Lucy hasn't left the country in years. In fact, she's barely left Bristol's city limits. So, when the opportunity presents itself to join a work trip to the Swiss Alps, she's wary, especially when she learns that it will coincide with that weekend - the one that, eleven years ago, tore her world in two.
But how can she turn down an all-expense-paid trip to the snow-capped Alps? Lucy knows what Leo would say if he were still with her, and besides, she'll have her work husband, Jonno, there for emotional support.
What - or who - she didn't bank on, however, was moody (read: rude) Nate stepping in at the last minute. And what's worse, they're the only two in the group who don't ski, so they're stuck with each other . . . up the side of a mountain in the middle of a snowstorm.
With the weather closing in, an avalanche leaves them snowbound in an alpine bar with an eclectic cast of fellow refugees. But with roaring log fires and steaming mugs of glühwein (and maybe a shot or two of Jägermeister), it's a chance for Lucy and Nate to discover there might be more to one another than meets the eye.
Where will their mountainside adventure leave them when the snow finally melts?
---
Snowed in With You is the moving, joyful and life-affirming new novel from award-winning author Heidi Stephens about love, life, hope, family and the importance of taking chances. Perfect for fans of Jill Mansell, Mhairi McFarlane, Catherine Walsh and Beth O'Leary.
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Release date:
October 24, 2024
Publisher:
Headline
Print pages:
400
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‘Is everyone here?’ asked Sasha, impatiently scanning the meeting room for absentees. Lucy glanced around for the usual latecomers, namely Jonno, LUNA’s Creative Director, who refused to be held back by something as inconveniently immovable as time. He sauntered in just ahead of Fran, the agency’s Senior Account Director, who used performative lateness as a way of reminding everyone how busy and important she was.
‘Good,’ said Sasha, moving to the front of the room as the nervous chatter died down. In-person meetings for the entire account team were unusual, and usually indicated bad news. Since it was the first day back in the office after New Year, the rumour was that something big had gone down over the holidays. Lucy had money on ‘the client has slashed their advertising budget, so half of you are being fired with immediate effect’, whilst Jonno had punted for ‘the client has slashed their deadlines, which means all of you are expected to work longer hours for no extra money, but we will provide budget pizza and warm beer if you’re here past 9 p.m.’ There was a drink at their favourite pub riding on the outcome.
‘So, Team Titan,’ said Sasha with a warm smile. Uh oh, thought Lucy. Definitely late-night sloppy pizza and warm Peroni. Titan was the UK’s number two condom brand – the designer choice of social media influencers and aspirational Gen Zs – and their market share was growing faster than the barrage of weak penis jokes that inevitably followed publication of the latest sales data. The LUNA team in Bristol had won the pitch to do all their advertising three years ago, when Titan was barely more than a fledgling start-up. Now it was one of LUNA’s most prestigious accounts and it was a daily battle not to have the business stolen by the team in London.
‘I’ve had an email from Kristoff,’ continued Sasha, raising her voice just enough to bring the room to order. ‘He’s asked us to join them for a planning weekend. In two weeks’ time.’
The room went deathly quiet as everyone weighed up the likelihood of this being any fun. Titan was a good client with decent budgets, but they were also a bunch of beige, clean-living Americans fashioned from designer athleisure, expensive dentistry and protein shakes. The company had been founded four years ago by Kristoff Berg, a dazzlingly handsome Swedish-American entrepreneur who’d made his first million before he could legally drink in the US. He was now in his thirties and, with him at the helm, Titan was carving a lubed-up path through the European market and making their gold-packaged condoms a must-have lifestyle choice.
‘What IS a planning weekend, exactly?’ asked Steve, one of the Design team. A few people raised their eyebrows in his direction, silently acknowledging his willingness to put his head above the parapet. Until a year ago, Sasha had been Managing Director of the Bristol agency and strategic lead on the Titan account, but now she was a member of the Group Board based out of London, and topping every patronising industry list of women over forty who were smashing it in advertising. She may once have been ‘one of them’, but now she wielded untold power and everyone in the room knew it.
‘It’s an opportunity to get together for a few days and review the account,’ said Sasha mildly, as half the team hunkered down in their chairs so they were less visible. The last time Kristoff had visited the Bristol office, Lucy had heard that he’d declared the deli lunch incompatible with his dietary regime and sent his assistant out to find some Huel, although nobody seemed to have witnessed this incident first hand. Luckily Lucy never had to spend time with them in person – Senior Copywriter was a backroom job and Kristoff and his team mostly worked out of Geneva for spurious tax reasons.
