Meet Clara Andrews: A totally vacuous girl with a hangover... (6 page)

Several Kir Royale cocktails and a few hours later, I must admit, I am having a fantastic time. The place is now packed out and there’s a cool band playing music I don’t even know, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I didn’t really have high hopes for tonight, but I haven’t laughed this much in ages. Which may have something to do with the vast amounts of champagne that I have swimming around inside me? George is not what I would normally label as my type, but he has something about him that I can’t quite put my finger on. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not bad to look at, in fact he is very handsome. With his olive skin, brown eyes and gentle dark curls, he looks more of a Spanish Mateo than an English George. That is until he opens his mouth and a cockney drawl comes spilling out. I just don’t have those stomach churning butterflies that I have when I look at Oliver. Not being one for love at first sight, I decided to brush past it and I’m so glad I did.

Putting the world to rights with the aid of alcohol is probably my favourite thing to do. We must have covered everything from pizza to politics before I develop the overwhelming urge to pee. Excusing myself before my bladder bursts, I push my way through the crowds of people and squeeze into a tiny cubicle. After peeing and flushing, I stand at the sink and rinse my hands before refreshing my makeup. Making my way back to our table, I pause at the bar and grab a couple more drinks. As much as I love champagne, I think I should make this my last. I’m pretty sure if I have much more I am going to be seeing bubbles not just drinking them.

Drinks in hand, I drop back into my seat and pass one to George who happily accepts.

‘Oh, so that’s where you went. I was beginning to think you had fallen in.’ He takes a sip of his cocktail and nods in approval.

‘How do you like the band?’ He turns around in his seat and claps as the song comes to an end.

‘They’re great,’ I grin enthusiastically and join in the applause, ‘I’ve had a really good time!’

‘Really? I was a little concerned when I saw the outfit that this wouldn’t be your kind of place.’

‘What’s wrong with my outfit?’ I demand, jumping on the defensive.

‘Nothing! You look fantastic! I just wouldn’t have put you in an indie club that’s all. I would have thought you were more of a Velvet Bar kind of girl.’

‘Err, hello???’ I waggle my champagne flute in his face.’

‘Exactly!’ He shakes his head and laughs. ‘I’m pretty sure these are the only champagne cocktails they have ever served.’ 

‘To be honest, it is usually more prosecco than champagne, but don’t tell anyone.’

‘Secrets safe with me.’

After making drunken chit chat on the subject of cocktails and music, talk changes to work.

‘Suave, eh? I think I have a pair of those.’

‘But we only do women’s?’

‘Maybe not then.’ He laughs, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Do you enjoy your work?’

My mind flicks to Oliver and our lovely meal last night. My heart swells and my stomach churns at the thought. Nothing can happen so stop torturing yourself. The little voice in my head reminds me to pull myself together.

‘I love designing and I love shoes, so it’s a win win.’

‘What girl doesn’t love shoes?’ George asks and drains his glass.

‘A stupid one. Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world.’

‘And what shoes do you have on?’ He glances down under the table.

‘Dancing shoes!’ Downing the rest of my champagne, I jump to my feet and hold out my hand.

‘Oh no, I think I am going to need at least one more before I get up there.’

‘To the bar it is then!’

Sighing, he stands up and leads the way, before placing his order for two champagne cocktails plus two dreaded tequila shots. I stand in front of him to avoid being squashed by the crowds and breathe in his musky, alluring scent. God, he smells good. He pays for the beverages and passes me a tequila shot. I take the shot glass and get my salt and lemon ready. This has to be my last drink, after the champagne, obviously.

‘Thank you for tonight, George. I’ve had a fantastic time.’ I hold up my tiny glass,

‘Me too.’ His eyes crinkle into a smile and he raises his shot to mine.

‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’

‘So, do you normally give bar men your phone number after a few too many tequilas?’

‘How do you know I had a few too many?’ I shoot back.

‘Because I was the one serving them!’ We both laugh and down the tequila.

‘No, but I am glad I did.’

And I really am.

Sitting in McDonalds on Sunday morning, I shovel down my egg McMuffin and sip my coffee tepidly.

‘So, you went out with Oliver on Friday and then with George on Saturday?’ Lianna exclaims, her eyes glittering.

‘I know it sounds bad, but I didn’t exactly go out with Oliver. It wasn’t a date or anything, just dinner after work with a colleague.’

‘Right, because a burger on the way home is exactly the same as lobster at La Fleur.’ She rolls her eyes and laughs. ‘Isn’t it awkward? Dating someone you work with? Especially being cooped up in the studio on your own all day.’

