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hobbled to the bus stop on our high heels. It was cold so we wore coats but left our legs bare for sex appeal. I wished I hadn’t relied on alcohol to keep me warm.
    “If we were rich, we could get a cab,” said Lara as we finally sat on the 390 towards Green Park.
    “But you can’t down vodka-lems in a cab,” I reminded her.
    “You aren’t allowed to drink alcohol on public transport either, Ellie.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Yes, you idiot.” She rolled her eyes at me as I handed her the plastic water bottle we had filled up with vodka and a tiny bit of lemonade. She glugged then gagged and I obediently repeated the procedure. We carried on like this until we got to the club and wobbled inside, where we showed them our university cards and were charged only a fiver each.
    “Oh my God, have you ever seen so many designer clothes? I feel like I’ve just walked into an Abercrombie catalog.” Lara looked around in disgust at the mass of blond people surrounding us.
    “I know. If I cared enough this would definitely give me an eating disorder. How am I going to find my devirginizer when I’m surrounded by this inbred gene pool?”
    “Alcohol?”
    The club was packed with Oxbridge graduates tanned from weekend trips to Saint-Tropez. We headed over to the bar and within seconds, a couple of men were buying us drinks. They were old and slightly balding and were tucking a bit more than their shirts into their trousers, but as they were happy to splurge their cash on us, we ignored the natural layers bulging out of their waistbands. They bought us whatever we wanted but drew the line at twenty-quid piña coladas that came in real pineapples. Lara and I spent the next few hours rolling our eyes and getting drunker, while the men carried on chatting and skirting around the topic of their families.
    “So, Ellie,” asked the fatter of the two, pulling me out of my daydreams. “Do you want to dance?”
    I widened my eyes at Lara and before I had time to mouth
help
at her, she grabbed my arm and dragged me away. “Just off to the loo.” She smiled sweetly at the disappointed men.
    “Oh my fucking God, I can’t handle them anymore.” I groaned as I collapsed onto an armchair in the bathroom.
    “Tell me about it,” she cried. “I swear I can see the hair on their bellies
through
their shirts. And have you seen Mike’s sweat patches? I actually thought his shirt was gray until I saw the collars.”
    I stared at her blankly. “Which one’s Mike?”
    “Are you kidding me? The one who just asked you to dance, Ellie.”
    “Oh, the fat one,” I said. “What’s the receding hairline one called?”
    “Andy,” she said, as she layered more mascara onto her lashes. “Have you been listening at all?”
    “Um, I know they work in real estate, or finance, and probably have two depressed wives at home,” I replied.
    “Ugh, this is so miserable,” she moaned. “Let’s just get one more drink out of them, and then go dance. If I have to hear one more thing about Andy’s BMW Z4 Roadster I’m going to drown myself in my vodka-lem.”
    “Yeah, I don’t care about video games at all,” I agreed.
    There was a moment’s silence as Lara turned to face me. “You know he was talking about his car, right?”
    “Oh fuck. I thought it was some kind of PS4,” I admitted.
    She snorted with laughter and pulled my arm, shaking her head. “This night is ridiculous. Fuck it, one more drink and then we’re off to find some actual fitties. Deal?”
    I nodded reluctantly and let her lead me back to the balding forty-year-olds.
    “Girls, you’re back,” cried the fattest. “We bought another round, and some tequila shots.”
    Lara and I glanced at each other and shrugged. “To us,” she announced before we downed our glasses. I grabbed the lime and started sucking it dry when I felt someone staring at me. He was wearing chinos and a blue denim shirt, and had the most symmetrical face I had ever seen. I choked on the lime