tut. ‘I’m just trying to make friends. And maybe, if I’m good at it, it’s something I could turn into a business.’
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘I’m not knocking it.’
We sit in silence for a moment, then Jake says, ‘Maybe we could have them over for dinner one night when the husband’s back. What do you think?’
‘Good idea. I’ve no idea when he’s back, though. She made it sound like he’s hardly ever home.’
‘Oh well. Bear it in mind.’
‘I will.’ I close my eyes and sigh, thinking about the loneliness; the talking to myself; the constant fight to stop the blackness from taking me over; and the wretched ways in which I’d tried to make friends when we first arrived. Jake doesn’t know but I used to go to the Greek deli and buy things I’d never eat – tubs of olives and feta – just because the woman behind the counter seemed nice and I’d thought maybe we could become friends. The thought of it now makes me cringe. Had I really been so desperate? But as I sat there on the sofa that night, I sensed that things were changing. This was the beginning of a new chapter. I’d got a friend, and no way was I going to let her go.
I’m at the station at bang on ten on Monday morning, ready to catch the train to Victoria with Anna. It’s a blustery day and I sweep into the ticket hall, slightly out of breath from having had to walk into a strong headwind, my coat and scarf flying out behind me. I know at once, even before I’ve scanned all the people in the ticket office, that Anna isn’t there. My heart shrinks with disappointment.
There are three sets of people waiting, so I join the end of the line and start stressing immediately about whether or not I should buy Anna’s ticket to save time, or wait to see if she actually turns up. It’s not my best trait, but I get quite anal about tardiness. The first couple in the queue leaves the counter, putting their tickets and purses back in huge handbags, and we all shuffle forward. I want to believe the best of Anna, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’s postponed an arrangement we’ve had. In fact, when I think about it, which I try not to but feel I have to, Anna’s delayed every single plan she’s made with me: the packing day, the lunch, the shopping day. Not cancelled – delayed. You’re being too sensitive, I tell myself, and shuffle another step closer to the ticket counter.
Too quickly it’s my turn and, until the words actually come out of my mouth, I honestly don’t know how many tickets I’m going to ask for.
‘Two one-day travelcards, please,’ I say and, right as I’m wondering if I’ve just made an expensive mistake, Anna bursts into the ticket hall and rushes up to me, pulling her wallet out of her bag as she reaches the counter.
‘How much is it?’ She whacks a twenty-pound note on the counter and I almost throw up with relief, not because of the money, but because Anna’s actually turned up. I knew she would!
‘Hey! Morning!’ I say, then I do a double-take as I see what she’s wearing. ‘Oh my god!’ I laugh. ‘You’ve got my coat! I swear I didn’t copy you!’ I laugh to show I’m joking.
But Anna frowns as she looks at her coat and then at mine. The two couldn’t be more different.
‘Doh!’ I say. ‘I’m not wearing it! But I have it at home. I swear it’s my favourite!’
Anna smiles and shrugs as she touches the sleeve of her coat. ‘I love it, too.’
‘Like minds!’ We smile brightly at each other. ‘Right, ready for a day of shopping?’
‘Can’t wait,’ says Anna. Her cheeks are pink and her hair windswept. She looks pretty and fun and full of life, and I’m so pleased to be standing here with her in this moment. So proud to be her friend.
We pass through the ticket barriers and onto the platform. ‘I’ve got something to show you,’ I say. I’m so full of the joy of giving and sharing, I feel like it’s Christmas Day and I’m about to give a child something really cute and fluffy like a kitten. Anna looks quizzically at me as I get out my phone and click on Photos, then I turn it towards her so she can see the screen.
‘Look. It’s a mood board I did for you. What do you think?’
‘Oh my god. You did this for me?’ She takes the phone.
I nod. ‘It was too big to carry up to London so I photographed it for you. I’ll send it to you so it’s on your phone, too.’
‘Oh wow.’ Anna’s enlarging the image and looking at all the different pictures. ‘Oh my god, the style looks so … “done”. It looks amazing. And you think this would be possible to do in my living room?’
I nod again, feeling like Croydon’s answer to Kelly Hoppen. ‘You have a lot of those colours there already. It’s just a matter of getting a few more bits – some cushions, throws et cetera – and some accessories. Easy-peasy. I thought we could start in John Lewis, have a mooch in Zara Home, and maybe pop down to Habitat and Heal’s after, if you’ve got the energy. What do you think?’
‘Sounds great,’ says Anna. She closes the photo then clicks on another. ‘Ooh, is this another one? What’s this? Do you mind?’
‘Oh that? That’s one I did using the colours Jake and I have in our house,’ I say. ‘I don’t know if it’s your style… We go for a sort of New England look. Coastal, I guess.’
I watch, secretly pleased she’s found the other mood board until I remember with a jolt the collage I made of her pregnancy pictures, which suddenly now seems inappropriate. I pretty much snatch my phone back, click it closed and drop it into my bag. She doesn’t seem to notice anything peculiar.
‘Oh my god, it’s gorgeous,’ she says, smiling as if she’s just seen a holy vision. ‘Do you think I could do that?’
‘You like it?’
‘Yes! I love it! If I had to describe how I want my house to look, that would be it! Can we do the blue one? Please?’
Honestly? I’m surprised. From what she already owns, I didn’t have her down as a New England type – but who am I to argue? I’m chuffed to bits she likes my style.
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘It’ll mean buying a few more bits, and perhaps covering your sofa and painting some of your wooden pieces, but we can do it. Sure.’
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ says Anna.
‘Look, here’s the train now,’ I say, looking down the track so Anna doesn’t see how much I’m smiling.
*
It’s nearly five o’clock by the time we get back to Croydon. I don’t know about Anna, but I’m exhausted. We’re laden down with bags of all shapes, weights and sizes, and my steps, as we head towards Anna’s, get slower and slower. The wind’s still blowing and it takes all my energy to walk against it with the bags bumping against my legs as if they’re on a sadistic mission to trip me up.
‘Look at us hunched into the wind like a couple of old ladies,’ I say. ‘Wow, London’s exhausting. That
