Outside, doors bang and more girls turn up and so I flush and escape to the sinks. Ange is already there, plumping up her full lips with shiny gloss and my phone pings a couple of times as I turn it back on. Courtney and Mum. I tell Courtney we’ll be out tonight and then I open the text from Mum.
‘The cash machine is paying up,’ I say as I scan through the message. I feel mean calling Mum that, but Ange came up with the nickname for her back at the start of Year Ten, and it kind of stuck. ‘I told you she would. Plenty for tonight and the festival tomorrow.’
‘Is Courtney around tonight?’ Ange isn’t using her stupid faux American accent, but the question does sound as if she’s bored, which means she’s curious. I wonder if Ange slightly fancies him herself. She’s the one who asks the most.
‘Yeah, I figure we can all meet up, maybe.’ I don’t mind the idea of seeing Courtney. We can celebrate together and I can plead the period I don’t have if he tries anything too heavy. I do miss him a bit, weirdly. Not in that way, but it was fun when we were all hanging around together at the start. Having the boys there breaks up our intensity. Our Fabulous Four-ness. MyBitches.
Plus, Courtney isn’t such an issue now. He’s simply a distraction to fill in the days until I meet him. A little over a week to go. One week. I can’t believe it.
My period better bloody come before then.
17
MARILYN
‘So, how was your day?’ Richard asks, flicking through the channels, no doubt looking for sport or some home repair show to fill the time before bed. I don’t mind what he chooses, to be honest. All I want is to eat my dinner, maybe have a long hot bath, quickly check in on how Lisa’s evening went, and then bed.
‘You know, the same as usual. Still getting the new girls up to speed.’ We’ve slumped on the sofa with plates of frozen lasagne and oven chips with a smattering of peas as an attempt to make it look like a balanced diet. I worked through lunch so me and Lisa could leave early to get her a new dress, and I’m starving. I have a sudden pang of envy at Lisa’s evening. A beautiful restaurant. Charming company. A new dress. New beginnings. It’s only a gentle envy. I can’t be jealous of this. I’m getting joy from her joy. It’s about time she dated, although a little part of me is worried he’ll whisk her away and then what will I do? You don’t make new best friends in your forties. I don’t think I could. Especially not now.
I scoop up a forkful of lasagne and it’s surprisingly good and I didn’t have to get all dressed up for it either. There are small pleasures to be found in sofa living.
‘You said you were going to make a curry.’ Richard is looking at his plate as if I’ve stuck a steaming dog turd on it and for a moment I want to shout, Oh just fucking eat it, but I don’t. I’m shattered and it’s not worth it. Anything for an easy life.
‘You like lasagne better. And I thought maybe we could go for a curry or something after the River Festival tomorrow if you fancy it? Ask Lisa along? They’ve got a banquet-night offer on at the Bekash in the high street. Ridiculously cheap.’ I smile at him. ‘We may need it after beer in the fresh air.’
He doesn’t smile back but picks at a chip. ‘I was driving through town this afternoon. Went to get some supplies for the outside office I’m doing for the Grange couple,’ he says. ‘I saw you and Lisa. Pretty sure it was you. Going into that underwear shop.’
My heart sinks. For a start, I know the Grange job was cancelled. They decided they couldn’t afford it. He’s forgotten he told me.
‘Oh yes.’ Only room for one liar on this couch. I stare at the TV, my hunger fading. I’m too tired for this tonight. His moods. ‘She’s going out for dinner with that client. You know, the one I told you about. The one who likes her.’
‘You didn’t say they had a date.’
‘I didn’t know until today.’
He doesn’t believe me, I can tell. ‘And you thought she needed new underwear for it?’
‘It was only for fun. So she’d feel sexy.’
He laughs. ‘What, if she’s dressed like a slut, she’ll act like one?’
I flush. I can’t help it. ‘Lisa’s not a slut and you know it. She’s a nun, if anything.’
‘I didn’t say she was. I’ll bet it wasn’t her idea to tart herself up.’
My hunger evaporates. ‘Are you saying I am?’
His eyes scan me. ‘It would take more than new underwear to sort you out. You’ve put on weight. Too much wine and crap food with the wankers you work with probably. Turning you into a fat cow. Still, at least I don’t have to worry about rich clients trying to fuck you.’
So it’s going to be one of these nights. Another one of these nights. More business problems that are somehow all my fault. We used to laugh together on this sofa. Seems a lifetime ago now.
My lasagne grows cold. Untouched and unwanted. I know how it feels.
18
LISA
There is no way I’m going to be able to eat anything. My stomach has folded itself up into a tiny square and while I don’t have the awful cramps of last week, it’s a whole different kind of anxiety. I must look ridiculous too. When I’d quietly told Marilyn about the dinner she’d looked so stunned I thought she was having some kind of haemorrhage but then she burst into life and insisted we get away early and go and buy something new to wear.
At least she didn’t go crazy with the shopping, I think as I get out of the taxi and walk on shaking legs towards the restaurant door. A black dress which is slightly too clingy for my taste but way better than the shorter one she originally picked out, and a pair of black patent heels I don’t trust to carry me. She also made me buy a new underwear set. ‘Not for him,’ she’d said. ‘For you. It’s like wearing a disguise.’ That unnerved me. Hiding. Always hiding. The bra strap is cutting into me, but I’m wearing it anyway. Maybe she’s right. I do feel slightly more confident with the lace next to my skin. I feel like somebody not me.
‘This is the best time,’ she’d said, wistful, linking her arm in mine as if we were teenagers. ‘The flirting. The promise of the future. The perfection before you truly know each other.’ I couldn’t see how this could be the best time. I was too busy fighting a panic attack of nerves and excitement and fear of letting someone get to know me, and wondering if it was too late to change my mind.
But here I am, and as I see him get up from where he’s waiting at the elegant bar, it feels very much like whatever a date should be. My hands tremble. I feel ridiculous. Clumsy. Ugly. Obvious. He doesn’t seem to notice.
‘I was worried you’d cancel.’ He leans in to kiss me on the cheek and I smell the citrus and warmth mixture that has such a stupid effect on me. It doesn’t help my nerves as I mutter a hello.
‘You look beautiful,’ he says, standing back. I want to shrink into myself. I don’t look beautiful. I still have dumpy thighs and the shifting skin tone of an ageing woman. My hair could use highlights. All those things. His words make me think of how Ava had stared at me as I was going out the door. She’d called me ‘pretty’ and she was shocked enough to have meant it. It made me feel warm and happy and sad all rolled into one. Pretty is only luck or effort and yet it can have such an effect. No one should trust pretty, not really. Not just for itself.
He’s not wearing a tie and his fitted shirt is undone at the top button and the suit is expensively stylish enough to be something like Paul Smith. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s Paul Smith. A suit that is not office wear. Ava would be surprised at me. She thinks I have no real interest in clothes. She’d be wrong. When I was her age and younger I was obsessed with fashion, poring over the pages of any magazine I could get hold of until the colour and gloss of the favoured pages had worn away. And for a while, before she was born, I would go into the big designer stores simply to touch the different fabrics and breathe in the wonder of the design. Even if I could have afforded to, I wouldn’t have bought any though. Those clothes weren’t for someone like me.