‘How many times? It wasn’t a date! Now last night, that was a date.’ I break off a piece of hash brown and raise my eyebrows teasingly.

‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were meeting up with him!’ Lianna shrieks and snatches the last of the hash brown before I have chance to make a grab for it. ‘What was he like?’

I smile and consider my reply carefully, ‘He was a really nice guy. Funny, confident, cute. I had a really good time.’

She studies my face for a second before slamming her hands down on the table.

‘Oh my God. You spent the night with him!!’

Unable to talk with a mouth full of greasy potato, I have to respond with a violent shake of the head. Hurriedly swallowing and burning my throat in the process, I raise my hands in protest.

‘No, Lianna, I absolutely did not.’ I give her the most sincere look I can muster and hope she takes the bait.

‘Yeah, right.’ She laughs wickedly. ‘Spill.’

I stare at her in disbelief. How can she always tell when I am lying? Am I that bad an actress? Sighing in defeat, I twirl my hair around my fingers and try to find the words to make this not sound cheap.

‘OK. I did. But it wasn’t like it sounds! I did stay at his place, but we did not, you know, do it. I swear.’

‘Go on,’ she screws up her sandwich wrapper and throws it in the bin behind her.

‘We met at Ice Bar, this indie bar in Greenton. One drink became six and six drinks led to tequilas and before I knew it, it had gone two in the morning.’

She crosses her legs and purses her lips, ‘That still doesn’t explain why you stayed over.’

‘Come on, you know how far it is to Greenton! The taxi queue was around the block, he had a spare room so you know, it made sense.’

‘Hmm, one protests too much...’  Lianna winks and picks up her handbag. ‘Only joking. I believe you. Come on.’

I grab my coffee and follow her out into the car park.

‘Fancy a trip into town? Might as well make the most of being up so early.’

The last thing I feel like doing is traipsing around town when I’m sleep deprived with a headache, but on the other hand, I don’t want to be stuck in the house like a crazy cat lady.

‘Go on then.’ I chuck my cup into the bin, knowing Lianna would rather chop her eyelids off than let me take a coffee into her sparkling new BMW. I fasten my belt and brace myself for Lianna’s wacky races driving.

Collapsing on my bed later that evening, I pour the contents of my shopping bag out onto the floor. Hangover shopping is never a good idea. All my usual bargain hunter traits have gone right out of the window. I pick up my favourite purchase of the day, a beautiful, turquoise, leather, biker jacket and rip off the tags. I give it pride of place in my wardrobe and dig the receipt out of my purse. Without giving it a second glance, I tear it up and drop it in the bin along with the tags. I’ve always hated receipts, they remind me of little death certificates for the money that you no longer have. How morbid.

I wander into the kitchen and head straight for the medicine cabinet. Popping a couple of ibuprofen and washing them down with a glass of water, I pad into the living room and stretch out on the sofa. Thank God for Nurofen. Tequila hangover plus Lianna’s horrific driving makes for one monster migraine. I must admit, the retail therapy did manage to take the edge off, just a little bit.

I haven’t heard from George since he dropped me off this morning. Not wanting to be the first one to text, I’ve tried to avoid looking at my phone in order to not give in to temptation. Thinking back to last night brings an idiotic smile to my face. Champagne cocktails followed, by dancing and a huge chicken kebab makes for one very happy Clara. The hangover, not so much. I have been absolutely shattered all day. After my late night on Friday with Oliver and last night’s epic antics with George, my mental battery is in desperate need of a recharge.

Once I have ensured all doors are locked, twice due to my incessant OCD, I pull on some pyjamas and snuggle up under the duvet. Mmm, it feels so good to be back in my own bed. Stretching my legs and flicking off the light, I wrap my arms around my pillow. It can’t be past nine but my eyes are already closing.

Beep! Beep!

Groaning, I roll out of bed and grab my phone from the charger, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the bright screen.

It’s George!

Hope your head hasn’t been as bad as mine today.We will have to do it again sometime, but maybe with coffee and not tequil
a
Speak soon George xxx

My fingers turn to butter and I drop my phone on the floor with a clatter. Whether it’s with excitement or exhaustion, I really don’t know and I don’t think I can stay awake long enough to find out.

I am happily munching my way through a foot long Subway sandwich when Rebecca appears at the studio doors. Prising myself away from my delicious steak baguette, I wipe my hands on a grubby napkin and beckon her to come in.

‘Hi, Clara,’ she fidgets with her blouse and looks around the room awkwardly.

‘Hi,’ I follow her gaze, trying to work out what has gotten into her. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Marc asked me drop these in for you.’

