**A NIGHT OUT**
“Adventure awaits!” said the inseparable best friends as they tossed their suitcases into the luggage compartment. The train departed right on schedule and, without delay, arrived precisely at eight in the morning.
But let’s start from the beginning.
Summer was in full swing. June had raced past like a jet, leaving behind little more than a blur. Yes, the first month of summer had melted away like ice cream in a dish, swallowed by life’s endless whirlwind. And so July crept in without warning, slipping through the door and into their lives.
Anyone who works a five-day week knows the agony of those final hours before holiday—your mind is already free, but your body remains trapped. It takes every ounce of patience to endure until the moment of liberty arrives. Everything seems intolerable—clients are fussy, bosses are nitpicky, and time crawls.
“Has someone glued the clock hands in place?” muttered Emily, glaring at the wall clock. “Holiday can’t come soon enough.”
Her heart raced in anticipation, her soul clinging to the hope of peaceful, carefree relaxation.
“I’d kill for sweetcorn, pickled mussels, and prawns,” announced Charlotte after yet another client left.
The girls also fantasised about treating themselves to a fine Scotch whisky—its rich aroma and deep flavour had charmed them before. Of course, the proud and noble drink could play tricks on the unwary, but what’s done is done, right? No point dwelling on the past.
“How about a dip in the sea?” they asked each other during lunch. “What’s stopping us?”
Given the current situation back home, their choice was obvious—foreign resorts were out of reach, and no amount of Googling changed that. The Black Sea it was.
Finally, their dream had come true! Two thrill-seekers, adventurers, and idealists in one—was such a thing even possible?
“Everyone will be green with envy, so let’s keep it to ourselves,” they agreed before frantically packing.
Now, how does one fit an entire wardrobe, shoes, cosmetics, and mountains of utterly unnecessary essentials into a single suitcase? For women, it’s an impossible task, rivalled only by Fermat’s Last Theorem.
But there they were, by the sea. Gentle waves lapped at the shore. Seagulls wheeled overhead, their cries sharp against the breeze as they hunted for fish. Perfect bliss.
Beachgoers soaked in the illusion of tranquility—adults lazily nibbled salted peanuts and sipped cold beer from condensation-covered cans, while children devoured greasy pasties and flaky samosas.
“Straighten up! Shoulders back! Right foot forward! Look at me! Perfect!” Emily directed, snapping photos of Charlotte by the water.
“Now with the watermelon. Great shot!” she said, wiping sweat from her brow. “Your turn.”
A seaside photoshoot—what a saga! Women must look tanned, toned, and preferably without puffy eyes. Everyone knows beer before bed doesn’t help, but who cares when you’re on holiday?
“Charlotte! What is this? Why do I look like I’m snarling? Couldn’t you have told me? And how are you holding the phone? Just pick a decent angle and click!” Emily glared before sighing. “I got you great shots, and this is what I get? I look lumpy in this one, and unrecognisable in the next. Fine, forget it. I’ll use the selfie stick.”
Charlotte, fuming, considered storming off, but Emily wasn’t done.
“Who’s sulking now? Come on, gorgeous, let’s do one more—melon, lavender, and wine glasses. Smile! Got it!”
The photos actually turned out surprisingly well.
“Em, we should celebrate. Fancy dinner tonight?” Charlotte suggested, placatingly.
“Brilliant! I’m in! Let’s get seafood.” Emily grinned, already picturing herself in a chic restaurant, lounging with a flute of bubbly.
No sooner said than done. Dressed in their finest, the giddy pair set off that very evening.
The dinner plan seemed foolproof—but who knew they’d make multiple attempts?
The restaurant was quiet.
“Let’s take that table with the sea view,” Charlotte suggested.
“Apologies, that’s reserved,” the waitress said. “Perhaps this one by the pillar?”
“It was going so well!” Charlotte muttered, scanning the menu. “I really wanted to watch the sea while we ate. She only said it’s reserved to squeeze extra cash out of us. Oh well, this’ll do.”
