Who’s gotten drunk dialled?

Here’s a little trick I’ve learned to avoid hangovers, don’t go to bed. And don’t pass out. If you can avoid that it works a treat. The problem may then be a general sleepiness after the adrenalin wears off.

The plan was, go to the shop, come home, nap for an hour and then cook dinner for Candy (which you’ll remember was my cunning plan for keeping her away from talking to HP on the phone, but I’m much less paranoid about HP and Candy than I had been, but I’ll get to that in the moment. Actually, I’ll just tell you now…)

So, I didn’t take my phone with me last night because I was positive HP wasn’t going to ring and I’d spend the whole time stressing and looking at my phone. Well, I decided to take a nap before going to the shop and I woke up to a text.

It was from HP saying, ‘Sorry for all the drunk dials last night. I’m an arse.’

I hadn’t even thought to look at my phone when I got home, but I had four messages. Although, there was a more immediate problem. Candy was knocking on the door and I had no food in the house, and I was supposed to be making some sort of dinner.

Even at the best of times I don’t cook. But in a rush, no food other than a few old tins of things and cereal…yeah. I was going to have to order in.

I open the door, and I didn’t even need to explain. My hair had the non-hip version of bed head, and I had creases on my face.

‘Long night?’ she asked. ‘Katie didn’t make it home.’

‘I left her around 2. She was heading back to Edinburgh. We were in Anstruther, I think. We were certainly in St Andrews at some point, then some other Fife town. Not really sure,’ I said.

Without even bringing up the fact I was in no state to cook anything edible, she said that dinner’s on her. She’d whip something up.

I trod across the landing to her flat, which–despite being the mirror image of ours–seems so much bigger and way cooler. She said the affect of space is from painting the some walls and the ceiling a slightly different shade, and furniture placement. But even if we place the furniture in our flat differently it would still look like furniture from the charity shop. In fact, somehow, she buys a chair from a jumble sale and it looks like a sleek vintage retro feature piece. I buy the same chair from a jumble sale and it looks something that was offloaded before going to the dump. How do people do it? Be stylish?

So, at hers, I sat on one of the stools that fit neatly into her kitchen. (I can’t get a waste bin in our kitchen, she gets two stools and a tall table. Our kitchens are the exact same freaking size and shape. How does she do it?) Candy decided to ‘whip up’ a vegetable Parmesan with fettuccini, and I helped by drinking her wine.

Honestly, how the hell did her husband let this woman get away. Gorgeous. Great cook. Great style. Owns a cool business. And she has more energy than most people half her age. Her husband was a moron.

I hate to admit this, but it was a really nice dinner. I told her about my adventures last night. We talked about Katie. Candy knew Katie was here for the internship, but promised not to tell me. Candy said she is so impressed with Katie.

I feel so bad. Thinking about Katie as a screw up became such a habit. I can’t believe she held on to the money from Nan for all these years. I’m more impressed with that than anything else.

Candy also asked if I’d heard from HP. I glibly said ‘yeah’ and then realised that I still had’t listened to the messages. Prodding for more, I asked if she’d heard from him, and she glibly said, ‘yeah’.

What the hell was I supposed to do with that information?

After dinner Candy admitted to why she couldn’t get together last night, she had a date. Guy she met online. They hit it off and had been chatting through the dating site. Candy said that she approaching meeting the guy with a ‘first date since the divorce, it’ll probably go bad, but may as well get the first one done’ attitude. Like making pancakes. First one is a throw away. But she ended up having a good time and they’re going out again.

I wasn’t completely listening as she talked about the guy, I was still thinking about the fact that HP had contacted her. Did he drunk dial her too? What did he say? I needed to find out…and I got my chance.

She handed me her phone to show the the profile pic of the guy she went on a date with, then she went into the kitchen to get another bottle of wine.

I didn’t even look at the image she gave me, I immediately moved that window and opened her messages. No calls from HPs number but there were a couple of texts. I opened that window, terrified of what I’d find. What was he saying to her?

Candy came back and I only had a glance before I had to shut the message window, bring back up the dating site, and hand her back her phone. But all he said in those texts were:

‘Training went very well. Much to show Tom.’ (Tom is someone from work.)

And a previous one stating, ‘Left the office. On the way to airport.’

I could rest easy.

Since I’ve hardly slept since Friday morning, I excused myself for my bed.

I’m under my covers and the smell of HPs shampoo is on his pillow. It’s lovely. I picked up my phone to listen to the drunk dial messages, but I’m too afraid to dial 123. What if in his drunk dial he tells me something I don’t want to hear? What if he tells me his secret and I’m not ready to know what it is? But…I want to hear his voice. Want to talk to him. My god, I want to share last night with him, tell him all about it. Tell him about Intern2.

I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ring him. Maybe I’ll listen to the messages first. Maybe I’ll go to sleep and have sweet dreams for once and deal with it in the morning.

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