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lips and takes a sip. It tastes disgusting.
    ‘Well?’ says Angela.
    Helen forces a smile. ‘You’re right. It’s just like Vimto.’

CHAPTER NINE
    ‘Look out, girls!’ Angela announces. ‘The entertainment has arrived.’
    They’re seated outside Las Iguanas, where she and Kath are making the most of the two-for-one cocktail offer. The table is covered in cocktail glasses – most of them empty.
    Helen turns to look as a gaggle of girls in basques, fishnet stockings and feather boas come tottering into view. One wears a pink cowboy hat and has arms like sides of ham. The girl in the centre sports a bridal veil festooned with condoms.
    ‘If you ever see me dressed like that, please shoot me,’ Angela says.
    ‘What was your hen night like, Helen?’ Kath asks.
    Helen forces a smile and reaches for her mojito. ‘Nothing like that.’
    ‘No, you’ve got a bit more class,’ Angela says.
    And far fewer friends , Helen thinks. Her hen night had been just her, her mother and a couple of soldiers’ wives and girlfriends she barely knew then and hasn’t seen since. At least this lot seem to be enjoying themselves.
    ‘Right, where to next?’ Angela asks.
    ‘Let’s go to Pulse!’ Kath says.
    Angela looks at her. ‘What part of “I’m on the pull tonight” don’t you understand, Kath? We are not going to a gay bar.’
    ‘But I love the gays!’ Kath wails. She’s beginning to slur her words, and her tendency towards girlish overstatement is becoming more pronounced.
    ‘I love them too, Kath,’ Angela says. ‘Just not in that way. Tonight I want a man who’ll love me back. And me front!’ She snorts with laughter at her own joke. ‘Any other ideas? Helen?’
    Helen struggles to find something sensible to say but her head is fuzzy from the alcohol. There are still four brightly coloured drinks left on the table, two of which are hers.
    ‘Hang on!’ Kath says. She rises unsteadily to her feet and turns to move, catching Angela’s glass with the back of her hand. It rolls off the table and smashes to the ground.
    ‘Oi! Watch my fucking bag!’
    From the corner of her eye, Helen sees a flash of red leather as a woman at the next table snatches her bag from the floor and begins wiping at it furiously with a serviette. Nervously, she turns away, avoiding further eye contact.
    ‘Sorry, love,’ Kath calls over her shoulder. She points at Angela. ‘Mind my drink. I’m off to wet my lettuce.’
    ‘She’s a daft cow,’ Angela smiles as Kath disappears inside. ‘But I love her to bits. She’s okay, really.’ She pauses. ‘How about you? Are you okay?’
    ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘Only you can talk about it, y’know.’
    Helen laughs nervously. ‘Can I?’
    ‘Of course you can,’ Angela says. ‘We’re mates, aren’t we?’ She reaches across the table and squeezes Helen’s hand.
    ‘Thanks,’ Helen says. She’s never really thought of Angela as a mate before. She’s always felt like a bit of a gooseberry where Angela and Kath are concerned. Two’s company, three’s a crowd. She’s grateful to Angela for the gesture, and for making her feel included.
    ‘I’m sure it can’t be easy,’ Angela says. ‘But Owen will be home before you know it.’
    Helen swallows hard. ‘I still haven’t heard from him.’
    ‘But you’d know if something had happened to him, wouldn’t you? Someone would have told you.’
    Helen nods.
    ‘Well, there you are, then,’ Angela says. ‘He’ll be fine. I’m sure of it. Now, let’s get these drinks down us before Kath comes back and knocks the whole bloody lot over.’
    Time flies. Helen has lost count of the number of bars they’ve visited and the number of drinks she’s had. She’s feeling happy and light-headed. The train journey back to Bridgend passes in a blur of chatter and laughter. The next thing she knows, they’re in a bar called The Phoenix and Kath is complaining that she feels nauseous. Angela brings her a glass of water before leading