Life and Soul of the Party Read Online Free

date. With Freya. This kind of luck was unheard of in my life. I was over the moon.
    Though we’d arranged to meet at Dry on Oldham Street at eight, Freya didn’t turn up until minutes to nine.
    ‘I’m really sorry I’m so late.’
    ‘It’s fine.’
    ‘No, it’s not. You see, the thing is . . .’ she stopped, a bit tearful, ‘the thing is . . . I’ve just had a massive row with Justin.’
    ‘Who’s Justin?’
    ‘My boyfriend.’
    The news that she wasn’t single knocked me sideways, even though it made perfect sense that a girl like Freya would have guys throwing themselves at her left, right and centre.
    On the way to Night and Day, Freya gave me a potted history of her and her boyfriend, right up to and including the fight that they had just had. I listened attentively and gave her advice on how to sort out the problem, even though this guy sounded an awful lot like some of the idiots who had been on my course at university – all rock-star poses and daft haircuts without a shred of personality between them.
    At about ten o’clock, when the headline band came on stage, Freya suggested that we move towards the front and before I could say a word she grabbed me by the hand and led me right to the front of the stage. And from the band’s opening song to their closing encore she didn’t let go of my hand.
    At the end of the night we filed out of the venue and headed to a fast-food place for curry and chips, which we ate sitting on a bench next to the bus stop before getting the bus back to Withington. Later, as we parted to go our separate ways, she told me she’d had a great time and that she would call me in the morning. The call never came.
    The next I saw of her was about a week later, when I turned up at the Drake with Seb and Brian to find her behind the bar.
    ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t call you, did I? It’s just that . . . well . . . Justin and I sort of got back together.’
    ‘Great,’ I replied, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. ‘I’m really, really pleased for you.’
    ‘Good, because in a way it was all down to you.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘I followed your advice to the letter and before I knew it we were having this massive heart to heart and we realised that we were just both really wary of getting hurt. Ever since that night things have just been perfect.’
    It didn’t last though. Like most devastatingly pretty girls, Freya had spectacularly bad taste in men and soon Justin was superseded by a whole litany of poseurs who could smell her father-issues and lack of self-esteem from a mile away. And although the names changed (Oscar, Tom, Jamie and Lucien) the pattern remained the same. They’d fancy her, she’d fancy them, they’d get off together at some crappy indie club in town, then a few weeks later she’d find them snogging some other girl in the same club; or she’d find out they already had a girlfriend; or they would simply stop calling altogether. Distraught, she would turn to me for comfort and support. And while I’d be hugging her and telling her how it’d all be all right in the end, she’d be telling me how special I was and how different I was from the other guys. And all the time I’d be thinking to myself ‘If I can just hang on a bit longer maybe she’ll finally see just how mad about her I really am.’
    Anyway, to cut a long story short, a few nights before Christmas Eve, following the demise of yet another short-lived hook-up with a skinny, scruffy, waste of skin and bone called Luke, Freya dropped round at mine to claim both consolation and a free bottle of wine. We joked about how love was a game for losers and made plans for a perfect New Year’s Eve.
    ‘How about I come to yours?’ she said. ‘We can order a takeaway.’
    ‘And drink as much as our livers can take!’ I added.
    ‘And then when we’re well and truly wrecked,’ said Freya, really getting into the rhythm of things, ‘we can watch Eternal Sunshine of the