‘I wish I could get paid for my passion. I’m a sailor. Sadly, I have to work in stupid insurance to pay for the gear. That’s what I was doing in Hong Kong. My dad’s out there – not that I ever saw him, we were all working fifteen-hour days.’
‘Well, I suppose you have to pay for all the, um, gilets,’ I say. ‘Is that what you need, for sailing? I’ve never been.’
‘I’ll take you!’ said Ben.
‘Oh! I’d really love that!’ I said, startled. What did I do now? Did I tell him that I’d meet him at the nearest reservoir at 10 a.m. sharp next Saturday? ‘Anyway, you said you’ve just moved house! Where have you moved to? What’s it like?’
‘Well, to my mother’s consternation, it’s in Peckham . . . ’ Ben’s hand was still on my shoulder when I heard a woman saying his name. Another bunny was walking towards us, wobbling in vertiginous heels. ‘Ben,’ she said again. ‘You promised me a da-ha-hance.’ Even factoring in her extreme drunkenness, she was a perfect doll. Full lips and feathery lashes, ice cream scoop breasts, pearlescent in the moon- light, falling out of a pink corset.
Beside her, I felt like Humpty Dumpty. (I wasn’t helping myself by sitting on a wall.) I stood up, and forced myself to smile, pretending to straighten my jacket lapels. I felt very sober, and very cold. It’s not her fault she’s gorgeous, I told myself. Don’t be jealous. Don’t be a bitch. Don’t point out that half of her false eyelash has come unglued.
For a happy hour, the natural order of the universe had been reversed. During my brief time with Ben, I’d felt so happy. He was funny and kind – and I couldn’t pretend that I wasn’t shallow enough to be affected by his extreme handsomeness. But it was his voice I’d fallen for. I wanted to bathe in it. I would have gladly paid him to make a
podcast, just for me, maybe with very detailed technical sailing information.
But Bens didn’t end up with Katherines. Ben was Ken, and Barbie was standing right in front of me, asking to da-ha-hance.
‘Ben, it was so lovely to meet you, but I’d better find Annabel,’ I said. ‘I’m going home.’
I watched the pocket rocket fall into his arms. Oh well. I thought of Sean. Better to be alone than badly accompanied. I’d had a fun conversation with a lovely man. I was building up my social muscles. At least I could say I was in slightly better shape, party wise. This meant I’d feel a bit less awkward when Annabel inevitably dragged me out so she could get off with Tom on Bonfire Night.
Where was Annabel? There was no sign of her in the kitchen. I tried the sitting room, and I couldn’t see her, although I noticed the white sofa sheet was now covered in red wine. She wasn’t in the toilet queue, and she wasn’t in the bathroom, where I held back the hair of a bunny ballerina, while we waited for a zombie bunny to come back with some water. As I looked in the cabinet for mouthwash, I heard a familiar moan.
‘I think someone’s having sex!’ said the ballerina. ‘Listen!’ she shushed us, before puking loudly.
Aha. I could just about make out the moaning. If that wasn’t Annabel, it was someone who had studied her technique.
‘I think that’s my friend,’ I said, awkwardly. ‘Do you think I ought to go and see if she’s OK?’
‘Honestly, I wouldn’t worry.’ The zombie had returned with water. ‘She’s clearly having a brilliant night.’
Having established that the ballerina was OK, I crept out through the hall, towards the door. ‘Annabel,’ I called. ‘It’s OK, you don’t need to stop, but I’m going in ten minutes. Let me know if you want me to wait – if I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume you’re, er, staying over.’
‘HANG ON! I’ll be out in a bit!’ she called. ‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ At least she hadn’t said, ‘I’m coming.’
I decided to wait downstairs and give her some privacy.
As I descended the staircase, I walked straight into a tall man. ‘Katherine!’ said the man. ‘I’ve been looking for you!’ We stood in the middle, neither up nor down.
‘You were looking for me?’ Even though I was a step above Ben, he was still taller than me. I didn’t feel like Humpty Dumpty any more. ‘I thought you and that girl . . . ’
‘Miles’s ex,’ he said. ‘She’s not taken the break-up very well. Listen, I need to get home. My Uber is coming in two minutes. I literally need to make my bed, and I don’t know which box my duvet is in. What’s your number? I want to take you sailing!’ He handed me his phone, and I typed the number in. ‘See you soon,’ he said, and kissed me very softly on the mouth before bolting down the stairs.
It was as though his lips were laced with a small electric current. I felt jolted, disturbed by a delicious burning sensation. I stood on the stairs for a little longer, smiling and prodding my mouth like an idiot, until Annabel almost knocked me over. She was missing a bunny ear.
‘Katherine, what are you doing? Come on, let’s go. I think I’ve finally got Tom out of my system.’ She patted herself between her legs and made a face. ‘Literally, if I’m honest. I had to have a bit of a rummage. He did the chewing gum thing again.’