High Heels & Pink Glitter (the heavily edited version)

Really, really f**k you

2 January 2016

"Hello, gorgeous birthday girl! If only I wasnae happily married..." Daniel swooped in to peck Kelly on the cheek, his lips brushing against her skin. He swung the door of his home open behind him, beckoning her in.

If only he wasn't. But then your best friend's husband was always going to be off-limits, no matter how attractive and attentive.

"This is no' too over the top, is it?" She swept her hand down her front, gesturing towards the dress she had picked up on eBay, sitting up late one night watching her bid with feverish intensity.

It had been worth waiting until three o'clock in the morning for the confirmation. The second-hand red silk and nylon designer dress had a rounded high neckline, closely fitted bodice and sheer sleeves. She had crash dieted for three weeks to fit into it, taking a day off for Christmas, and had still needed to squeeze herself into two pairs of Spanx to persuade the zip to fasten.

Daniel, dressed in black jeans and a faded band T-shirt, an alcohol-free beer in hand, shook his head. "Of course not. You look like Marilyn Monroe. Every red-blooded straight guy's dream come true!"

It might be blatantly untrue—Kelly had dark brown hair, not blonde—but she'd spent most of the morning with her bobbed hair in Velcro rollers to achieve those iconic big curls in a nod to 50s chic, so it was good to know her efforts had paid off.

"Thank you. And you're the spitting image of Justin Currie 2015, no, I mean 1995."

The remark elicited a roll of his eyes. "Aye, sure. Justin Currie, 2015 plus VAT." He pushed a hand through his hair. "I'm receding, receding! Look!"

She peered at his forehead, relishing the closeness and the smell of him. "No, you're not. Stop being a fanny."

She followed him through to the kitchen at the back of the house where, in true British party fashion, everyone had gathered, leaning against the kitchen counters, glasses in hand—some of which were raised towards her.

"She's here!" Nell exclaimed, dashing forward to hug her. "Happy, happy, happy birthday! You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!"

Hugging her back, Kelly found herself clocking the other attendees and noting the pitiful number of them. Birthdays this close to Christmas were the pits. Everyone fobbed you off with a joint present, and no-one celebrated with you on the actual day, too hung over from celebrations that had begun in earnest weeks before.

Her fortieth birthday fell on the second of January, and five of the people invited had cried off, citing their kids, the school holidays drawing to an end or still recovering from monumental Hogmanay hangovers. At her age, it shouldn't hurt, but did.

It was bad enough reaching the grand old age of forty and being single, your state so pitiful your best friend jumped in to offer to host the party on your behalf. For supposedly good friends to then cry off made it even more insulting.

"Is everyone here?" she whispered in Nell's ear, wondering if there might be a surprise few more late arrivals.

Nell nodded, too brightly. "Yes. Everyone else is in the living room. And we are going to have the most fabulous time! Aren't we?"

She turned to the others, who included Kelly's neighbour, Leon, who toasted her with his champagne glass. Leon had inherited impeccable genes from his French mother. Olive skin that always tanned at the merest hint of sun, thick, dark hair, huge Bambi eyes and cheek bones to die for.

"Can I get you some fizz?" Nell asked, opening the fridge. Nell's style, as befitting her artistic temperament, erred towards the eclectic, and today's outfit comprised a tartan mini-skirt over fishnets, cork wedges and a scarlet camisole top that showed off her skinny arms.