‘At least let him put on his boxers,’ George suggested, staring at Max in all his rapidly detumescing glory.
‘No way,’ Sam yelled. ‘Get out of here now, you pervert, before I ram my fist down your throat.’
‘Now hold on,’ I managed to stutter. But to no avail. Sam was practically spitting with fury.
I can only imagine the poor guy must have waited until he got out into the street before removing the strawberry Jiffi, because it was still flobbering from the end of his willy when he ran from the room. And it wasn’t until it was too late that I recovered the powers of speech and was able to indicate that he hadn’t been trying to rape me. I was in agony. Unbearable, burning agony and I didn’t know why. ‘How can you be?’ Janice hooted. ‘You’re not exactly a virgin.’
An ambulance was called nonetheless, and duly arrived, sirens blaring as the curtain twitchers across the road had a field day. Six grown men witnessed me writhing naked on the bed, a pillow pressed between my legs to try and numb the pain.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Sam shouted at them all, his face full of concern. ‘Is there any blood?’
‘I don’t want Sam seeing my bum,’ I sobbed, tears of shame pouring down my face as six strangers caught me full frontal. ‘I know him.’
Mercifully, my examination is brief. Hospitalisation isn’t necessary and I’m soon sitting in an ice-cold bath, still stinging, shivering with misery and howling at the four of them, who are sitting in a row along the edge of the bath smoking fags.
It’s absolutely the last time I ever chop chillies then help roll on the condom.
‘I’m so pathetic,’ I hiccup. Snot streams down my face and blends into what’s left of my lippy.
‘You’re not,’ the four of them chorus dutifully.
‘I am.’ I shudder. ‘I can’t hold down a job and I can’t even shag around when I want to without fucking it up. You lot are so lucky. Complete whores, the lot of you.’
‘And damn good at it too,’ George preens.
‘Thanks,’ huffs Janice.
‘I’m the David Brent of sleeping around,’ I whine.
‘You’re not.’
‘I am. I’m a human bloody contraceptive.’
Sam looks as though he might be going to laugh, but Janice, bless her, silences him with a stiletto to the shin bone.
‘You think you’ve got it bad,’ she tells me. ‘Think how I feel. Poppy told me tonight that she’s getting bloody married. Before me and everything.’
‘Well, she has got a boyfriend,’ I tell her. ‘That helps.’
‘She’s been with Seb for six years,’ George points out. ‘And they are the perfect couple.’
‘Aren’t they fucking just?’ she says bitterly. ‘And you haven’t heard the worst of it.’
‘What?’
‘She’s asked me to be her bridesmaid.’
‘Oh God.’
‘I know. Isn’t it pathetic? I wouldn’t even invite her to my wedding and she goes and asks me to be her bloody bridesmaid.’
‘God,’ I say again. ‘Poor you.’
Then for some reason I burst into tears. Great, snotting, gulping tears.
Janice looks guilty.
‘Come on, lovely,’ she reassures me. ‘Try not to cry. Shagging around will come much more easily with practice.’
‘Well, she can practise on you if she likes but she’s not having a go on me,’ George pouts. ‘I’m not a ruddy merry-go-round.’
‘No,’ I snipe. ‘You’re more like a short stay parking space.’
‘She wouldn’t want to have a go on you, would she?’ Janice scoffs. ‘You’re a poo pusher, for fuck’s sake. A mincing little fudge packer. Sorry, David. No offence.’
‘None taken.’
‘And you fancy Phillip Schofield,’ I point out.
‘You don’t?’ David looks as though he’s going to laugh.
‘She’s making it up to get back at me,’ George says. ‘Because I can sleep with you and she can’t.’
‘I’ll shag you if you like, Katie,’ Sam says kindly.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I snap. ‘I’d rather shag Neil Kinnock.’
Sam looks a bit hurt but soon bounces back.
‘Who was that bloke anyway?’
‘Friend of mine,’ Janice says. ‘From work.’
‘Not any more,’ David points out.
‘Shit, you’re right,’ Janice realises. ‘And he’s on good terms with my boss. Bloody hell, Katie, you know how to pick them.’
‘You introduced us.’ I bristle with indignation. ‘You picked him for me. Even though I told you not to try and matchmake.’