Free What My Best Friend Did by Lucy Dawson

anyway. It’d be nice to get some distance from my parents …”
    “Indeed.” I grinned and nodded at my phone.
    “Exactly,” she agreed, “you know what I mean. But I’d miss my brother loads.”
    “One of my friends just moved to Paris,” I said. “With her boyfriend.”
    “Yeah you see, I wouldn’t even have a bloke to take with me. I was dating this chopper from a boy band—complete twat—it was like going out with a cocktail sausage that thought it could sing.”
    “I think I remember reading you were seeing him,” I said carefully, not wanting to feign ignorance, but equally not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable.
    “I’m sure.” Gretchen was unfazed. “But what it wouldn’t have said was he was so obsessed with keeping his six-pack he used to do four hours of exercise a day. I once found him in the loo jogging on the spot because he hadn’t been able to get to the gym to do his last hour. Between that and him only wanting to talk about his music—even though he couldn’t strum more than “Smoke on the Water”—and him having to wear outfits approved by his management, he wasn’t exactly ever going to be husband material. Also he hated that I could sing better than him.” She grinned.
    “So if you like singing so much, why don’t you pursue your own music career?” I could see she’d make the perfect pop princess.
    She shook her head. “I’d get slated. ‘Kids’ TV host turns singer.’ I’d only get offered novelty records, then before you can say ‘pantomime,’ your career is in the toilet. It’s a shame though. When I sing, I feel like I’m on top of a wave … just totally free. At times like that, you can almost capture the essence of what you are and everything that you can be. It’s like a high. Sometimes you are a bit high, obviously, but everything is still amplified and brighter somehow. I love that feeling. When everything seems to make sense. You get total clarity about what you can do, what you can achieve. You know?”
    She wasn’t really asking me though, she was staring into space as she contemplated the compelling state she’d just described. I looked at her curiously; she had suddenly become a quieter and more reflective version of herself.
    “Well, it’s never too late,” I said after a pause. “I never thought I’d start out on my own, but I did and I don’t regret it for one second.”
    “Oh, I don’t regret it,” she said quickly. “I don’t do regrets—waste of time and energy. It’s really great that you were so brave though, you should be proud of yourself.” She drained her drink, suddenly cheerful again, like she’d been plugged back in. “Thanks for letting me bang on about that. Right, we need to go and have some fun. All this bonding is lovely, but Bond himself might actually be in that room over there. Whoever sees him first gets first go, OK?”
    Watching Gretchen work a room was a master class in how to make an impact, although she didn’t even seem to be aware she was doing it. She paused, poised on the threshold just long enough for everyone to notice her, smiled as she saw someone she knew and then cut straight through to the center of the room, long blonde hair bouncing around like she was in a pop video. People even stepped back slightly to let her pass. I, however, made my way to the side bar and got a drink so I could people-watch in peace. There seemed to be a lot of arm touching,laughing, air kissing and peering over shoulders to see who else was arriving. Sadly there was no sign of Daniel Craig; only Craig David, which wasn’t the same thing at all.
    “This is rubbish,” Gretchen said, appearing by my arm ten minutes later. “You seen him yet?”
    “No”—I shook my head—“these drinks are nice though.”
    “I reckon they must be in some VIP bit somewhere.” Gretchen looked around thoughtfully. “They have private rooms here.”
    “In a private members’ club?” I giggled. “Just how much privacy