going out
They were all round at Rachel’s getting ready to go out dancing. The Duke held an event on the last Friday of every month, which promised disco tunes from the 70’s, retro club classics from the 80′s, and old school house from the 90′s. Orla was planning to come back here later and crash in Rachel’s sofa bed. Orla and Vanessa lived too far out of town to go back there after midnight. The buses stopped running at 11:30pm in Bath even on a Friday night.
Getting all dolled up to go out wasn’t Orla’s thing, but Vanessa was her oldest friend; they’d gone to school together. It was a Hen night of sorts. Not a hen night in the true sense; they weren’t going on a pub-crawl, dressed in matching bunny outfits. And as far as she knew nobody had hired a stripper, but Vanessa wanted one last night out with the girls before she committed to a lifetime of wedded bliss with Dave.
Orla didn’t understand why people still got married these days, but he was a nice enough bloke. And anyway she liked a good dance as much as the next person.
She pushed her arms through an electric blue shift dress and pulled it down over her hips. It was short, and she never wore dresses; she felt too self-conscious about her knees, which were knobbly and always so scuffed.
She returned to the lounge, where the other girls were putting on make-up and doing their hair. Mandy was perched on the arm of the sofa applying smoky eye shadow to Vanessa. Everyone looked up, and there were murmurs of approval.
“Wow, you look great Orla!” someone called.
“You should keep that dress Orla, it really suits you.” Rachel told her.
“Thanks Rach,” she replied, wondering if she did, whether she would ever wear it again.
“But you need glitter, you definitely need glitter.” Marie was holding a large soft brush and a pot of something shimmery.
Orla took another fortifying gulp of prosecco. She was already tipsy, and they hadn’t even made it out of the door yet. She needed to drink more often, so she had better resistance.
Marie brushed a fine layer of the glitter on her shoulders and cheeks. She wouldn’t normally wear much make-up either, but she had to admit she was enjoying herself. Rachel was styling her hair. This was the first time Orla had been out since she’d broken up with Tim six weeks earlier.
He’d shagged someone from work while he’d been at a conference in Nottingham and ended the relationship as soon as he returned. She’d never been dumped before. It was devastating -she’d been crazy about Tim, but before too long, to her surprise, she was enjoying being single again, enjoying not living with Tim and his moods.
A few weeks ago he’d turned up at her work looking tired and in need of a shave. She’d happily agreed to go for a drink. She wanted to try and salvage a friendship. They’d been together for almost three years, after all.
He’d told her that he’d behaved rashly and begged for forgiveness. He wanted to get back together. When he took her hands, she pulled them away as if it burned and changed the subject. As the evening wore on, their glasses emptied. The entreaties grew.
He loved her. He couldn’t live without her. Could she at least stay for another drink?
She thought it was best if she didn’t.
Could he walk her home?
No, he couldn’t.
He got nasty after that. She didn’t want him to walk her back, so she must be seeing someone else. He followed her most of the way home, calling her names, accusing her of random stuff that ranged from being an emotional cripple to sleeping with other men.
Thank goodness Vanessa had been at home.
“Orla?” Rachel was waving a pair of strappy beige sandals at her. “I think these would go with that dress.”
Orla shook her head. She drew the line at heels.
Rachel had dozens of pairs of shoes, mostly heels, but Orla stuck with her Converse. They were comfy and better for dancing in. And it wasn’t like she needed to add height, she was already the tallest among them by a good few inches.
“You have to wear sexy shoes, it’s a vital part of your outfit, and those trainers are grubby.” Rachel tried to insist. The others nodded in agreement.
“I’m not out on the pull, I just fancy a bit of a dance.”
“Oh, come on!” Vanessa dragged out the final word for theatrical impact. “You’re young and free and single.”
“Well, I’d like to stay that way for the time being if you don’t mind.”
“Oh Orla, Live a little. We attached women live vicariously through the love lives of our single friends.”
The doorbell rang.
“It’s the taxi!” Shouted Rachel from the bathroom, and Orla’s love life was forgotten as everyone clamoured for the door. She caught sight of her reflection in the hallway mirror as they left. She felt like a gangly child playing dress up, but she looked like a proper lady. It was nice to go out, even though she couldn’t really afford it. She’d just shelled out for the deposit on her new flat and her student loan repayment had just gone out. She was nearly at her overdraft limit.
They giggled as they climbed out of the taxi and made their way into the venue. The pub was packed and they fought their way through the crowds to reach the narrow staircase that took them to the function room. Of course they gained more than their fair share of attention from the other creatures of the night.
