LITMIR.BIZ

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and Pete. I work with them.’

      I look over and see Plum laughing and shaking her head at something one of them is saying. She looks her happy, pretty self. High five, Plum, I think. Bulletproof.

      A second later, my sister Sophie and Luke walk in to the party, followed by Robert. Sophie and Luke look worried, and Robert is squinting and tripping over something at the door.

      Sophie searches the room and we meet eyes. Something is wrong. Weren’t they supposed to be at someone’s 30th tonight?

      ‘Excuse me, Rich,’ I say, and hurry over to Sophie. Before I can get there, I’m almost knocked over by a bear hug from Robert.

      ‘Abbbyyy,’ Robert croons into my ear, and leans back to beam at me. I realise that he’s absolutely hammered. He’s actually cross-eyed. I look at Sophie and Luke in alarm.

      ‘What the fuck?’

      ‘He said he had to talk to you about being bulletproof,’ says Luke, sighing. ‘We were just up at The Anglesea Arms, so we thought the walk might sober him up.’

      ‘It’s been an eventful night,’ adds Sophie quietly. ‘We’ll tell you more later.’

      I turn to Robert. He’s staring into space. ‘Are you OK?’

      He focuses on me. ‘Oh Abby . . . I want you to know . . . I am so full of shit. You should not listen to me. I know nothing.’ He can barely talk, he’s slurring so badly.

      ‘Do you want a glass of water?’

      ‘I’d like a pint of WINE!’ he shouts excitedly. People around us start looking over. It’s only 10.30 pm. ‘What are you looking at, googly?’ Robert points at a guy with glasses. ‘Do you google in your googlies? HA!’ He turns back to us and puts up his hand for a high five.

      ‘Shut. Up!’ I hiss at him through clenched teeth. I turn to Sophie and Luke. ‘Let’s get him downstairs.’

      ‘I’m going to talk to Rich,’ nods Sophie. ‘We can’t turn up to his party with a gibbering drunk he doesn’t know and not even say hi.’

      ‘You’re a hi,’ says Robert, and starts laughing helplessly.

      ‘OK,’ I say. ‘I’ll get him out of here.’

      I turn to Robert. ‘Robert. Robert.’ He turns to me and closes one eye to focus. The other is bloodshot. ‘Let’s go downstairs.’

      ‘Abby-gail,’ he singsongs, obediently following me out the door. I turn as we leave and see Plum looking over. She’s just talking to the tall guy now, who looks completely besotted by her. I give her a questioning thumbs up and she nods.

      ‘I’m not ash drunk ash I’m pretending,’ whispers Robert, extremely loudly, stumbling down the stairs to the main bar.

      ‘Really,’ I say, scanning the room for a spare table. Spying one, I grab Robert, sit him down, and then get a pint of water for him and a glass of wine for me. When I get back, he’s slumped in his chair, blinking groggily.

      ‘What happened, Robert?’ I say.

      ‘You never call me Rob,’ he replies, making a valiant attempt to sit up straight. ‘Everyone elsh does. Why?’

      ‘I don’t think of you as a Rob,’ I say. ‘You’re a Robert.’

      ‘I am. I am Robert.’ He sighs. ‘Was at another fucking 30th. For Dave. Another fucking groomsman.’

      ‘Dave, Luke’s groomsman, yes,’ I nod. I’ve never met him.

      ‘And his sister is the . . . the one I told you about.’

      ‘Which one?’ I say, confused. Robert never talks about his ladyfriends in any kind of detail.

      ‘The one. The one from the party. With the train and no shoes.’

      ‘Dave’s sister is the girl you proposed to?’ I ask. ‘Like, 10 years ago?’

      ‘Yes. Her. Stupid. Stupid Robert.’

      ‘Did something happen?’

      He sighs, and swings his head to the side and gazes at me. ‘You’re so pretty.’

      ‘Robert!’ I snap. I’m intrigued. ‘Tell me what happened.’

      ‘She was there. Louisa.’ He rolls out the name slowly. Looooeeeeeeessaaaaa.

      ‘Oh, shit,’ I say. ‘But, surely . . .’

      ‘Surely it was years ago. Surely you’re over it, Robert. Don’t call me Shirley. HA!’ Robert laughs and slaps his knee.

      ‘How’s it going?’ says a voice, and I look up. It’s Luke.

      I stand up and, with my back to Robert, ask quietly: ‘What happened with Louisa?’

      ‘He told you about her?’ says Luke in surprise. ‘God, she’s an evil bitch. We saw her, she’s with her husband, everyone was very civil, then Rob drank straight whisky for two hours.’

      ‘That’s such a bad idea,’ I shudder at the thought.

      Luke nods. ‘So was Louisa.’

      ‘He told me about proposing to her,’ I say as quietly as I can, so Robert won’t hear.

      ‘Which time?’ replies Luke with a wry smile.

      ‘It happened more than once?’

      Luke nods.

      ‘What are we whishpering about?’ says Robert, who has hopped up out of his chair and is propping his chin over my shoulder unsteadily.

      ‘Whisky,’ I say. ‘You are one messy drunk.’

      ‘I’m not,’ he says indignantly, and belches pungently. ‘Oops. Damn wine.’

      I look down and see that he’s just drunk my entire glass of white wine.

      ‘Nice move, hotshot. That was mine. The water is yours.’

      Robert sighs, hiccups and assumes a hangdog expression. ‘I’m sawry . . .’

      Luke and I exchange glances as Sophie comes up.

      ‘How’s it going down here?’

      ‘Disastrous,’ I say.

      ‘Soph-AY!’ exclaims Robert delightedly. He pushes past Luke and I to hug her, but loses his balance and tackles her to the floor, knocking over a table and chair on the way. The noise is almighty. Everyone in the pub immediately falls silent and looks over.

      ‘Ow,’ says Sophie, blushing scarlet as she gets up, trying to look extremely sober and disapproving so everyone knows she’s not the drunk idiot in this situation.

      Robert is lying groggily on the floor, looking mildly confused. He is clearly the drunk idiot in this situation.

      ‘We have to get him out of here,’ I say to Luke and Sophie, looking over at the bartenders who are talking amongst themselves. ‘We are two seconds away from being kicked out.’

      ‘Agreed,’ says Luke, and leans over to hoist Robert up. The three of us drag/support him out of the bar and into the cool night air. God, he’s heavy. I immediately light a stressed cigarette.

      ‘Oh! Yes. Cigarette for Robert,’ says Robert, pushing us off him and trying to walk alone.

      ‘No,’ I say. God, drunk people are annoying. ‘We’re taking you home and putting you to bed.’

      ‘Naughty!’ exclaims Robert, and promptly falls over again.

      By the time we find a black cab willing to take us home, it’s past 11 pm. I text Plum on the way, saying an emergency came up and I had to leave. We carry a nearly-asleep Robert to bed (‘On his side!’ I say. ‘He might choke on his own vomit.’

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