‘And why can’t that be done during working hours?’ asked Steve. Jonno glared at him, silently entreating him to pipe down before Sasha swept Titan into her designer handbag and took it back to the grown-ups in London.
Sasha sighed heavily and pressed her lips together. ‘Well, the good news is that there are only six spaces. So if you’d rather not go, you can absolutely opt out.’
Steve nodded firmly and crossed his arms. ‘Brilliant, I’m out. No offence, but my weekends are sacred.’ Lucy knew for a fact that Steve spent his weekends doing CrossFit with no shirt on, because the first rule of CrossFit is that you have to tell everyone you do CrossFit. Jonno called him the Severn Bore, but never to his face because the veins on Steve’s neck popped out when he was annoyed.
‘None taken,’ said Sasha dryly. ‘And the sacred nature of your weekends is duly noted.’
‘What kind of planning are they thinking?’ asked Kim, loudly flicking to a fresh page in her notebook and writing PLANNING WEEKEND in large letters at the top. Kim was another keen bean on Jonno’s team, who wrote her entire life in one of those bullet journals. Once she’d left it open on her desk and Lucy had spotted Can you teach yourself to like spinach? in the Thoughts for the Day section. If Kim had hidden depths, they were unlikely to pose a risk of drowning.
‘Yeah,’ chipped in Lou, who was the more junior of the two art directors. ‘Where is it?’
Sasha smiled at Lou. ‘It’s in Zermatt. In the Swiss Alps.’ She paused dramatically as the room collectively sat up like a mob of meerkats, then started to chatter excitedly.
‘Wait, what?’ exclaimed Steve, looking around at the group. ‘It’s a ski trip?’
‘I believe skiing is an option. Amongst other winter pastimes,’ said Sasha smoothly. Lucy could tell how much she was enjoying herself, and wondered for the umpteenth time exactly how old she was. The glossy dark curls and glowing skin suggested early-to-mid forties, but Lucy also knew that she’d been working in the industry for well over twenty-five years. Either she’d started very young, or more likely was the human equivalent of her dad’s car. The chassis was original, but several parts had been replaced.
‘Fucking hell,’ grinned Steve. ‘I’m back in, then.’
Sasha shook her head and picked at a bit of fluff on the shoulder of her cashmere sweater. Her fingernails were dark red and immaculate, which prompted Lucy to tuck her flaking festive manicure under her armpits. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said smoothly. ‘I’m afraid you opted out, and that’s very much a one-way ticket. Any other questions?’
‘So what’s it all for?’ asked Kim, as Steve slumped in his chair, looking mutinous.
‘A prize,’ said Sasha. ‘For all the awards we’ve helped Titan win over the last year. They’ve offered to pay for six members of the Titan team to go. There’ll be a working session or two, but primarily it’s a reward for all our hard work.’
‘What if you don’t ski?’ asked Matty, who was in his mid-twenties and had recently taken over responsibility for Titan’s TikTok output. Lucy knew he’d grown up on a council estate in south Bristol and joined the agency as part of a social mobility initiative. Half the agency disappeared off to the Alps every winter, not that Lucy was one of them. Her mother was an orthopaedic nurse who’d seen too many horror-movie fractures, and her dad had arthritis in his lower back from thirty years of bending over lab specimens. So skiing hadn’t been part of her childhood, and adulthood hadn’t exactly been a big adventure so far. But that was a whole other story.
‘Skiing isn’t mandatory, obviously,’ said Sasha, giving Matty a reassuring smile. ‘But you can have a day of lessons, if you fancy it. According to the email I’ve had from Kristoff, there’ll also be spa treatments and snowshoe walks, that sort of thing. All equipment provided. And, of course, some actual work.’
Everyone chattered excitedly again, the work aspect now entirely forgotten and irrelevant.
‘So who’s it going to be?’ asked Sasha, looking around the room. ‘We need to agree on six.’ Lucy did a quick headcount – there were fourteen people in the room, including Sasha, so this was about to get messy. She grinned at Jonno, who was clearly thinking the same thing, and sat back to enjoy the show.
‘Can’t the agency pay for ALL of us to go?’ asked Rachel, who’d recently been promoted onto the account and liked to give the impression she was a warm and inclusive human being. But Lucy knew that Rachel would happily trample every one of them to get a place on this trip, then throw her grandmother under a speeding bus for good measure.
‘No,’ said Sasha. ‘The Titan team have hired a chalet. Four of them, six of us.’
