though had obviously kept in touch with both of them.
I bet they didn’t think they’d see each other either. They are chalk and cheese, the opposite ends of our friendship spectrum and it kind of shows. The vibe isn’t one of giggly reminiscing.
Now when I say ‘friends’ I do mean real, actual friends, as in met at school and drifted apart friends. Not mates from work or people I’ve met on social media.
Sadly though, like a lot of people, I chat less to the real ones because Facebook is about work connections, and all I ever seem to do these days is work. And, let’s face it, these were Rach’s friends. I did have friends of my own, in my own class, as well. Rach was just cooler.
‘Long time no see!’ I bet Sal is running a mega corporation, has an office bigger than my flat, a personal trainer, and survives on quinoa, Japanese poke bowls and kefir (I only know these exist because I have taken photos for Coral – who then proceeded to joke with all her friends about the fact I’d called it quin-o-a not keen-whaaaaa). In fact, I bet Sal grows the stuff herself because she only needs thirty-five seconds sleep a night.
I’m not going to ask. I’m more Krispy Kreme doughnuts than quinoa, if you know what I mean. And most of that healthy stuff just seems to get stuck in my teeth and annoy me for the rest of the day. Whoever thought a rice cake was a good idea? I mean, who dreamt that the words rice and cake should even be in the same sentence?
‘You look amazing, you both do!’ I glance to Maddie, then back at Sal.
Sally looks like she’s put on a few pounds, but she’s glowing. Though Maddie looks a bit sad if I’m honest. Peaky is the term my gran might use.
‘Aww, thanks, Jane.’ Sally slips elegantly off her stool, in the way only tall people can do, and stands up. She towers over me. She always was tall, but now she’s got killer heels on, a waft of expensive perfume, and the type of nails and complexion that says she spends more time pampering than working. So maybe I’m wrong about the mega corporation – unless somebody pampers her while she works. I can see that, I can really see it. A shoulder massage from behind, and a foot massage under her desk, as she shouts out orders on speakerphone.
She’s probably one of those people that has multiple orgasms every time, without losing the place in her book.
She air-kisses me, grins and sits down.
‘Wow, how good is this? The Fab Four reunited!’ I’m aware I sound a bit lame, but I’m temporarily at a loss for meaningful words.
‘I was aiming for the Fab Five!’ Rach looks mischievously at us all.
‘What? Not Beth?’ I look round wildly. Beth with her vodka habit, and Saturday Night Fever dance steps that could clear a floor in seconds, was my naughty-sides twin. She might have brought out the worst in me, but she was so much fun, with a capital F.
The real Fab Four had been Rachel, Beth, Sally and Maddie – until I’d come along and been shoe-horned into the group. But then one day, I’d been tagging along on a night out, and Sal hadn’t, so Beth had declared me an honorary member of the group. I reckon she did it to piss Sally off, but I didn’t really care. I was in.
‘Beth with the boobs?’ That bit comes from Sal, but we all know who she means.
While the rest of us were considering whether booster bras, balconies, or foam fillets would do the trick, slim and petite Beth was displaying her super-sized wares with ease. Sometimes life isn’t fair.
‘Where is she?’
‘She couldn’t come.’
I groan, but I swear Sal perks up. She doesn’t like the competition.
‘But wait for it girls …’ Rachel really is taking the stage now. ‘She said no because …’ She is drawing this one out, but we’re all leaning forward in anticipation. ‘She couldn’t get a babysitter!’
Whatever I thought she was going to say. It wasn’t that.
‘Bloody hell.’ Sal is wide-eyed. ‘Who’d have thought hell raiser Beth would have got up the duff. She was so not the mothering type, she even had her nipples pierced!’
‘She was nice.’ Maddie’s quiet comment gets lost in the excitement. ‘I’m sure she’s made a lovely mum.’
All I can think of is a baby with a mouthful of titanium nipple bar. It is not a pleasant thought.
‘I’d not actually seen Beth for yonks ’cos she did a bit of a disappearing act, moved away, then my mum bumped into hers and she passed on her phone number! She said she’d love to meet up with old friends, ’cos she’s been a bit isolated being stuck at home with a baby. I’ve not actually seen the baby yet, but it’s only tiny, and Beth said she’s been all hormonal, and bigger-boobed than ever,’ this is mind-boggling, ‘and her head isn’t in the right place at all, and …’
‘Wow, she’s married! She beat us all in the adulting stakes!’ I’m a bit gobsmacked. Beth, in my head, will always be the hell-raiser. The one who said boyfriends were for losers (unless they were studded to within an inch of their life, had more nose rings than a herd of bullocks, and more tats than teeth), and pulled a puke-face if she ever saw a baby attached to a nipple – which could be why she got the piercings, I suppose, the biggest barricade to natural feeding ever.
The image of Beth with a baby clasped to her bosom and a husband doing the dishes is just weird.
‘Well, not exactly …’ There is another long Rachel pause. ‘She’s on her own, and she won’t say who the father is!’
I’m not really into these reunions, I mean, there’s a reason you drift apart, isn’t there? And sometimes those reasons are bigger than others. But this one is turning out to be slightly surreal.
Beth has to be the biggest shock. From teenage hell-raiser to worn-out single mum with a secret before I’ve even made a decision on whether a tat would be cool or trying too hard.
‘But she said next time we get together, she’ll be there!’ I think this is Rach-speak for ‘she’ll be at the wedding’, but it looks like she hasn’t broken that nugget of news to the others yet. The wedding bit.
There’s a lull, while everybody thinks about Beth. I decide I need to fill it.
‘Any other births, deaths or marriages I should know about?’ I’m clambering onto a stool as I speak, when Rachel starts to manhandle me and nearly knocks me flying. Looks like I said the wrong thing.
‘Hang on, don’t sit down yet; help me get the drinks in before we get chatting.’ She’s got hold of my arm and is sweeping me along with her towards the bar before I can object. We don’t stop though. After a brief glimpse over her shoulder to check we’re not under observation, she charges onwards, like a mini rhino on a rampage, and I find myself bundled into the bathroom.
Maybe she has been recruited as a spy, as well as getting married.
She slams the door shut, then spins round.
I’ve never been in such posh loos. Except I’m not getting much opportunity to look round or take photos, as Rachel has me pinned against the dryer, which goes
