‘How about him?’ she asks.
‘Astrid, he’s wearing dungarees.’
‘They’re a thing now.’
‘Yeah, if you’re a Super Mario Brother.’
Likewise, I also scan the area. I immediately discount the men two tables down who are wearing dress shoes with jeans but take an interest in the studenty, artisan crowd, waving cigarettes around with wild abandon. The sort you know have poetry in their lockers. Lucy could get with the one in the checked trousers with the scarf. I’d approve of that.
‘Or maybe Luce needs a middle-aged sad case to pull her into check.’
I turn and see a table by the bar where two people are sitting then swerve my head around again immediately. Astrid senses my discomfort.
‘You know them?’ she asks.
‘Yeah. School-run parents.’ I sneak my head around for another glance. No, they are not. That is definitely Ross Cantello, the notorious Carrie Cantello’s husband, and next to him is Liz Boucher, Carrie’s best mate. ‘They’re not together…’ I explain, shocked.
‘They look together,’ Astrid says, who’s in a position to snoop. ‘They’re doing the leg-pretzel thing under the table which I never understand. Unless there’s a tablecloth there then it’s pretty obvious you’re trying to rub his knob with your toes.’
I snort a little on my mojito. Astrid can’t quite look away now and I nudge her.
‘What’s the skinny on these two then?’ she asks.
‘Ross is a recovering alcoholic and his wife is a primo bitch, obsessed with Harry Potter. We’ve knocked heads before in a serious way. And that lady is the wife’s best mate.’
Astrid winces. ‘Wow. And there was me thinking you’d disappeared into some boring version of suburbia. That’s juicy. I’m not sure I understand the appeal, though. I can see his nipples through that jumper. When will people learn to layer?’
I can’t turn now, can I? This is too good. Proper soap-opera-level scandal.
‘What are they doing now?’
‘They’re doing googly eyes. She thinks he’s hilarious. “Oh, Ross… I can’t wait to tweak your nipples later.” There’s also a lot of hair swishing. I take it she’s married too?’
‘Yup.’
‘Hold up.’ She stops Farah and Lucy, who are returning to the table. ‘Girls, stand just there…’ She grabs my phone on the table and takes a picture of them, not knowing we just want the background.
‘Gotcha,’ Astrid says, putting the phone down in front of me. Lucy and Farah look at each other curiously.
‘Who are we stalking?’ Lucy asks. ‘Is it the barman? Forget him. I’ve seen him up close and he has Eminem lyrics tattooed on his neck.’
‘No, it’s some school-gate parents Grace thinks are doing the naughty behind their respective spouses’ backs.’
Lucy’s head swings round, examining the crowd. ‘Oooooh, is it nipples and cork wedges?’
‘Yes,’ I say, pulling her back down to the table.
‘You only wear a cork wedge in August unless you’re in Marbella. It’s the rules,’ Lucy says, taking a long sip of drink. Wow, there are fumes coming off that. Negronis. I don’t trust them because they’re pure liquor. They are intent on hurting you.
Farah positions herself at the table so she can examine Ross and Liz more closely.
‘They look the sort to have some interesting sex. I reckon they meet in Tesco car parks and she blows him in the back seat,’ she says.
We all giggle at the comment. I don’t even want to imagine that as I’ll have to wait outside the Acorn classroom with them tomorrow. Do I feel sympathy here? Carrie was such a bitch to me that it might help explain why Ross plays away but is she a bitch as a consequence of his philandering? There are kids in this picture so that upsets me. But also the fact that Liz is attached to Carrie’s arse most days, that she still holds onto some pretence they are best mates. That, to me, is warped.
‘Don’t giggle too loud. I can’t have them noticing us and then my cover blown,’ I say. This may not be easy with Lucy.
‘That’s a Travelodge affair, you know it. Quick twenty minutes where she does all the work then they take it in turns to use the facilities and she makes the bed afterwards like they haven’t been there,’ Farah continues.
