squeals in approval as we air kiss.
‘Becks! You skinny malink.’ Pam kisses me twice on each cheek. I think the month in France at the family chalet has gone to her head.
I’m sucking in my tummy.
‘No! Are you serious? I’ve bloody ballooned. Thanks, though.’
Quick aside: I’d squeezed myself into something very tight and black before the taxi had honked. FYI, the ensemble was over a one-size-too-small pair of Spanx that I had purchased (with huge shame) in Marks & Spencer’s. Judging by my gal pals, it has sucked me in at all the right places and created a slimming illusion. Honestly, it is a kind of black magic – worth every penny. Breathing is so over-rated, anyway.
Since I’ve now passed the big Three-Oh threshold, I’ll need to be on major frump alert.
‘Happy birthday,’ Emer and Pam chorus as I slide in beside them.
Pam passes me a Brown Thomas gift bag, and I air kiss her again. It’s probably a darling lipstick from the Chanel counter. Pam slides a birthday card over to me, with a badge that reads ‘I’m 30, buy me a drink!’, and there is a spa gift voucher inside.
‘Thanks, girls,’ I give a watery smile. ‘Let’s hope this evening is better than last night.’
The girls exchange uneasy looks. I’d texted them both this afternoon in a right state, so they know that something is up. Hopefully, they can utter words of wisdom in between cocktails.
‘What happened, pet?’ Emer asks.
Dressed in a jersey wrap dress and expensive jewellery, Emer oozes effortless class. She smacks of old money. You know, there’s not much of that about these days. Such a pity. Her blonde hair is shoulder length and sensible.
Pam, on the other hand, is dressed in a black shapeless dress, and her auburn hair is scraped into a large clip. I can tell that she’s hungover from the night before by the way she’s knocking back her Malibu and Coke. Her eye make-up is smudged.
‘Well,’ I sigh dramatically for effect.
The girls lean in closer. I’m the centre of attention, and loving every minute.
‘I think I’ll start with a Sex on the Beach. For old time’s sake.’
‘Forget the drinks!’ says Pam. ‘Tell us!’
‘What’s up?’ Emer rests her chin on her left hand, and I notice her dazzler. At three carats, it’s hard to miss. You can probably see it from space. I’m practically blind looking at it, but can’t avert my gaze. The bitchy school girl in me shouts how gauche it is, but I know that if I had a granny I’d sell her for one just like it. Emer orders us a Strawberry Daiquiri, a Mojito and an Appletini. I’m ready to divulge the sordid details.
‘It’s all gone tits up, girls. Barry took me out to dinner last night for my birthday and gave me this.’
I produce my limp wrist with the bracelet dangling, and study their faces for a reaction.
‘Oh, wow. It’s gorgeous.’ Emer strokes the diamonds.
‘Yeah. I suppose. Kind of hoping for something else though, you know?’ I point to my bare left ring finger.
‘Ah, Rebecca, don’t worry. Give him time.’
Emer is right, of course she is, but I can’t help it, I’m devastated.
‘Anyway, this morning before work we had a massive row.’
‘Jesus, another one?’
Pam can be a tad cheeky. I decide to take the high road. Much less traffic.
‘He says he’s not ready to get married just yet.’
‘Selfish eejit,’ Pam declares.
‘He stormed off to work and I haven’t seen him since. He hasn’t called to check on me or anything. I think it’s over. I had to ring in sick to work, I was in such a state.’
‘He’ll be back,’ soothes Emer. ‘Let him cool off.’
I’m fluttering my fingertips at my eyes, as if I can shoo the tears back in. One lands with a plop on the table. I feel all wobbly. Perhaps it’s the emotional trauma of it all. I didn’t sleep a wink the night before. Now, I know it’s hard to believe, but if I don’t get my full ten hours a night, I’m a complete diva! Besides, according to Tyra Banks, the best thing you can have in your make-up bag is a good night’s sleep.
‘You poor thing,’ Emer continues.
That’s more like it.
‘Thanks. And you know, all I said to set the war off this time was “What are your thoughts on wedding lists?” It’s a simple enough question, yeah? I mean, am I not allowed to make conversation over breakfast? Are people these days meant to resort to censorship? This isn’t communist Russia, last time I checked!’
‘Good riddance to him. Like I always say,’ Pam is slurring already, ‘another man is just around the next cocktail!’
Pam raises her glass and loses half of the contents of her Malibu and Coke. Emer elbows her in the ribs and gives her a warning look.
‘Ah, give him a chance.’ Emer touches her pearl earring with a French-manicured finger.
Pam is the devil on my shoulder and Emer is the angel. They’re kind of a package deal, you know? It’s like buying the lasagne sauce and getting the free dish. We all met in the late nineties in Trinity College Dublin (or Trinners, as we fondly refer to it). This was, of course, back in the days before we discovered mobile phones and fake tans. Frankly, I don’t know how we survived before either. Emer completed an honours business and marketing degree and graduated first in her year. In sharp contrast, Pam had started an arts degree like myself, but never quite limped to the finish line. A trip to India got in the way. She went to find herself, but I think she’s still looking.
Emer has it all. While I slip slowly into insanity in a dead-end job, she’s a successful marketing director with a finance firm in the city centre. I’m still not sure exactly what that entails, although she’s explained it to me a few times, but I know it involves a lot of hiring and firing of incompetent assistants and wearing tailored suits. While I drive a beaten-up Volkswagen Golf with windscreen wipers that don’t move (not ideal in this climate), her latest bonus allows her to drive a convertible Mercedes. And most infuriatingly, while I can’t seem to get Barry to commit, she and husband David are DINKS – Double Income No Kids. They enjoy luxury breaks and the latest gadgets. It’s ever so slightly sickening, really. If I wasn’t simply mad about her (oh, and if Barry and I didn’t holiday in her Majorcan villa), she would likely be someone I would despise.
Pam, on the other hand, is not so lucky. This is especially true in love. Between you and me, she is like a Jedward performance when it comes to the romance department. Quite the cringe fest! She bounces from one poisonous relationship to the next. Married men, sleazy men, men who don’t call the next day – she has experienced them all. Twice. The worst part is that she gives them so many chances, and then Emer and I have to tell her to cop the flip on. Still, it doesn’t seem to dampen her enthusiasm.