‘We have to share?’ asked Rachel, looking aghast. Lucy said nothing, but silently agreed. She’d rather shit a Swiss army knife than share a bedroom with Rachel – there was a good chance she’d wake up with a pillow over her face.
Sasha shook her head, pressing her lips together in a silent gesture of suppressed annoyance that Lucy had seen a thousand times. ‘No, it has ten bedrooms.’
‘Fuck me, they’ve hired a chalet with ten bedrooms?’ It was the first time Jonno had spoken, and his voice boomed out in the small room. Jonno only had one volume, and it was ‘East End fruit and veg trader’.
‘Yes. Well, it’s more of a small hotel, apparently. Titan have exclusive use. So everyone has their own en-suite room.’
‘So how do we choose?’ asked Rachel hopefully. ‘Pick names out of a hat?’
You wish, thought Lucy. Rachel had only joined the account six months ago, long after the award-winning campaign was finished. A lucky dip was the only way she was going.
‘No,’ said Sasha emphatically. ‘We discuss it as a team, like sensible adults, and agree who deserves to go.’ She put on her glasses and checked the notes on her phone. ‘We’ll be heading out on Thursday the nineteenth of January and flying back late on the Sunday. Can anybody not make that?’
A jolt of pain pierced through Lucy’s chest, forcing her to suppress a gasp. The twentieth of January was Leo’s anniversary, which she’d booked off to spend with her parents. It was never an occasion she looked forward to, so maybe being out of the country wasn’t such a bad idea. She could feel Jonno looking at her curiously, and flicked through the notebook in her lap like she was looking for something important.
‘Anyone?’ repeated Sasha impatiently.
Video Derek put his hand in the air. ‘I, umm, have a thing.’
‘What kind of thing?’ asked Sasha.
‘Just a thing. Um, the usual, you know. Volunteering.’
Lucy gave Derek a smile that she hoped communicated her utmost admiration and respect. Derek was an absolute saint who spent most of his free time volunteering at a Bristol drop-in centre for troubled teenagers. And unlike Steve, he only ever talked about it if asked directly.
‘Fine, no problem,’ said Sasha. ‘No Derek, but the rest of you are welcome to share your opinions on who should go.’
Lucy said nothing and waited, knowing that there was no chance on earth she wasn’t going to be on this list. She’d written every word of the winning campaign across every platform, so obviously somebody was going to put her name forward. The question was, how did she make sure Jonno went too? If she wasn’t going to be remembering Leo in the usual way, she needed Jonno there for emotional support.
‘I’ll start,’ said Jonno. ‘Lucy should be on the list. Without her, none of this would have happened.’
‘Other copywriters do exist,’ muttered Rachel.
‘Yes, but this campaign was written by Lucy,’ said Jonno, giving Rachel a withering look. ‘Can any of you really imagine a scenario where she’d be left behind?’
Everyone shook their heads, apart from Rachel, who hated it when other people were given nice things, or experienced feelings of happiness.
‘Right, that’s Lucy,’ said Sasha. ‘Assuming you do actually want to go?’
‘Yeah, course,’ shrugged Lucy, nudging painful thoughts of Leo aside in favour of a winter-wonderland fantasy involving accidentally falling over in the snow and being rescued by a hot ski instructor with very warm hands.
‘Good, one down. Anyone want to recommend anyone else, before you all start pitching for yourselves and this turns into The Hunger Games?’ Lucy kept quiet, mentally crossing her fingers that someone would say Jonno’s name. It couldn’t be her; everyone knew they were best mates.
‘Jonno,’ said Steve, who had missed out himself but clearly wasn’t going to sacrifice the whole Creative team. ‘He did most of the design work, and the client loves him.’
‘Agreed,’ said Sasha. ‘Anyone object to Jonno?’
‘Not an objection, per se,’ said Kim, clearing her throat. Jonno had recently turned her down for promotion, and apparently she was about to get her revenge. ‘I’m just wondering if it’s appropriate for directors to go?’
‘On what basis would that not be appropriate?’ asked Sasha, raising her eyebrows and giving Kim a look that would melt an ice cap from outer space.
‘Well,’ said Kim, looking mildly panicked. ‘It’s just, you know, you guys already get to do a lot of cool stuff that we don’t.’
Sasha’s eyebrows were now glued to the light fittings. ‘Such as?’
‘I don’t know,’ muttered Kim, casting around the room for help. ‘Like, awards dinners and events and fancy hotels abroad.’
