by Katey Lovell
Eve gasped. “She’s unbelievable. Why would she think it’s okay to invite Darius without telling you? I know she’s pulled a few stunts in her time, but this is ridiculous.”
“Yep, it’s a whole new level of low.”
Pam waddled over, her nylon maroon dress half-hidden by a pinny way too small to protect her clothes from flour or sugar. It looked more like something kinky Kath might buy on one of her trips to Ann Summers.
We placed our orders – I justified the large bacon buttie with the logic that it’d cost as much for me to buy the ingredients and eat at home – deciding not to splash out on a coffee, instead sticking to the complimentary tap water provided. Eve ordered a supersize farmhouse breakfast alongside a large filter coffee, and then I launched right back into the conversation and there was no mincing of words.
“I’ve had it up to here with Tawna. I don’t know what’s got into her. First there was the birthday party I didn’t even want, and now she’s trying to fix me up with Darius when I’ve told her I need time to think. Sometimes I don’t know why we’re still friends with her.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t mean any harm…” Eve surprised me by standing up for our mutual friend when Darius was involved.
“It doesn’t matter if she means harm or not, she shouldn’t be interfering! She doesn’t listen, she bulldozes in as though I’m a kid. I don’t know why you’re defending her.”
“I’m not.”
“It feels like you are.” Everyone in the café turned to look at me, my volume out of control once more. Even Pam, who was probably wondering what was causing a commotion, looked. She’s had all sorts kick off in her café over the years. Fist fights, slanging matches, even the Great Salt Episode of 2016 (where a scorned wife emptied every salt mill in the place over her philandering husband’s head. Talk about a mess, in every sense of the word).
“Ssssh.” Eve brought her index finger to her mouth, as though by treating me like a naughty school kid I’d automatically quieten down.
“Sorry, Eve, but she overstepped the mark.”
A dark thought pushed its way to the front of my mind. “Did she tell you she was planning this?”
“What? No! I can’t believe you’d think that!”
I didn’t believe it, not really, because Eve was one hundred per cent “Team Max”. Plus, with secrets not being her forte, there’d be no way she’d have been able to keep her mouth shut if she and Tawna had been in cahoots.
I let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, I just had to be sure.”
“You know my feelings about Darius. He wasn’t good for you first time around, so I’m not going to be his number one fan now. If you decide to give it another go then I’ll bite my tongue and let you get on with it, but for as long as you’re asking for my advice it’s going to be a no from me on that one.”
“Simon Cowell had better watch out,” I said, knowing there was no way I could tell her about Darius’s request for a loan. She’d go ballistic. She already hated him. “Eve McAndrew is gunning for the role of the mean one on The X Factor.”
She poked her tongue out in retort. “I just don’t want to see you making the same mistakes again. Tawna’s so immersed in her little wedding bubble that she’s forgotten how heartbroken you were when you and Darius broke up. And I don’t want to speak badly of her, but she’s biased too. He is Johnny’s best friend, after all.”
“Exactly. But that doesn’t mean he’s right for me.” The words came easily because I’d said them so many times it was like reciting lines from a script. If only I was as convinced as I sounded.
“Exactly,” Eve echoed, not picking up on my concerns. Maybe I did have some acting ability after all. “And you did the right thing telling her off. Don’t let her try to push you together if it’s not what you want.”
“Last night, when I was with Max and his friends it was so relaxed and lovely. There were no pretences and it was a laugh, you know?”
My heart picked up pace and although I was trying to play it cool I wasn’t doing a very good job as Eve smiled kindly and said, “That’s what you need, someone you can be yourself with. You shouldn’t have to be someone you’re not, because you’re already amazing just as you are.”
“Now you’re the one being biased.” Her words reminded me of Nick’s comments about how I deserved better than Darius.
“I’m being honest,” she corrected. “The way Darius tried to change you always made me cross, not to mention that he had no respect for you. You didn’t need the fake tans and the nail extensions and the overpriced dresses. You’re beautiful.”
