Farah rolls her eyes and Lucy swings her legs over the bench. Jesus, Lucy, how much have you had to drink, because that barman has a shit beard like a bargain-basement Disney villain.
‘You look really well, hun,’ Astrid says as soon as they’re out of earshot.
I put a head to her shoulder. Astrid rarely talks of Tom and his passing. To her, he was an acquired friend, someone she inherited after I went to university, but she welcomed him into our fold, which is very her.
‘And how are you feeling about the weekend? All sorted?’ she asks.
‘Kinda. I guess it’s all lined up, ready to go.’
She studies my face. You can tell she has mixed feelings about how this will affect me but she’s here and that to me signals her strong empathy and the true quality of our friendship.
‘Farah and I have news. We’ve been looking into surrogacy recently. I don’t know, maybe something about what you did made us think.’
‘Astrid! That is amazing. Really?’
‘Really. It seems there are many options for a lesbian couple, though – adoption, fostering or we can go and choose some spunk from a clinic. We’re just revelling in the choice for now.’
I reach out and hold her hand. ‘You’re not asking me to be your surrogate, are you?’
‘Ha! No. I’d ask Lucy before you.’
‘Charming.’
‘Mate, we’ve got to keep that one busy or she’ll find trouble. She keeps telling me she’s bi now.’
‘Yep. Mum says it’s a phase. I don’t know. To me though, it’s just a long line of one night stands and anecdotes that she relays via WhatsApp and emojis.’
‘It’s Luce. I feel we could spend a lifetime working her out. But look how bloody happy she is. She embraces everything with such joy. It’s inspiring if vaguely annoying.’
I don’t deny that at all; absurdly happy seems to be Lucy’s default emotion.
‘And I’d say the same for you. It’s good to see you so… well. When I saw you in Amsterdam last time, all that emotion was still etched in your face. You look a bit…’
‘Less pained?’
‘More Grace…’ she says, leaning into me. ‘Luce also said there was a school-dad booty call on the scene?’
‘The gob on that girl. His name is Sam. It’s just a thing.’
‘Well, you be careful there, yeah? Look after yourself.’
‘What with? My bits?’
She knocks her head back to laugh. ‘I mean, look after your heart.’
I’ll try. Our heads suddenly turn when we hear my sister’s cackle from across the restaurant and see her lean into the bar in the way Lucy does. She ended up going full out-out which means she’s wearing her good pants or none at all. But please, not that barman.
‘She doesn’t let up, does she?’ Astrid says.
‘Well, you have to admire how she takes the bull by the horns.’
‘Quite literally.’
If I go near the bull pen, I will pet the bull cautiously until we’ve developed a rapport.
‘I mean, she can do better than that barman, though? He doesn’t even have an arse – it’s waist and his trousers just hang there.’
‘You’re asking the wrong girl,’ Astrid jokes. She looks around the bar space. It’s a midweek crowd so most are here for celebrations or after-work dinner specials.
