LITMIR.BIZ

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other as if it were a bus stop and not a human body sandwiched between them.

      ‘Where’re Sadie and Alice?’ Phil asked.

      ‘Clubbing’s a no-go with this one,’ Tom huffed, repositioning Leah’s limp arm through his. ‘Alice’s gone to get a head start on the pizzas and Sadie, er … she left when you guys went to the loos.’

      ‘Sadie left? By herself?’ I asked.

      Tom shrugged. ‘Said she didn’t fancy sharing a pizza, or a taxi, with Phil. She said she was going to grab a cab at the rank.’ I threw Phil a reproachful look and checked my watch.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Come on, it’s one thirty in the morning. We’re not leaving her to wait for a cab on her own.’

      Phil grimaced again. ‘But what about the pizza?’

      I narrowed my eyes at her. ‘You don’t eat pizza, Phil. It’s not macrobiotic.’

      Phil was better at narrowed-eyes than I was. ‘Oh, sod it, Amy. Why do you have to be such a sodding Girl Guide?’ she huffed, starting off towards the doors. She waited there impatiently as I said goodbye to the others.

      ‘Come on, then,’ Phil called, ‘let’s go rescue Glitter Knickers.’

      *

      Ten chilly minutes later, the end of the taxi rank queue snaked into view.

      ‘I don’t see her, Phil,’ I said, trailing my eyes over the queue of scantily clad girls and kebab-wielding lads vying for the next available taxi.

      ‘She’s a big girl, Ame. She probably got the beefcake to pick her up.’

      ‘And what if she didn’t?’

      Phil gave the queue a once-over. ‘She’s not here, Ame.’ A commotion broke out in the line, the timeless cocktail of testosterone and alcohol. ‘Sod this,’ Phil scowled, ‘I’m not waiting here with this lot. Work’s only five minutes away, let’s call a cab from there. Quicker and warmer.’ As soon as Phil mentioned the cold, I could feel it, seeping in through my jacket.

      ‘We can’t, Phil. No unauthorised access at weekends any more. Adrian was pretty clear on that.’

      ‘Again with the Girl Guide thing, Ame! You’re such a do-gooder these days.’

      I held my hands up. ‘Okay, okay! We’ll go to the office. But I’m not getting labelled as the Nightshagger, okay? So if we get caught, I’m just gonna flat out say that I know it’s you, Phil.’

      Phil’s face flourished at that. ‘Let me tell you now, if I was the one who’d been flushing the un-flushable down the men’s loos, I wouldn’t risk getting caught there now. The cleaners are on the warpath. Anyway, everyone knows it’s Stewart from reprographics, the dirty little monster. No wonder Leah drinks so much, it must be awful working next to Stewie all week.’ Phil huddled into me, walking us away from the crowd.

      ‘So Stewart’s been slipping into the studios at night! Are you sure?’ Honestly, I didn’t think he had it in him.

      ‘Yeah, I’m sure. You see, Ame, while you spend your time keeping abreast of promotions, and job restructuring, the rest of us keep track of the important stuff – like who’s sneaking into the office at night for a bonk. It would almost be romantic, if the little weasel wasn’t married.’

      ‘Stewart’s married? I’ve never noticed a ring.’

      ‘That’s because he never wears it outside the marital home, the sneaky shit.’

      Comical though the saga of the Nightshagger had been, I felt bad for Stewart’s wife, whoever she was. I’d seen the flip side of extra-marital fun, and it wasn’t much fun at all. Phil shivered as we crossed the deserted courtyard of the immaculately landscaped business square where Cyan Architecture & Design’s studios dominated. The studios were housed in part of what was once an old biscuit factory, deep red brickwork dating back to an era when even industrial buildings were beautiful.

      We came to a standstill between the two potted box bushes standing sentry at Cyan’s sleek glass entrance. Phil was already ordering the taxi by the time I’d silently punched the code into the door keypad, letting us in to the perma-lit reception. It was marginally warmer inside the lobby, but the blast of cold air outside had already highlighted the fact that I was not as sober as I thought.

      Phil finished the call as I flopped down into the swivel chair behind Ally’s reception desk.

      ‘They said fifteen minutes. We could go and revise a drawing while we wait, if you like?’

      I swatted my hand dismissively. Okay, so I’d become a bit of a slave to this place over the last few years, but taken with Phil’s abandon it made for a necessary balance within the interiors team.

      I began swivelling my chair slowly. ‘Why does Ally need so many mini Post-it notes?’ I whispered, glancing over the array of neon-coloured squares framing Ally’s computer screen.

      ‘Probably so she can tell her arse from her elbow?’ Phil leant over my shoulder to read the little memos. ‘File nails, stick boobs in Adrian’s face, practise counting to ten …’

      I pushed her away. ‘Don’t be mean, Phil. Ally’s okay. I like her eyelashes. They’re so big, and …’ I tried to think past the effects of too many mojitos for the right word ‘… lashy.’

      Phil grinned. ‘Oh, you like that, do you, Hon? Allow me!’ Phil took a luminous-pink Post-it note from the colourful stack of pads beside Ally’s keyboard and began fringing it with a pair of scissors from the pencil pot. She leant over the desk and stuck it over my eye. I waited while she did the same to a neon-green Post-it, and slapped it over my other eye. Then she stood back to admire her work. ‘How’s that for a degree in product design? Give them a whirl, then!’

      I began power-blinking and grinning in alcoholdefying unison. It would seem that Phil’s cocktail intake was finally taking effect too and an explosion of laughter burst from her throat.

      ‘Ha-HA! That’s funny!’ she cackled. ‘You should defo wear Post-its on party night, Ame, you look priddy.’

      ‘BFFs should match, Phillypops. You’ll need some too!’ I chortled. I held off flapping my new eyewear just long enough to fashion Phil a pair of the same, sticking a set of bright orange paper appendages over her smoky grey eyelids. Once we started laughing again, we were infected. Phil hung over the reception desk in silent convulsion while I threw myself back across the swivel chair, somehow still batting mismatched neon eyelids while struggling for breath.

      Had we not finally broken for air, we probably wouldn’t have heard it. I caught it first. Somehow managing to hold my snickering long enough to listen a while.

      There it was again, someone else’s laughter, deep within the design studio. I held my breath and began flapping my hand at Phil, signalling frantically for her to stop giggling.

      Phil caught on and shushed. We both heard it this time, a woman’s laughter. Definitely.

      Slowly, I released my breath and watched Phil’s expression sober as she strained to hear. The culprit was already taking shape in Phil’s mind, I could tell. ‘That randy little sod!’ she whispered. ‘Come on, let’s bust the Nightshagger!’

      I was too drunk for this, so was Phil. I could feel that last bout of laughter still sitting high in my chest, threatening to erupt. I watched Phil cock her ear and wait. The giggler had no idea they had company.

      ‘And do what?’ I whispered.

      ‘Just bust him! Ame, we’ll never have to wait our turn for printouts again, or panic about getting things print-ready before the repro lot clock off! Stewie will do anything to keep this from Adrian! How good’s your camera-phone?’

      She didn’t wait for an answer. Phil grabbed my hand and hoisted me

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