That made me laugh out loud, because I didn’t feel it. My hair desperately needed a wash and lack of sleep had left my skin a dull, washed-out grey. Make-up could probably have fixed it, but I hadn’t had the inclination knowing we were only staying local. The old Sophie, the one Darius had shaped and moulded, would never have left the house without her war paint.
“That proves you’re either blind or lying, but thank you anyway. You’re a good friend. Unlike others who shall remain nameless.”
“Don’t be too hard on her, Sophie. What she did was wrong, going behind your back like that, but it’s done with love. Talk to her. Let her know how you feel and she’ll soon realise how out of order it was.”
“I don’t think I’m ready to speak to her yet.”
“Well, you’d better get ready, because we’re meeting her in…” Eve looked at her watch, “…ooh, three hours’ time.”
I rested my elbows on the table, allowing my face to fall into my hands.
“I’d forgotten about the dress fitting,” I moaned.
“Call her,” Eve instructed, as Pam unceremoniously placed our brunches in front of us. “Eat up, and then do it. Clear the air. You’ll feel better once you’ve talked it through.”
“Maybe. But unless she apologises there’s no way I’m going.”
I flicked back the lid on the brown sauce, flipped open the stottie and smothered the bacon in the tangy sauce. The smell made my mouth water.
“She’ll apologise, I’m sure of it. And we can tell her about her hen night with Patrick Swayze.”
“If it was him she was trying to set me up with it wouldn’t be a problem.” I laughed, pressing the lid of the stottie back on top of the base. Sauce oozed temptingly out of the sides.
“If it was him she was trying to set you up with then neither Max nor Darius would get a look in.”
Chapter 17
My eyes sprung open, despite my eyelids apparently being made of lead. I wasn’t used to sharing the duvet. There hadn’t been anyone since Darius, so being kicked in the shin as my bed-partner writhed through a bad dream was a pretty rude awakening.
“Eve,” I moaned sleepily, prodding her in the ribs. “Stop it.”
My friend jolted at the contact, all four of her limbs extending. I was not only kicked, but whacked around the face as well. Great. Some thank you for letting her stop over after getting totally sloshed.
After the dress fitting (which hadn’t been as awkward as I’d thought it might have been, because Tawna’s flattery about how much the dress suited me weakened my hard-nosed exterior) the three of us had come back to my house, watched a film and drunk into the early hours.
Three home-measure gin and tonics later I’d brought Darius into the conversation. I felt bad bringing up something that had the potential to ruin such a lovely night, but I couldn’t not.
“You understand though, don’t you, how inviting both of us to your place might make him think I want to get back with him?” I’d said.
Tawna had looked puzzled. “Why would he think that? It was me doing the inviting. It was nothing to do with you.”
“He doesn’t know that though, he probably thinks I put you up to it. You know how full of himself he is. He finds it difficult to believe anyone can resist him.”
“You used to be so happy together, Soph. I just want you to have that smile on your face again.”
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br /> “Stop trying to force my hand! If I do decide to get back with him it’ll not be down to you sticking your oar in.”
Tawna’s face puckered which in turn made me feel guilty. When Eve said she’d never deliberately want to hurt me she was right. We’d been friends since we were five and she’d scooped me up when I’d fallen over in the gravelly infant school playground, taking me to a dinner lady in a checked green pinafore who’d doused my knee in Dettol (which had hurt like nothing else). She’d been looking out for me in her own inimitable way ever since.
“I don’t need Darius to make me smile.” I took a swig of my G&T, swirling the clear liquid around in the glass so the ice cubes jangled against the sides. “I’m capable of finding my own happiness.” The words were nothing more than bravado really, but perhaps if I said them enough I’d start to believe them?
“You are,” Eve agreed, “which is why I want to hear more about Max. Are you going to call him? And when do we get to meet him properly and see if he’s worthy of our Sophie?”