Sasha laughed. ‘For the Lions festival. It’s the biggest creative event in our industry, and it was all work. Where would you have preferred we stay? In a hostel? A caravan?’
Kim hung her head. ‘No, obviously.’ Lucy smiled to herself, remembering all the stories Jonno had told her about debauched nights out and passing out on a sunlounger at 5 a.m. Whatever Cannes was, it definitely wasn’t work.
‘Jonno obviously deserves to be on this trip,’ continued Sasha. ‘He and Lucy devised this whole campaign, based on MY strategy.’ She glared at Kim, waiting for her to object.
‘Well, you should definitely be going,’ said Fran, Titan’s Account Director and the cheerleader for anyone who had influence over her bonus. Jonno glanced at Lucy and pulled a face, as if he’d just tasted Fran’s arse-kissing and the flavour wasn’t to his liking.
‘Thank you, Fran, you’re absolutely right,’ said Sasha triumphantly. Fran beamed, entirely oblivious to the laser glares being fired her way as one more place was claimed by management. ‘So that’s me, Jonno and Lucy. Three spaces left. Who are we thinking?’
Lucy glanced in the direction of Nate, who was tucked into the corner of the room like he was trying to blend into the paintwork. So far he’d said nothing, instead scribbling feverish notes on a sheaf of paper that Lucy recognised as the client brief for Titan’s latest campaign. He’d been working for Fran on the Titan team for over a year, having moved to Bristol from the Pukka Paws pet food team based in Paris. Lucy found him surly and uncommunicative, and not just because he was half French. He wasn’t actively an arsehole, exactly; he just gave off an air of being a bit superior, like team socials were all a bit beneath him. Jonno called him ‘French Exit’, because he always left the party early without saying goodbye.
She watched him for a moment, entirely lost in the Titan brief like nobody else was in the room. Dark, floppy hair that curled at his neck, long eyelashes and full lips, like a picture she’d once seen of a young Mick Jagger. Cold and impenetrable, but inarguably good-looking.
‘So that’s Maya and Olly,’ said Sasha, as Lucy snapped back into the room and tuned back in to what was happening. She was happy with both those choices; Maya was Titan’s Senior Art Director and smart and funny, and Olly was invariably the first person in the agency who’d down a bottle of wine and climb onto a table to lip-sync to Beyoncé. He was Sasha’s PA, but at the time of the winning Titan campaign he’d stepped up to Project Manager, organising people and photo shoots and making sure the whole project stayed on track.
‘One place left,’ said Sasha. ‘Who’s it going to be?’
‘I’d like to put my name back into the ring,’ said Steve. ‘Because—’
‘Denied,’ interrupted Sasha, as Maya and Olly started whispering excitedly. ‘Can we just focus, please? These are hot tickets, and I’m not spending the next month listening to you all whinge on about how it should have been you. State your case, or pipe down.’
‘Oh my GOD, guys,’ exclaimed Fran. ‘I can’t believe none of you have nominated me. Like, really?’
‘Buckle in, kids. Fran’s about to blow,’ muttered Jonno.
‘It’s MY account,’ wailed Fran. ‘I’ve been the Account Director for Titan for THREE YEARS.’
Nobody said anything, as any joy Lucy had been feeling about being on the list farted into the room like a deflating balloon.
‘Right, but doesn’t Nate actually do most of the work?’ asked Rachel smugly. Several people took a sharp intake of breath as Nate looked up, and Fran narrowed her eyes as the temperature in the room dropped by ten degrees.
‘That’s outrageous,’ spat Fran. ‘Yes, of COURSE Nate helped, it’s too big an account just for me. But I’m the Account Director, and they’re my client. I’ve, like, nurtured the relationship.’
‘They hate her,’ whispered Jonno. ‘They call her Funsponge Fran, because she sucks all the joy out of the room.’
Lucy covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
‘Well,’ said Sasha, her voice slightly strained. ‘Does anyone have an issue with Fran taking the last space?’
Lucy didn’t dare look up, instead focusing intently on her trainers.
‘Fran it is,’ said Sasha bleakly. ‘Along with me, Lucy, Jonno, Maya and Olly. Well done, everyone.’
Lucy smiled gamely, thinking that even though Funsponge Fran was the fly in the ointment, the list could definitely have been worse. And at least she’d been saved from a weekend with Psycho Rachel or Moody Nate.
‘So, we’re off to the Alps for fun times in the snow,’ said Jonno, grinning as Lucy placed his pint, her white wine and two bags of crisps on their usual table in the Brunel Arms. Their post-work Friday drink was a long-standing tradition, and nobody else from the agency was invited. It was their time to dissect the week and offload all their grievances. But since they’d only returned to the office a few days ago, there was really only one thing to talk about.
