23 Attempts at Love

Chapter 10: What's My Name Again?

Sasha, Katy and I were living in a bubble of fairy lights and face mask evenings on the sofa watching girly films and pretending we were so incredibly fancy by having a row of flavoured gin liqueurs lined up on the kitchen counter to impress any visitors, or to drown our sorrows with. We cooked together, had a cleaning schedule and walked with each other to campus every day. We even texted each other's Tinder dates back.

Katy was single now. The boyfriend she'd been so loved-up with had decided he was also in love with a girl from back home over the summer break, so she'd spent July and August working her way through the local surfer population in Devon and updating us both on her daily mental breakdowns. Sasha, in the meantime, had perfected her swiping skills on Tinder. Emotionally unavailable, married or severely depressed men in the local area flocked to her, and she couldn't resist their (complete lack of) charm.

Marcus, Will and their friend Callum – who I'd met before on a few nights out – now lived opposite us. We took it in turns every week to host a flat dinner. The girls would spend the afternoon whipping up a caprese salad to start, followed by a lasagne and garlic bread with tiramisu and espresso martinis to finish. The boys would usually order in pizza.

Sometimes these nights turned from a few elegant cocktails and delicate sips of wine – because we were adults now, you see – into strawpedoing a bottle of prosecco and playing ring of fire. For the uninitiated or fun-repellent, a strawpedo involves using bending a straw into the end of a bottle to let air in, while you try to drink the liquid from it as quickly as possible. Ring of fire is too difficult for my lazy brain to explain, but can be summarised as disgusting, stupid and hilarious.

Katy suggested going out after one of these evenings. We all stank of garlic bread and coffee, and I was cradling my stomach on the sofa.

"I can't," I told her, rubbing my poor, aching belly.

"Why not? Don't be a fun sponge." Katy tried pulling my arm.

"I'm too far along. I'm having a food baby," I told her solemnly. Even I couldn't take myself seriously. The bloat was bad but it was time to carry the party on elsewhere, where I could be drunk and irresponsible in a crowd of other people who were just as bad as me, so it didn't count.

My bed was moving. Or maybe I was moving and I didn't realise. Maybe I'd muscled my way into Katy or Sasha's room for a sleepover. I rolled over to find out.

"Mm, morning," croaked a man in my bed. What the...

There's a man in my bed. Okay. I'm naked. I see what happened here...

"I didn't snore too loudly, did I?" The man in my bed asked. I shook my head.

"I barely noticed you," I told him. Well, I croaked at him. I needed water.

I used the cover as a blanket until I could reach far enough to pick up a shirt off the floor to cover myself. I felt very naked. I was very naked. And it was in front of a stranger. Was he naked? God I didn't even want to know.

Dressing gown on and off to the kitchen we go. Two glasses of water, a quick stop by the counter to wait for the dizziness to pass, another stop by the bin just in case I'm going to throw up, and back to my room...

"Ah hem," Sasha said from the sofa. I hadn't spotted her in the corner. I glanced over at the door of my room. The mystery man could wait. If he did anything weird like stole my laptop then at least I might have a reason to appeal for an extension to my essay I hadn't started.

"Hey," I whispered, sitting next to her.

"How was your night?" Sasha grinned. She knew. She definitely knew.