I take the envelope and look inside dubiously. My adrenaline hits an all time high as I pull out two train tickets and an accommodation voucher for a hotel in the centre of Manchester. Trying to act nonchalant, I pop them back in and drop them onto the work top.

‘That’s great, thanks Rebecca.’ I smile and wait for her to leave, only she seems frozen to the spot.

‘Hi Oliver!’ Rebecca springs to life in a bubble of giggles and hair flicks.

I spin around to see Oliver pushing his way through the door, arms laded with folders and brochures. Oh my God. She fancies him! I feel so jealous I’m surprised my skin doesn’t turn green. He offers her a tight smile and simply nods in response. Relieved that her crush doesn’t seem to be a two way thing, I turn my attention back to Rebecca.

‘Was there anything else Rebecca?’ I smile through gritted teeth and lean on the door handle, hoping the subliminal messaging gets through.

‘No, nothing else.’ She smiles shamelessly at Oliver before backing out of the room and scurrying off down the hall.

Seemingly totally oblivious to Rebecca’s advances, Oliver takes a seat at the work table and eyes up my sandwich.

‘You finished with this?’ He asks as he pulls it towards him and rolls up his sleeves.

Laughing at his pure arrogance, I snatch the baguette back and take a huge bite.

‘Didn’t your parents teach you to share?’ He chases me around the table and wrestles it from my grip.

‘Here! Take it.’ I surrender and hold it out to him, my sides aching with laughter.

We lock eyes and I feel my heart jump into my mouth. Tearing my eyes away, I brush myself down and hand him the envelope.

‘So, Rebecca brought these down.’ I watch as he studies the tickets and accommodation voucher before putting them back in the envelope.

‘I don’t think so,’ he shakes his head and pulls out his laptop. ‘We are not travelling three hours for some two bit motel. Leave it with me, I’ll sort it out.’

Two bit motel? I take the voucher and scan down to the residency details. Marc has booked us in at the Governors hotel. I do a quick Google search on my phone. It’s not too bad, granted it isn’t the Ritz, but I have stayed in worse. I contemplate defending the hotel for a second, but stop myself just in time. A little bit of me wants to see what he can come up with.

‘Good weekend?’ Oliver asks, pulling up his emails.

Before I can stop it, my cheeks flush purple and I feel weirdly guilty.

‘Um, yes, I did. You?’

‘I did as it happens. Moved into my new place, went on a date, did a little car shopping.’

Date? He went on a date? Who with?

‘Date?’ My voice is strangely high pitched.

I try to remind myself that I also went on a date. Not that it matters to me who Oliver dates.

‘Yeah, real nice English girl, we had fun.’

‘Lovely,’ I respond, trying not to sound bitter.

‘She was. Took her to this little French place, lobster, fine wine, really pushed the boat out.’ He leans back in his seat and folds his arms behind his head.

Wait a minute. Is he talking about me?

‘What do you say, Clara? Do you think that would warrant a second date?’

He is talking about me! It wasn’t a date! He never said it was a date! What do I say? Feeling truly embarrassed, I pick up the fabric samples and get to work on choosing a lace overlay for some ankle boots.

‘What do you think of this Chantilly lace?’ I push the book towards him and try to pretend I haven’t heard him.

‘Geez, you English girls are so uptight! Lighten up!’ he laughs and shakes his head, taking the sample book from me and feeling the fabric.

‘I like it. Call the company and see what they can do on it. We need a nude and a maroon.’

Picking up the book and opening my emails, I begin to type out a message. I can’t believe he thought we were on a date! Well to be fair, I kind of did too, I just didn’t want to admit it. After the weekend, I really like George but Oliver has something about him that draws me in. Like he’s the spider and I’m the fly, caught up in his tangled web.

Peeking at Oliver from behind my screen, I can’t help but mentally compare the two men in my life. George is so lovely, funny and kind. Exactly the type of man you would be proud to take home to your parents. Oliver on the other hand, is enigmatic, intriguing and frankly, a bit of an ass. Exactly the man your parents warned you about. On paper it seems like a no brainer, where as in reality, I want to have my cake and eat it too.

If only I could merge the two and create my very own Superman. Turning my attention back to my email I find myself wondering, is it really that terrible to date two men at once? At twenty seven, I am well within my rights to play the field, but is it possible to play the field, without becoming a player?

After a ridiculously hectic afternoon, it must be gone midnight when I finally fall into bed. I may have been run off my feet, but today has been quite a success. Not only have I secured a fantastic deal with Martin’s for a shed load of lace, I also managed to squeeze in a coffee with Marc and Lianna and arranged a date with George for Wednesday night. Things seem to going rather well at the moment.