You can’t.
Later that evening, my laptop pinged. Suzanne Watts has tagged you in a post.
I clicked on the notification and a photo of the sunflower filled my screen. It was sitting on her bedside cabinet, beside the elephant toy. She’d written: ‘Sunshine in a pot. Thank you SO much, Caddy.’
Not long after, my phone lit up with a text.
19.33: Thank you thank you thank you xxxx
19.35: You are welcome! xxx
19.36: Means the world. Can’t even tell you x
19.37: :) Happy birthday!
19.38: Haha, thanks. Happier now :)
After school on Thursday, Mum picked me up and we went to the supermarket together. I was in the haircare aisle, trying to find the most expensive shampoo for coloured hair I could get away with, when I felt a pair of cool hands sweep around my face and settle over my eyes.
I jumped about a foot in the air, dropping the John Frieda bottle I was holding and letting out a noise that was somewhere been a shriek and a laugh. Trying to regain my composure, I picked up the shampoo and stood to face my attacker.
‘Sorry.’ Suzanne was laughing, almost doubled over with it. ‘Oh my God, Caddy, I didn’t think you’d react like that.’
My heart was still racing, but I was laughing too, the two of us in pieces in the middle of the aisle. An old woman with nothing but washing-up liquid and a pineapple in her basket eyed us warily.
‘You can’t sneak up behind someone in a supermarket,’ I said between gasps. ‘What did you think would happen?’
When we’d calmed down, she reached for the bottle I was holding and looked at it. ‘You should go for the honey one,’ she said. ‘This is for platinum blondes. Yours is warmer.’ She turned to the rows of bottles and located the one she was looking for, holding it out to me.
I was so happy to see her.
‘This might be a stupid question, but what are you doing here?’ I asked, taking the bottle and tucking it under my arm.
‘Shopping. Obvs. Sarah’s here somewhere. Are you here with your parents?’
As she said this my mother came around the corner, pushing the trolley in front of her. When she saw me, she let out a tut of annoyance and came to a stop next to me. ‘There you are. Didn’t I ask you to get lemons?’
‘I’ll get them in a minute,’ I said, wondering for a second why she was ignoring Suzanne, before realizing they’d never actually met. ‘Mum, this is Suzanne.’
Mum’s face lit up, which was embarrassing. ‘Oh! Hello!’ She reached out her hand and Suzanne shook it, looking surprised but polite. ‘I’m Carol.’
Sarah walked past the entrance to the aisle at that moment, then did a double take and turned her trolley towards us.
‘Hello, Caddy!’ she said enthusiastically as she approached. ‘What a lovely surprise.’
It took barely a minute for Mum and Sarah to turn their enthusiasm on to each other, shaking hands and introducing themselves while Suzanne and I inched closer together in bemused solidarity.
‘Isn’t it weird how happy they both were to see each of us?’ she muttered to me. ‘Sarah never looks as happy to see me as she did to see you.’
Even if this was true, they both seemed to forget about us, barely noticing as we sidled off to wander the aisles together. Trust my mother to strike up a friendship among the shampoo bottles.
‘Do you think they’re talking about us?’ I asked.
‘Undoubtedly,’ Suzanne replied. She picked up a lemon from the box and sniffed it. ‘Waxed or unwaxed?’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Isn’t the clue in the name?’ She held out two bags for me, one in each hand. I selected the unwaxed ones. ‘Have you spoken to Roz today? Did she tell you what happened in PE?’
When I said no, she launched into a complicated story I couldn’t really follow that involved trampolines and an overenthusiastic somersault attempt. I watched her face as she spoke, searching for a trace of the previous weekend’s sadness. There was none.
We meandered companionably around the supermarket for a while longer before finding my mother and Sarah in the frozen section. They were pushing their trolleys side by side, still deep in conversation. When they saw us, they stopped talking abruptly. Sarah looked a little guilty, while Mum wore a look of earnest sympathy. I knew this face. I called it her Samaritans Face.
Suzanne’s cheerful expression faltered a little, clearly having spotted The Face and being all too familiar with what it meant. She shot Sarah a brief, sullen look and dropped the bags of pasta and rice she’d been holding into the trolley, which was much emptier than Mum’s.
‘Ready to go, love?’ Mum asked me, seemingly oblivious. She took the lemons from me and placed them on top of a packet of dishtowels.
I nodded, watching Suzanne paste a smile back on to her face as she turned to me. ‘See you later?’
‘Yeah, maybe this weekend?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll text you.’ She leaned over and hugged me, which was new, but nice.