The Booby Trap and Other Bits and Boobs by Dawn O'Porter Page B

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    It was like watching some nature show on the Discovery Channel about the mating habits of geeks. Watching two bears clawing each other into bloody shreds would have been less painful. ‘Jesus!’ I snapped, pushing his sundae at him. ‘Come and pick her up after work. Six sharp so you’ve got time to get the tickets. Now go away. We might have some other customers in a minute.’
    As soon as he was out of the door, Rosie turned on me furiously. ‘You’re absolutely unbelievable, Cath,’ she began, her face flushing. ‘You pimped me! He was obviously just being polite because you forced him into … ’
    â€˜You’re welcome,’ I said when she had to pause for oxygen. ‘If I were you I’d start doing your make-up because you’re still crap at applying liquid eyeliner.’
    â€˜He paid extra for the superior comfort seats,’ Rosie told me the next day, as we shivered behind the counter. It wasn’t actually that cold but the rain was thudding against the window and it felt like we should shiver. ‘And then we shared a tub of popcorn and he squeezed my arm in a really sad part of the movie, but it wasn’t in a lecherous way. It was a very empathetic squeeze.’
    â€˜And then what happened?’ I prompted, eyes wide.
    â€˜We went for a coffee and talked about the movie and Scott Fitzgerald’s other books, and loads of things and then he walked me home,’ Rosie finished with a smile that was verging on smug.
    â€˜And did he kiss you? Like, with tongues?’ It came to something when I had to get vicarious snogging thrills from Rosie.
    â€˜Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t,’ she said coyly. ‘But I’m seeing him tonight. We’re going to a gig. You should come,’ she offered, because she was a sweet but totally naïve girl who thought it was polite to invite friends along on dates.
    â€˜Nah, you’re OK,’ I shrugged. ‘The music you like hurts when you listen to it.’
    â€˜Some of David’s friends are going to be there.’ Rosie’s face squinched up. ‘Maybe they won’t like me. They’re all at university or art school and they’ll think that I’m fat … ’
    â€˜You are not fat,’ I interrupted angrily because at least she didn’t go straight up and down like me. ‘You’re curvy. Big diff. And you’re really smart and funny and you should stop judging yourself about what you think you look like. It’s pathetic. And don’t you forget it.’
    Rosie didn’t forget it. Maybe that’s why she was a such big hit with David’s friends. She even went bowling with them later in the week, then turned up for work in this old-fashioned dress that hugged her curves like she’d just stepped down from one of those 1950s pin-up girl pictures. Her boobs were still mighty but it was like she’d grown into them.
    â€˜David’s friend Kara gave me this,’ she said, twirling so I could see how the circle skirt foofed out. ‘She said I had the perfect figure for vintage clothes.’
    I was happy for her. Really I was. That’s why I folded my arms and pouted. ‘You could get something in H&M that’s practically identical,’ I noted savagely. ‘And no one would have died in it.’
    Rosie’s face fell and I felt like a bitch for raining all over her vintage parade, but I could tell she was leaving me behind and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.
    We still hung out at work but it wasn’t the same. Rosie was kicking it freestyle these days and now that I had nothing left to teach her, there wasn’t really a lot to talk about.
    So it was a huge relief when it stopped raining and the sun came out. Big Don dragged the Mr Whippy machine outside to take advantage of the daytrippers and I volunteered to man it. I couldn’t quite master the necessary twirling