The Happiness Recipe. Stella Newman

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СКАЧАТЬ a glass of water but Jason is now desperately chatting up the tattooed, red-lipsticked waitress and I don’t want to interrupt. She’s humouring him, playing along, because the cocktails here aren’t cheap, and if Jason orders a few more then her tip might reach double digits.

      ‘Oy, Danny,’ he says, pulling at his friend’s sleeve as the waitress heads back to the bar. ‘Did you clock that waitress’s mouth?’

      ‘Saw her tramp stamp,’ says Danny. ‘You dirty dog, Jase.’

      ‘I think she’s up for it,’ says Jason.

      ‘I think she’s a good waitress,’ I say, thinking that I couldn’t flirt with this tosser just for the sake of a bigger tip.

      ‘Those bright red lips! I bet she’s filthy …’ he says, nudging Danny.

      ‘For God’s sake, just because a woman wears red lipstick doesn’t mean she’s filthy,’ I say. ‘Where’s my burger?’

      Jason takes a swig of his drink. ‘Yeah well in my experience red lipstick’s a good indication that a girl knows what she’s doing down there.’ He grins. ‘The more lipstick, the dirtier!’ He winks at Rebecca.

      Good grief. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Are you actually suggesting that red lipstick indicates a girl is good in bed?’ Rebecca gives me a warning look: you’re drunk.

      He shrugs and looks at his mate with a raised eyebrow, as if he’s said the most intelligent thing short of E = mc².

      ‘Because, Ja-son, if that’s true, then why don’t you run off and join the circus?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Go join the circus, Jason. Date a clown. They wear loads of red lipstick – it’s all over their face. By your logic that makes them at least twice as filthy as that poor waitress. Yeah, Jase, go and date a nice dirty clown with a squeezy plastic flower and those funny stripy trousers.’

      There is an embarrassed silence, filled eventually by Rebecca. ‘Sorry guys, maybe those Jäger Bombs weren’t such a good idea …’ she says. Jason is staring at me like I’ve said something … I don’t know, what is that word now … weird?

      ‘You know what, Jase?’ I say. ‘Maybe you don’t have to wait until the circus comes to town. You might get lucky. Maybe there are some clowns hanging out down the David Lloyd, running on the treadmill with their long slutty clown shoes.’

      I see Rebecca shaking her head more violently in my direction.

      ‘Gosh, clown shoes must make running a real challenge. Bet they can’t do “fourteen kilometres an hour” like you can … Oh! And step class must be a nightmare! So embarrassing, always tripping over their own feet. Poor, sexy, slightly scary clut-slowns.’

      ‘Clut-slowns?’ he says.

      ‘Clut-slowns. Clut-slowns, slut-clowns, you know what I mean!’

      ‘Are you a lezza or what?’ he says.

      ‘What?!’ I haven’t been accused of being a lesbian since I refused to snog Elliot Johnson at the school Christ-mas disco when I was fourteen. ‘Jason … You know Maggie?’

      ‘Maggie who?’

      ‘Hello? Your ex-girlfriend Maggie? Wow, fickle! Two years together and you can’t even remember her name!’

      ‘That’s because her name’s Megan.’

      ‘Oh. Was it? I thought you said Maggie? No?’

      He shakes his head.

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Pretty sure …’

      ‘Anyway, “the greatest arse in London” – that one – well, Jason, I’ve got news for you, my friend: you are the greatest arse in London!’

      ‘Suze …’ says Rebecca, putting her hand on my arm. ‘Let’s get you some food …’

      ‘I think you should take your mental rug-munching friend home – get her back on her meds,’ says Jason, heading to the bar in pursuit of the waitress.

      ‘Yeah, send my love to …’ I rack my brain for the name of a famous clown … er … how come I don’t know any famous clown names? Now that really is embarrassing. ‘Send my love to … to Coco!’ I shout after him. Yeah. Coco. That’ll do. He was a boy clown. I think.

      Danny whispers something to Rebecca and follows his mate to the bar. Rebecca just stares at me.

      ‘What?’ I say, twiddling my umbrella and checking whether the up-down mechanism on it works. Cool, it does! I love the fact that these umbrellas could actually function as mini parasols, for ladybirds or something …

      ‘Bloody hell, Suze,’ she says. ‘You need to stop doing that.’

      ‘Doing what?’

      ‘Being insane and aggressive when hot men are chatting us up.’

      ‘He wasn’t that hot. Anyway you fancy the barman more than you fancied him.’

      ‘Not the point.’

      ‘Come off it, he was booooring. And his nob-head friend was rude about Adele. I’m standing up for womankind. And he made that moronic comment about lipstick and I was merely trying to explain to him that … you know … you shouldn’t objectify women, and lipstick doesn’t make a girl sexy …’

      ‘Shall I tell you what else doesn’t make a girl sexy, Suze?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Verbally attacking random men.’

      ‘Random dipshits more like …’

      ‘Whatever. Either way, you come across as angry.’

      ‘Becka, I’m only angry when I’m provoked.’

      ‘Look, I know you’ve had a drink …’

      ‘That’s your fault! You’re a bad friend! You made me have five drinks on a Tuesday night and you know I don’t get along with Jägermeister at the best of times, hideous Alpine medicine …’

      ‘Hang on a minute …’ she says.

      ‘What?’

      ‘The lipstick thing …’

      ‘No, it’s not what you’re thinking!’ I hold up my hand to stop what she’s about to say.

      ‘Isn’t Jake’s girlfriend a …’

      ‘Rebecca, it has nothing whatsoever to do with that.’

      ‘You’re not still looking at her stupid blog, are you?’

      ‘No.’

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