Her Song

8 - Fizzled Out

**Kim**

Bucks Fizz, champagne or just plain orange juice?

There was only one logical choice. Champagne it was. I reached for a glass and ignored the raised eyebrow of one my fellow guests. Yeah, I see you, you judgmental old crone. Never seen a twenty-something with a hangover living her best life before?

Okay so maybe necking glasses of France's finest in two gulps wasn't exactly living my best life but damn it I was giving it my all. If not me then who? After all it wasn't as if the mutton dressed as Kate Middleton giving me side eye was going to drag me out of hangover hell.

I hear you, I have no one to blame but myself. I'd managed to pull off what was one of the greatest scheduling conflicts of all time. Debauched Christmas piss-up with the work girls followed by a proper family brunch the next morning and backed up by a house move after brunch. Oh no, absolutely nothing could go wrong with that plan. Juggling those three events would be an absolute breeze.

Don't laugh, I'm not even fooling myself.

My excuses sound pathetic even to my own ears. Sure I had been the one to plan the Christmas party but Lorna had been the dictator behind the date. And yes, I had been the one who'd coordinated my move in date with Bradley but the fact that the incredibly lackadaisical owner of the Kiwi house had finally developed an awareness of London property prices and decided to sell the house without tenants was out of my control. I'd been grateful that our eviction date was the day after I'd already planned to move. I will cop to the fact that I'd offered to take the cats. Bradley didn't care and it was only logical considering that Brett's new love interest was allergic and Kieran and Jules couldn't find a rental that permitted pets. And if anyone thinks that I have the slightest bit of control over my overly bossy older brother's social arrangements or Bradley's work schedule they need to think again.

So whilst I would like to make it absolutely clear that I am a strong, capable, modern woman it was with a huge amount of relief that I leapt at Van's offer to help me move. And it's because I'm just a tiny bit of a selfish bitch that I accepted even though I could see he regretted his offer almost before his mouth was closed. Being the overall good guy that he was there was no way that Van would rescind his offer, no matter how shitty he felt as the day wore on. If there was a more effective way to contrast Bradley's poor form in pulling the work card when it came to helping me move I didn't know what it could have been.

And that was something I'd never admit out loud and only just barely in my internal monologue. Bradley was my dream man. He was ridiculously attractive, successful in his career, understood and appreciated my job and we had similar goals. We were meant to be. I just wished it felt more that way sometimes.

Once the effervescence of the champagne bubbles hit my blood stream I felt better equipped to deal with the braying crowd occupying the main reception rooms of my brother's expensively decorated South Kensington house. Ainsley was holding court in the far corner of the conservatory and as unready as I was to have to deal with him I turned in the other direction. Yes, Ainsley. It's a family name. And yes, the other brother I swerved through the double doors into the drawing room to avoid is named Aubrey. Hiding from my brothers was essentially pointless when the moment I stepped into the other room I slammed into my little sister Araminta. Her name might not be a family name but her mother wanted to follow the family tradition of A names. My father's name is Alastair. No my name Kimberley does not start with an A. Not even a silent one. You can blame my former flight attendant mother – the rest of the family does. For both my name and her unfortunate choice of career, marrying wealthy men I mean, not the way she once served drinks and ensured travellers safety as they hurtled through the air in a pointy tin can.