‘You are OK with going that weekend?’ added Jonno, ducking his head to catch her eye. ‘I know you’ve usually got a family thing around then.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Lucy, wafting him away as if it really didn’t matter. ‘Thanks for nominating me. I would have returned the favour, but everyone already thinks we’re sleeping together.’
Jonno laughed and necked a quarter of his pint in one go. It was a new ale in the Brunel’s ever-revolving door of IPAs with stupid names – this one was called Fainting Lizard. ‘You’re way out of my league, babe. Did I tell you that Sasha asked me about that at the Christmas party?’
Lucy’s eyes widened as she sat on the bench opposite him. ‘Really?’
‘Mmm,’ said Jonno, wiping the foam off his lip. ‘She’d heard it from Fran, and wanted to know if it was true.’
Lucy shook her head and rolled her eyes. ‘That sounds like peak Fran.’
‘NO bitching about Fran,’ interrupted Jonno. ‘You’ll get me started. But you’re right – literally everyone in the agency thinks we’re doing the dirty.’
‘Why?’ said Lucy, tipping half the crisps into her mouth at once, then washing them down with a swig of wine. It was a source of much irritation amongst her female colleagues that Lucy appeared to have some kind of superhuman metabolism that magically cancelled out her workaholic single woman junk food diet, meaning she could live on crisps and wine and coffee and seemingly never put on any weight. ‘Because men and women can’t possibly just be mates?’
Jonno shrugged. ‘Probably because you’re beautiful, I’m charismatic, and we have at least one date a week in this pub.’
‘It’s not a date, and we’ve done some of our best work in this pub,’ replied Lucy, folding her arms and looking wistfully at the decor. Mostly old black-and-white photos from back in the day when this part of the city was a little more genteel and home to fewer students puking up spicy margaritas.
‘I don’t dispute that. And anyway, whilst I am happy to acknowledge that you are an unattainably hot woman, I don’t fancy you.’
‘That’s helpful,’ said Lucy, acknowledging the compliment with a soft smile. ‘Because I don’t fancy you either.’
Jonno’s eyes widened in fake outrage. ‘Why not?’
‘You’re too old, for a start.’ This kind of conversation was familiar Friday pub territory for Lucy and Jonno, who had started at LUNA on the same day over ten years previously and bonded over a week-long induction in the London office. They’d formed a powerhouse creative team that had delivered some of the agency’s most successful and award-winning work. For different reasons, they’d both turned down offers to spread their wings elsewhere, and stuck together.
‘Shit, Luce. I’m forty-four.’
‘I know. Twelve years older than me. When you were twenty-one, I was nine.’
‘OK, that sounds really wrong.’
‘It IS wrong. But it’s the undeniable truth. Also, you are the most happily married person I know.’
‘That’s also true,’ said Jonno, nodding furiously. ‘Can we drink these outside? I need to smoke.’
‘No,’ replied Lucy. ‘It’s January. And anyway, I thought you’d given up?’
‘I tried, but vaping is awful,’ said Jonno helplessly. ‘I need all that glorious tar in my blood to function. My creativity is fuelled by poison.’
‘Talking of poison,’ muttered Lucy. ‘We need to talk about how we’re going to manage Fran on this trip.’
Jonno shook his head and gave Lucy a stern look. ‘No, I can’t.’
‘Come on. You’re a strong man, you can do it.’
‘I can’t. It’s easy for you, you’re a nice person. But I’ve only managed . . .’ he checked his watch, ‘. . . six whole days into 2023, and I’m struggling.’
‘Maybe you need to accept that hating Fran is the other poison that fuels your creativity.’
Jonno frowned. ‘No. We made a vow we would make it to the end of the month without being mean about Fran, and I need you to help me get through it. It’s our Dry January, remember?’
‘What about when we’re stuck in the mountains with her?’
Jonno pulled a face. ‘I reckon it’s OK if we’re on foreign soil. I was really hoping she’d do the magnanimous thing and let French Exit come.’
Lucy snorted with laughter. ‘Have you met Fran? She’s a fu—’
‘NO,’ said Jonno, holding up his hand. ‘We must resist.’
‘Anyway, why would we want Nate there? He barely ever speaks.’
‘Exactly. He’s human wallpaper, and unlikely to create distraction. Which reminds me, does he pronounce his surname Lam-butt, or the French way? Like Lom-berrr?’ He rolled the r from the corner of his mouth, like a bad impression of a Frenchman.
