Virgin. Radhika Sanghani

CHAPTER FIVE

      WE SPENT TWO HOURS and a bottle of wine consoling me. But by the time we tottered out of my room, we were both snorting with laughter.

      ‘It looks like one of those Mr Potato Head toys,’ sniggered Lara. ‘With a receding hairline.’

      ‘Here’s hoping some lucky man in Mahiki is into the sparse-pubes look.’

      ‘Yeah, you never know, it could be some kind of fetish.’ She giggled.

      ‘Poor vagina,’ I said, as we hobbled to the bus stop on our high heels. It was cold so we wore coats but left our legs bare for sex appeal. I wished I hadn’t relied on alcohol to keep me warm.

      ‘If we were rich, we could get a cab,’ said Lara as we finally sat on the 390 towards Green Park.

      ‘But you can’t down vodka-lems in a cab,’ I reminded her.

      ‘You aren’t allowed to drink alcohol on public transport either, Ellie.’

      ‘Seriously?’

      ‘Yes, you idiot.’ She rolled her eyes at me as I handed her the plastic water bottle we had filled up with vodka and a tiny bit of lemonade. She glugged then gagged and I obediently repeated the procedure. We carried on like this until we got to the club and wobbled inside, where we showed them our university cards and were only charged a fiver each.

      ‘Oh my God, have you ever seen so many designer clothes? I feel like I’ve just walked into an Abercrombie catalogue.’ Lara looked around in disgust at the mass of blond people surrounding us.

      ‘I know. If I cared enough this would definitely give me an eating disorder. How am I going to find my devirginiser when I’m surrounded by this inbred gene pool?’

      ‘Alcohol?’

      The club was packed with Oxbridge graduates tanned from weekend trips to St Tropez. We headed over to the bar and within seconds, a couple of men were buying us drinks. They were old, slightly balding, and were tucking a bit more than their shirts into their trousers, but as they were happy to splurge their cash on us, we ignored the natural layers bulging out of their waistbands. They bought us whatever we wanted, but drew the line at twenty-quid piña coladas that came in real pineapples. Lara and I spent the next few hours rolling our eyes and getting drunker, while the men carried on chatting and skirting around the topic of their families.

      ‘So, Ellie,’ asked the fatter of the two, pulling me out of my daydreams, ‘do you want to dance?’

      I widened my eyes at Lara and before I had time to mouth ‘help’ at her, she grabbed my arm and dragged me away. ‘Just off to the loo.’ She smiled sweetly at the disappointed men.

      ‘Oh my fucking God, I can’t handle them any more,’ I groaned as I collapsed onto an armchair in the bathroom.

      ‘Tell me about it,’ she cried. ‘I swear I can see the hair on their bellies through their shirts. And have you seen Mike’s sweat patches? I actually thought his shirt was grey until I saw the collars.’

      I stared at her blankly. ‘Which one’s Mike?’

      ‘Are you kidding me? The one who just asked you to dance, Ellie.’

      ‘Oh, the fat one,’ I said. ‘What’s the receding hairline one called?’

      ‘Andy,’ she said, as she layered more mascara onto her lashes. ‘Have you been listening at all?’

      ‘Um, I know they work in real estate, or finance, and probably have two depressed wives at home,’ I replied.

      ‘Ugh, this is so miserable,’ she moaned. ‘Let’s just get one more drink out of them, and then go dance. If I have to hear one more thing about Andy’s BMW Z4 Roadster I’m going to drown myself in my vodka-lem.’

      ‘Yeah, I don’t care about video games at all,’ I agreed.

      There was a moment’s silence as Lara turned to face me. ‘You know he was talking about his car, right?’

      ‘Oh fuck. I thought it was some kind of PS4,’ I admitted.

      She snorted with laughter and pulled my arm, shaking her head. ‘This night is ridiculous. Fuck it, one more drink and then we’re off to find some actual fitties. Deal?’

      I nodded reluctantly and let her lead me back to the balding forty-year-olds.

      ‘Girls, you’re back,’ cried the fatter one. ‘We bought another round, and some tequila shots.’

      Lara and I glanced at each other and shrugged. ‘To us,’ she announced before we downed our glasses. I grabbed the lemon and started sucking it dry when I felt someone staring at me. He was wearing chinos, a blue denim shirt, and had the most symmetrical face I had ever seen. I choked on the lemon skin. I had found the perfect person to deflower me.

      I fluffed up my hair, wiped away any smudged mascara from beneath my eyes and gave him my best smile. He smiled back, and I clutched the edge of the table to support myself. I turned to Lara to share my excitement with her, and then slowly, my smile dropped off my face as I realised she was smiling at him, too, and—oh, look, he was smiling back at her, not me.

      My stomach sank in disappointment and rejection, and I turned back to the balding men and my vodka-lem. By the time I had downed the entire thing, Lara and the amazing guy were sipping out of piña colada pineapples and leaning against each other. I caught her eye and she mouthed sorry at me, even though she still had a huge grin on her face.

      Andy or Mike nudged me and made a seedy joke about our foursome becoming a threesome. I realised I had to get out of there. I turned away from them, mumbling something about needing to go to the loo, and slipped outside.

      I leant against a cold brick wall, too miserable and drunk to feel the cold. This whole idea had been stupid. Deep down, I’d known that from the start. But I had secretly hoped I would find a cute guy who would take me home, buy me breakfast in the morning and fall in love with me. Obviously, though, it was pretty, blonde, clever Lara who had found the ideal guy—and she didn’t even need one.

      Everyone around me was laughing and chatting happily as they smoked their way to lung cancer. I felt so alone. That was the worst thing about my unwanted virginity—it made me feel so lonely. Lara hadn’t been a virgin for years and I was the only one out of our school friends who still hadn’t had sex. When we met up for people’s twenty-first birthdays, everyone shared stories about their boyfriends or regrettable one-night stands. It was standard uni experience stuff but I could never join in. They all gave me pitying looks—Aw, still a virgin, Ellie?—and I used self-deprecating jokes to hide how much I cared. Secretly I wanted to be just like them.

      ‘You all right there?’

      I turned around in surprise. There was a boy standing there, grinning at me. As my alcoholic daze cleared up a bit and my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw him properly. He was wearing a grey hoody and he had a flippy, emo fringe with a lip piercing. He was the only person at the club who didn’t look as though he’d walked off a yacht, and even the barmen were better dressed than him. He was also the only person who had come over to talk to me willingly.

      ‘Just a bit cold,’ I said, trying to force my face into an attractive pout.

      ‘Do you want a cigarette?’ he asked.

      ‘Sure,’ I said and took the one he offered me.

      I lit the third cigarette I had ever smoked in my twenty-one years, breathed in sharply and coughed. A lot. He looked over at me with raised eyebrows, so I rasped, ‘Sore throat.’

      ‘Yeah, must be the cold.’ He grinned. ‘Happens to me all the time.’

      I took another drag, swallowed the cough rising up my throat and nonchalantly flicked the ash from the tip