“What? Two hundred grams of grilled scallop salad for the price of my second-hand hatchback?” Emily gasped.
“Rocket and prawns—two hundred grams. For that, I could buy an aeroplane wing!” Charlotte hissed.
“Let’s check the wine list. Maybe there’s something reasonable,” Emily said, flipping pages in silence.
“One hundred fifty grams of wine for £100? These prices are out of this world. Char, you know that’s not even enough for us. We’d need more, and that’s not happening unless we break out the credit card. I wanted to come back debt-free.” Emily sighed, pushing the menu away.
“Let’s sneak out. I’ll go first, you follow,” Charlotte whispered.
Outside, they burst into laughter.
“We’re such schoolgirls. At least we got photos—no one will suspect we fled. Come on, I saw another place round the corner. I’m starving.” Emily tugged her along.
First, more photos—this time on the red carpet outside the next venue.
Seated inside, Charlotte frowned at the menu.
“Emily, I’m up for anything, but this dinner costs a month’s wages—maybe two. I’ll head to the loo. Grab our bags in five minutes; meet me by the fountain.”
Second attempt, same disaster. Maybe third time lucky?
“Look how busy this place is—must mean decent prices,” Emily said, dragging Charlotte inside.
The host seated them near a grand aquarium, its golden fish seemingly winking at them.
“What’s worse than bad luck?” Emily muttered, scanning the overpriced menu. “How do we salvage this night? If we’re going down, let’s go in style. Charlotte, watch and learn—my four years of drama school won’t go to waste.”
She signalled the waiter, shut the menu theatrically, and crossed her legs—flashing tanned knees. Tossing her head back, her faux-diamond earrings danced.
“Darling,” she purred, “start us with an aperitif. A glass of Pétrus Pomerol 2001. A dry red, ideally paired with seafood.” She turned to Charlotte. “Your usual, dear? A glass of Château Mouton Rothschild Pauillac 2000?”
Charlotte nodded.
“Also, beluga caviar, two bluefin tuna steaks with sesame oil, wasabi, and lemon. Tell the chef to pay attention—no overcooking. Oh, and Kumamoto oysters. For dessert, carrot cake with truffle mousse. And do hurry—we tip generously.”
The waiter scribbled frantically, then gaped.
“One moment—I’ll fetch the manager,” he croaked.
“What are you doing? We’ll get thrown out!” Charlotte hissed.
“Relax. The way out is the way in. We’ll manage,” Emily said coolly.
Minutes later, the flustered waiter, chef, and manager approached.
“Ladies,” the manager began, “I regret to inform you we don’t stock those dishes. Might I suggest our seafood paella, mussels in cream sauce, or risotto?”
“How disappointing. Bring us two glasses of Lokoya Cabernet Sauvignon Howell Mountain 2007. Surely you have that?” Emily snapped.
“Apologies again—we haven’t received that vintage this season. I’ll notify the owner. As compensation, please accept complimentary Veuve Clicquot Brut.”
“French white? Hardly our taste.” Emily pursed her lips. “Since you’ve nothing suitable, we’ll take our business elsewhere.”
Rising like disgruntled royalty, they swept out.
Outside, Charlotte groaned. “Why the act? We could’ve had free champagne!”
“Nothing’s ever truly free,” Emily retorted.
“So, home then? We’ll grab instant noodles, some Prosecco, and a tin of tuna. Make a salad. Though your acting was impressive—I almost believed you.”
“Who knows?” Emily mused. “Supermarket first.”
Inside, they wordlessly grabbed plastic flutes, sliced ham and cheese, a chocolate bar, and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
The cashier eyed their scowls. “Ladies, just… pace yourselves, yeah?”
Kicking off their sandals, they dashed down to the beach.
As the moonlight shimmered on the water, they cracked open the whisky. Overhead, sirens wailed, but the two friends, lost in each other’s company, couldn’t care less.
A nation with women like these is unshakable.