‘I have no idea. I’ve always gone for bog standard Lam-butt.’
‘Me too, because he’s too beige for anything more exotic than the arse of a sheep. But on the upside, he’ll blend into the background of our weekend adventure.’
‘Unlike Olly and Maya.’
‘Mmm. They’ll do their own pissed-up party-animal thing, and poor Sasha will get lumbered with Fran because they’ll have to suck up to the client. We both know that Fran is a total arse-kissing b—’
‘Oh my God,’ gasped Lucy, pressing her hands over her mouth. ‘You failed!’
‘Shit,’ muttered Jonno. ‘Pretend I never said that. I’m getting another pint. You want more wine?’
Lucy shook her head and picked up her phone while Jonno was at the bar, wondering whether she was in the mood to see Anthony. She scrolled back to his last message – a close-up of his hand wrapped around his erect penis, accompanied by Happy new year, babe. Got you a present. She tapped out a quick reply. Impressive. Can I unwrap it later?
‘Who’s your booty call tonight?’ asked Jonno. She slammed her phone face down on the table. ‘Iron Manuel, or Tentpole Tony?’
Lucy rolled her eyes. Jonno called Marco ‘Iron Manuel’ because he was a competitive triathlete, and also Spanish. ‘Tentpole Tony’ spoke for itself.
‘Marco’s in London. He’s just been promoted to Head of Insurance Risk Assessment for heritage buildings.’
Jonno licked his lips and winked. ‘Wow, I love it when you talk dirty.’
‘Stop it. It’s a very interesting job.’
‘Is it, though? Does he tell you about fire safety measures in the Royal Albert Hall while he’s sucking your toes?’
‘I would actually kill him if he ever went anywhere near my toes.’
‘So Tentpole Tony, then?’
Lucy sighed. ‘He prefers Anthony.’
‘Hmm, sure. Any new dick pics?’
‘Yes, actually. Do you want to see it?’
‘No,’ said Jonno emphatically. ‘I still haven’t got over the feelings of inadequacy from the last time. That man has a cock the size of a baseball bat.’
‘No, he doesn’t. It’s a perfectly normal size.’
‘For a horse, yes. For a human, no.’
Lucy laughed and finished her wine. Marco and Anthony were what she called ‘a mutually beneficial sexual arrangement’ that had been going on for the best part of eighteen months.
‘You know this fascinates me, right?’ said Jonno. ‘Are you sure you don’t want another wine?’ She shook her head, knowing that two could easily become four and then she’d have a foggy head all weekend.
‘I’m well aware,’ smirked Lucy. ‘Mostly because you never stop asking about it.’
‘They know about each other, right?’
Lucy nodded and rolled her eyes. Jonno had definitely asked this question at least twice before.
‘And you’ve never banged them both at once?’ OK, that’s definitely a new question.
‘No. Anthony floated the idea once. He’s officially bisexual, but Marco is totally straight. So I said no, on the basis that might be a weird dynamic.’
Jonno grinned and stuffed a handful of crisps into his mouth. ‘I should have guessed that Iron Manuel would assess the risk of a threesome and decide it didn’t meet his health and safety requirements.’
‘I didn’t say that. He and I have had a threesome, just with another girl.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Jonno gleefully. ‘I forgot you were also a casual muff-tourist.’
‘You have such a lovely way with words.’
‘Is Marco’s cock the same size as Tony’s? Like, could they have a lightsaber battle?’
Lucy snorted with laughter. ‘No, not that it’s ANY of your business. Marco has many other talents.’
‘Shit, why is your life so much more fun than mine?’ Jonno pouted and drained the dregs of his empty pint glass.
‘You’ve got a beautiful, successful wife and two gorgeous daughters, J,’ said Lucy. ‘Which begs the eternal question – what the hell are you doing in the pub with me on a Friday night?’
‘Marcia’s away,’ he said. ‘She’s taken the kids to Morzine with her sister. They’ve got a massive chalet with a chef and a chalet girl and nannies and all that shit.’ Whilst Jonno was the agency’s Creative Director and earned good money, his wife Marcia was some kind of breakfast cereal heiress. They’d met on an ad campaign shoot in New York almost twenty years previously, where Marcia had been one of the models and Jonno was a cockney wideboy Art Director, handsome but very much the downtown boy to her uptown girl. She’d agreed to a date primarily to upset her father, who wanted her to marry the prep. . .
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