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Laurie and Emily had wept together until the waitress slapped two large glasses of wine down on their table, muttering “On the house,” before hastily beating a retreat. Here’s to sisterhood.
She was often up against worse-for-wear posh lads for the prosecution, almost proud of winging it, using cut-glass vowels like a scythe. Well, Laurie thought it was way more rock ’n’ roll to know your case back to front and wipe the floor with them.
She understood what he meant, she felt it too: going home now to dinner for one was pure surrender. They couldn’t let the lift win.
Whoa! Exotic totty! Jamie had replied to the last saying: “Laurie is from Hebden Bridge—surely even you’ve been to Yorkshire, Dave.”
“Things have come to a pretty pass when a woman can’t go for five mojitos, two toots of coke, a bump of ket, and a game of strip Boggle in the Britannia Hotel without being called loose anymore,”
Laurie had thought Dan was the source of the unconditional love in her life, but actually it was Emily: she wasn’t going to turn around and say sorry, she’d found a new Laurie.
“We’re not girls,” Nadia said. “So you can explain your mode of address.” “Hey, y’all look pretty young to me,” he said, chewing gum and grinning in what he thought was a flirtily winning manner. Emily said: “Oh, you dear sweet fool, she will now verbally decapitate you.”
“Hey, how’s the infection, did it clear up? “Wait, discount that last part, that wasn’t directly relevant content,” Hattie said.
