Girls Night Out 3 E-Book Bundle. Gemma Burgess

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      ‘Friday! Quiet!’ I am appalled. ‘Come to this speed dating thing with me.’

      ‘Are you sure?’ says Charlotte.

      I nod my head firmly. ‘Definitely. Without question. Plum just forwarded an email saying they were still short of girls – there’s too many men! So you really should come.’

      Charlotte bites her lip. ‘Well . . . alright.’

       Chapter Seventeen

      The speed dating tonight is being held at a Bloomsbury pub called The Perseverance, which is a singularly appropriate name for a speed dating venue.

      The attendees include Plum, me, Henry and now Charlotte. We’re meeting at The Lamb, a Victorian pub with the original, frosted-glass ‘snob screens’ so you can order a drink without people in different parts of the bar seeing your face.

      I hope everyone’s on good form tonight. Plum had four seemingly perfect dates with Dan, but he went to Atlanta for a work conference three weeks ago and she hasn’t heard from him since. She seems to have borne the disappointment surprisingly stoic-ally so far, i.e. she’s not talking about it.

      ‘Bonsoir,’ I say breezily as we finally locate Plum on a table at the back. Henry’s at the bar, getting drinks. I introduce Plum to Charlotte, and Henry returns with a bottle of champagne and four glasses. He’s wearing his glasses, something he never does on Saturdays and Sundays when I usually see him, and a suit.

      ‘Looking sharp, Henry! Champagne! What’s the occasion?’ I exclaim, kissing him hello.

      ‘I got a promotion today,’ he says. Henry works for an IT company, and from what I can understand, he is in ‘logistics’. Which seems to mean Sorting Shit Out.

      ‘Yay!’ We all chorus our congratulations and ask for details that we don’t understand. Henry pours the champagne and we toast to his promotion.

      ‘By the way, Henry, this is Charlotte,’ I say. I can tell by the slightly shy way Henry smiles at her that he thinks she’s cute.

      ‘Right then. I need tips from experienced speed daters,’ I say. ‘Plum, that’s you.’

      ‘My tip is to drink a lot beforehand,’ says Plum. She’s quite tense tonight. ‘Because it will be fucking excruciating.’

      ‘That’s not very helpful,’ I say, seeing Charlotte’s face fall.

      ‘I am going to ask “would you rather” questions,’ says Henry. ‘Like, would you rather smell like a goat for a year or shave your entire body, including eyebrows? Would you rather be a fairy or a mermaid? Would you rather eat steak or chicken if you had to eat one of them, at every meal, forever?’

      ‘Shave, fairy, steak,’ I say automatically.

      ‘No! Goat, mermaid, steak!’ shout Henry and Charlotte in unison, and then glance at each other with delight.

      ‘I’m a mermaid, can I sing underwater like Ariel?’ asks Plum.

      Henry doesn’t reply, because he’s grinning at Charlotte now. ‘No one ever says goat!’

      ‘I would hate to draw on my eyebrows every day,’ Charlotte explains matter-of-factly. ‘And if I’m a mermaid, well, I’ll be swimming most of the time anyway, so if I smell goaty, it won’t matter.’

      ‘Exactly!’ says Henry.

      ‘I may have to borrow the “would you rather” icebreaker, Henry,’ I say. ‘Good technique.’

      ‘What techniques does your esteemed bastard mentor recommend?’ says Plum.

      ‘Robert? I forgot to ask him,’ I say glibly. ‘I must have graduated from his School O’Lurve.’

      ‘Clearly,’ says Plum, leaning back in her chair and pulling up one ankle to rest on her other knee.

      ‘Why are you wearing flats?’ I’m shocked. Plum’s wearing ballet shoes with very pre-loved jeans, a tank top and a blazer. She doesn’t look bad, exactly, just as though she’s made absolutely no effort at all. Very unlike her.

      ‘Because I don’t want to be crippled by walking on fucking tippytoes all night?’ she replies.

      ‘You always say wearing flat shoes on a Friday night is a sign of depression,’ I say.

      Plum raises an eyebrow and doesn’t reply for a few seconds. ‘You look good, by the way.’

      She says it without much enthusiasm but I flush with delight. I’m wearing a very crisp white shirt over tight jeans, with my white wrappy coat on top, and my favourite green heels. I did think that I was channelling Pretty With A Punch, but it’s nice to have it confirmed.

      ‘I can’t believe you roped me into this,’ sighs Henry. ‘The rugby boys can never find out, OK? Never.’

      ‘Shall we make up pseudonyms tonight?’ suggests Charlotte. ‘It might help nerves. I’ll be Cherry. Cherry Buns.’

      ‘I’ll be your brother,’ says Henry, grinning. ‘Honey Buns.’

      ‘I’ll be Chastity Rocks,’ I say.

      ‘Chastity! As if,’ says Plum, grinning at me as if it’s a hilarious thing to say. That’s a bit harsh. I’ve only done the wild thing with Skinny Jeans since I became single, and she knows that, and anyway, who is she to judge? ‘I’ll be Debbie,’ she says, adding, ‘I’ve always wanted to be called Debbie. Debbie Dateless. Or, ooh, I know – Debbie Desperate.’

      She grins gleefully at me. She knows how much I hate that word. Desperate.

      ‘Do you have any lip gloss?’ says Charlotte, cleverly knowing that the best way to diffuse tension with girls is to discuss something shallow.

      ‘I have MAC Big Baby,’ I say, taking out my make-up bag.

      ‘I have MAC Nymphette, Pink Poodle, and Prrr,’ says Plum, taking them out of her bag and fanning them out in her hands. ‘I could write a thesis on the anti-feminism and female infantilisation of MAC lip gloss names,’ I say thoughtfully. ‘But they’re really good lip glosses.’

      ‘I love MAC,’ agrees Charlotte. ‘I also have one by Chanel, called Glossimer—’

      ‘That’s a fucking amazing lip gloss!’ exclaims Plum. Charlotte looks delighted to have had the approval of someone who clearly considers herself a style maven. ‘I also use this one from Rimmel, called—’

      ‘Vinyl?’ suggests Charlotte excitedly. ‘I love that stuff! My friend Janey lives in Tokyo, and has trouble getting hold of it, so I have to bulk buy them for her . . .’

      ‘I really need to hang out with guys more,’ says Henry flatly. ‘Seriously. You’re killing me.’

      ‘Does anyone have a tampon?’ says Plum by way of response.

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