“We kind of left it up in the air,” I admitted. “You can meet him at some point, but not yet, it’ll only scare him off.”
“You met his friends,” Eve stated, “and what are you trying to say? That we’re scary?”
“Not scary, but when it comes to my boyfriends the pair of you act like my gatekeepers. Just this once I want to do things my own way and at my own pace rather than be swayed by your opinions, good or bad.” I knew my friends were still in opposite corners of the boxing ring, with my heart in the middle. If it was going to get pummelled, I needed it to be on my own terms. “Can you both promise that from now on you’ll let me get on with it? I might make the wrong choices, I might make my own mistakes, but that’s what they need to be – mine. What I need from you two, more than anything else, is support. Unconditionally. Can I rely on you for that?”
Tawna and Eve smiled and nodded, and my heart burst with love for these women, the friends I’d walked through life alongside for the past quarter of a century.
“You can rely on us.” Eve raised her glass in a toast.
“Unconditionally,” Tawna added, touching her glass to Eve’s.
A tinkling sound rang out as my own glass chinked against theirs, a sense of contentment filling me as I knocked back the last of my drink.
The morning after, in the cold light of day, I wished I’d gone easier on the booze. It had been nearly two in the morning when Tawna had finally phoned Johnny to come and collect her. It had been easier for Eve to stay the night than go back to the bedroom of the terraced house she’d grown up in and never left. She’d climbed into my king-sized bed with me and we’d talked sleepy drunken nonsense until we couldn’t keep our eyes open a moment longer.
Eve claimed the candyfloss pink cover as her own as she spun around, pulling the duvet over her head until she resembled an enormous marshmallow. I gave up trying to sleep.
My brain jiggled within my skull, like a bolt had come loose somewhere, as I climbed out of bed. I wondered if I may actually be falling apart. The order of the day was a couple of paracetamol and a vat full of coffee.
Two large mugs of coffee and two painkillers later, I felt marginally more human. Being the kind and generous soul I am I poured another coffee to take to Eve, and popped two slices of bread in the toaster. After a slow start I was just about up to stomaching solids. Whether Eve would be remained to be seen.
When the toast sprang up I added a thick, gloopy layer of Nutella. The joy I’d had at finding a reduced jar of the real stuff rather than settling for a supermarket-own brand had been ridiculous. It came to something when other people were celebrating babies, weddings and promotions and my excitement came via a discounted jar of chocolate hazelnut spread.
“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead!” I chirruped, placing the spotty Emma Bridgewater tray on the bedside table before drawing back the curtains. The daylight rushed in with such intensity that I squinted at the glare. Unsurprising the blazing sun didn’t go down well with Eve.
“Let me sleep,” she growled, face-planting herself into a pillow. “Any real friend would.”
“Real friends bring breakfast in bed,” I corrected. “Wake up and smell the coffee.”
At the mention of coffee, my friend stirred. Her bedhead made me smile, and although she grumbled as she pulled herself into an upright position, the soft moan she emitted after the first sip told me she was grateful for the caffeine kick.
“Thank you,” she said, spotting the toast. “This is exactly what the doctor ordered.”
“Don’t say I never do anything for you. And of course you’re welcome to have a shower here when you’re ready. There are clean towels in the bathroom cupboard.”
“I’ll take you up on that, even though I don’t have anything to change into,” she said, pulling a face. “I’m convinced I can smell myself.” She tentatively lifted an armpit, tilted her head and sniffed, before recoiling. “Urgh. Either way, I need that shower.”
“You can borrow something to wear. Take a look through that pile and see if there’s anything you can refashion.” At least my procrastination over the charity shop pile benefitted someone.
Eve wasn’t as curvy as me but she was a similar height. Borrowing my fitted clothes would be out of the question – they’d hang, baggy and shapeless, around her chest due to her lack of boobage – but boho dresses might be passable with an accessory belt casually slung around the waist and would be on trend with festival season coming up.
