‘No. That’s not really how these things work.’
‘Oh.’ I seem to have broken some illusion in her head of what the future may look like.
‘Do you think you’ll marry anyone again?’
I shake my head.
‘Well, I don’t think I want to obey anyone so I want to stay with you forever, is that OK?’
I stop for a moment. Forever. I pull her close to me and embrace her tiny frame under mine. I don’t know what that word means any more but let’s promise to do that much. We can hang out together for as long as the fates allow.
‘Is there food now?’ she asks, pulling away.
‘Yes.’
‘I might get married then if there’s food after. Like spaghetti?’ she asks.
‘Perhaps,’ I say, studying the sparkle in her eye. God, this girl loves spaghetti. There are worse things to love.
I hold her hand and let her jump off the chair. Another rogue pair of hands hug me from behind. Cleo. We stand here for a moment, this assortment of arms, super-chic dresses and homemade bouquets.
‘Where’s Ba Linh?’
‘She went to the bar with Aunty Lucy,’ Cleo informs me, rolling her eyes. I hope she gets that eye-roll from me. I hope Lucy knows Linh is on three different types of medication that won’t mix with what she has in mind. The girls glance at me and take a hand each. Look at us all matchy-matchy. Come on, girls, let’s see where this goes. Let’s hope to Elvis there’s forever and spaghetti in our stars.
16
G,
So I’m told I’m going to be in Amsterdam when you’re going to be in Amsterdam. We’re seeing each other, right? Coffee? Spliff and a pancake? Is this going to be weird? I’ve told Astrid that I can stay in a hostel if it’s weird but I suspect it could be good fun. Gracie C going on holiday. This is rare. I bet you’re dispensing all your shampoo out into the little bottles and labelling them, aren’t you? And putting an extra pair of knickers in your handbag. Why do you do this? Is it because you’re scared you’re going to wee yourself? I mean, naturally, this may happen because you’ll be so excited to see me but try not to do that. I get in Tuesday. I hope we get to see each other.
T x
Emma Callaghan is married to Jag Kohli.
‘You see, it’s properly official because it’s on Facebook now,’ Lucy tells me, waving her device in my face. The wedding was two days ago now and, despite Lucy’s attempts to borrow Meg’s credit card, christen the union with sambuca and put a tab behind the bar, it was the civilised affair Emma and Jag had wanted. There was chicken for the main (tenner for Lucy) and a sensible treacle tart for dessert and we all parted ways at four-ish with dresses we could use again for other occasions. Looking at Lucy’s phone now, I see the picture Emma has chosen for her profile and it makes my heart sing. Instead of the standard shot, it’s some reportage snap of the moment Jag whispered something into her ear and she’s creased over with laughter. And it’s that Emma you don’t see too often, one who has let her emotions into the open for the world to see. I hope her ex-husband catches this picture on social media. I hope it makes him cry.
‘Is that what you’re wearing?’ Lucy asks me when she finds me in the kitchen.
‘Yes? It’s dinner with Astrid and Farah. It’s hardly going to be a big night out,’ I reply.
‘Are you wearing make-up?’ Lucy asks.
‘Are you saying I need make-up?’
‘I was thinking of going a bit jazzy, girls’ night out?’ she hints with actual jazz hands.
I shake my head. After karaoke and entertaining all the guests who’ve descended on Bristol for the memorial, I don’t want another big night out. I want a dinner with close friends where I know I can wear trainers and won’t be judged for it. Given the tightness of her dress and her platform boots, Lucy, however, has different plans.
‘Go on, have a nice evening,’ adds Linh, sitting at my kitchen table reading a newspaper.
‘It will be but I want to be back at a reasonable hour too. Are you sure you don’t mind looking after the girls and Isaac?’
Linh shakes her head at me. This sleepover had been planned weeks back and I didn’t want to renege on my promise. Isaac showed up an hour ago with a sleeping bag and swimming goggles so the lad means business, but I am worried three kids may tip Linh over the edge. Speak of the devil, he runs into the kitchen.
‘Hi, Linh! Hi, everyone!’
We all wave at him.