“I will, thanks.”
We sat in amiable silence as Eve allowed the coffee to work its magic, and I tried not to get uptight about the toast crumbs falling on my bedclothes. I’m like the girl in the fairy tale The Princess and the Pea when it comes to sleep. Darius had peeled off a plaster in bed once and not thought it necessary to take it to the bin in the en suite. I’d freaked out big time when my foot had skimmed against the soiled plaster, convinced it was a rodent. He’d thought it hilarious; I’d thought it disgusting and unhygienic.
By the time Eve was fed, showered and dressed in a floaty knee-length dress (that, although loose, looked okay with a belt), I was ready for fresh air to bring me fully back round. I suggested we walk around the block to get a lungful of the good stuff. Although Eve looked fresher than before, she seemed quite content curled up in the corner of the settee watching repeats of the third season of Gilmore Girls, so I was surprised when she agreed.
The air was infused with a summer aroma that almost knocked us out, the sizzling sun penetrating right through the bare skin of our arms until our bones radiated the heat.
The area was quiet on a Sunday, but an unnatural-for-a-weekend buzz of life hummed from the playground of the nearby primary school. As we got closer I noticed the rows of cars lining the back wall of the school, wallpapering tables in front of them piled high with everything from toys to books to clothes. It was like Max’s charity shop, but thirty-fold.
“Oh, look. A car boot sale. It’s years since I’ve been to one of these.” Eve sounded reflective.
I almost told her there was a good reason why she’d not been to one recently, because they’re full of tat other people are trying to get rid of, but then she added, “My mum used to love a car boot sale, remember?”
The thought of Lucille McAndrew brought a smile to my face. She was one of the quirky mums; usually found wearing clothes that mismatched but that looked funky in a retro, hippy way; her tangled hennaed hair tumbling down past her shoulders. Mrs McAndrew had always had an open house, the back door leading into the family’s small, disorganised off-shot kitchen as well-used as a swanky hotel’s revolving door. Tawna and I had all but lived there as teens, because Eve’s mum had been far more relaxed than our parents. Her opinion had always been “if it’s a choice between you doing these things in the park or doing them under my roof, I’d rather it be here where I can keep an eye on you”. That had led to nights drinking bottles of Apple VK as though it was going out of fashion (whic
h to be honest, it had been) in Eve’s bedroom, and Tawna even brought her first boyfriend, a spotty boy called Richard who had a habit of saying “cool” far too regularly, into Eve’s bedroom when Eve was on a school trip to the WWII battlefields. Eve had been disgusted on her return, insisting her mum put her sheets through two 90 degree Celsius cycle washes in case any bodily fluids remained on her bedding.
“Are we going to have a look around?”
The cardboard sign tied to the wrought-iron gates stated, in large red capitals, FREE ENTRY. It seemed unlikely anything being sold would encourage me to deviate from my enforced non-spending ban, so the car boot sale seemed like the perfect mindless activity to bat away the hangover blues.
“We could,” Eve replied, but the way she pulled her mouth awkwardly to one side suggested she was unsure.
“We don’t have to…” I began, at the same time as she revealed, “I’m trying to save money.”
I found it hard to hide my surprise. Eve always made out she was doing fine financially, thank you very much, and although I didn’t know exactly how much she earned, she had a graduate job. I assumed she’d not have worries when it came to money, but maybe this was what had been bothering her at Tawna’s party, when she’d tried to convince us that her only troubles were work-related.
“For anything in particular?”
She looked at the ground, shifting her feet in a nervous jig. “Well, I’m wanting to get my own place. I can’t stay in the house forever anyway – it’s going to have to be sold sooner or later. Sooner, actually. Mum’s care is costing more than I’d estimated but she’s adamant I stay in the house and won’t even consider selling while I’m living there. That’s why I’m trying to get enough to put down a deposit on a flat. If I move out she’ll see I’m able to stand on my own two feet and then the money from the house sale can go on her care.”
