the dot of five, laughing with his usual pack of cronies as they made their way towards the lifts. He’d not even bothered to check in with her on his way out, assuming she would do whatever was necessary to ensure their department was ready for the client meeting on Tuesday. The project had been passed to him by one of the directors a fortnight previously, but either through incompetence or arrogance he’d chosen to do absolutely nothing with it.
Stuffing the file, a stack of printouts, and her phone into the backpack she used in lieu of a handbag, Beth swapped her heels for the comfy trainers under her desk and disconnected her laptop from the desk terminal. Coat on and scarf tucked around the lower half of her face, she waved goodnight to Sandie, the cleaner, and trudged out of the office.
The worst of the commuting crowd had thinned so at least she had a seat on the train as it hurtled through the dank Victorian tunnels of the Underground. The heating had been turned up full blast against the February chill but, like most of the hardened travellers around her, Beth ignored the sweat pooling at the base of her spine and kept her eyes glued on the screen of her phone. Music filled her ears from the buds she’d tucked in the moment she’d stepped on board, drowning out the scritch-scritch of a dozen other people doing exactly the same thing.
She never felt further from home than when crammed in with a load of strangers who made ignoring each other into an artform. In Lavender Bay everyone waved, nodded or smiled at each other, and passing someone you knew without stopping for a ten-minute chat was unthinkable. After three years in London, there were people she recognised on her regular commute, but they’d never acknowledged each other. Nothing would point a person out as not belonging faster than being so gauche as to strike up a conversation on public transport.
The anonymity had appealed at first, a sign of the sophistication of London where people were too busy doing important stuff to waste their precious time with inane conversations. Not knowing the daily minutiae of her friends and neighbours, the who’d said what to whom, was something she’d never expected to miss quite so much. Having everyone in her business had seemed unbearable throughout her teenage years, especially with a mother like Linda. But on nights like this, knowing even the people who shared the sprawling semi in the leafy suburbs where she rented a room for an eyewatering amount wouldn’t be interested in anything other than whether she’d helped herself to their milk, loneliness rode her hard.
Cancelling the impending pity party, Beth swayed with the motion of the train as she made her way towards the doors when they approached her station. A quick text to Eliza and Libby would chase the blues away. The odds of either of them having Friday night plans were as slim as her own so a Skype chat could probably be arranged. Smiling at the thought, she stepped out of the shelter of the station and into the freezing January evening air.
Clad in a pair of her cosiest pyjamas, Beth settled cross-legged in the centre of her bed as she waited for her laptop to connect to the app. The piles of papers she’d been working from for the past hour had been replaced by the reheated takeaway she’d picked up on her way home, and a large bottle of ice-cold Sauvignon Blanc. With perfect timing, Eliza’s sweetly-beaming face popped up in one corner of her screen just as Beth shovelled a forkful of chow mien into her mouth. ‘Mmmpf.’ Not the most elegant of greetings, but it served to spread that smile into an outright laugh.
‘Hello, Beth, darling!’ Eliza glanced back over her shoulder as though checking no one was behind her then leant in towards the camera to whisper. ‘I’m so glad you texted. Martin’s obsessed with this latest bloody game of his, so you’ve saved me from an evening of pretending to be interested in battle spells and troll hammers.’ She rolled her eyes then took a swig from an impressively large glass of rosé to emphasise her point.
Fighting her natural instinct to say something derogatory about her best friend’s husband, Beth contented herself with a mouthful of her own wine. It wasn’t that she disliked Martin, per se. It was almost impossible to dislike someone so utterly inoffensive, she just wished her friend didn’t seem so unhappy. The two of them had made a sweet couple at school, but Beth had always assumed the attraction would wear off once Eliza gained a bit more confidence and expanded her horizons beyond the delicate wash of purple fields encircling their home town.
When Martin had chosen the same university as them both though, her friend had declared herself delighted so Beth had swallowed her misgivings and watched as they progressed to an engagement and then marriage. They’d moved north for Martin’s job, and fallen into a kind of domestic routine more suited to a middle-aged couple. Eliza never said a word against him, other than the odd jokey comment about his obsession with computer games, but there was no hiding the flatness in her eyes. Beth suspected she was unhappy, but after her own spectacular crash-and-burn romance, she was in no position to pass judgment on anyone else’s relationship.
Opting yet again for discretion over valour, Beth raised her glass to toast her friend. ‘Bad luck for you, but great for me. I miss you guys so much and after the day I’ve had I need my girls for a moan.’
A sympathetic frown shadowed Eliza’s green eyes. ‘What’s that horrible boss of yours done this time?’ She held up a hand almost immediately. ‘No, wait, don’t tell me yet, let’s wait for Libs. She’ll be along any minute, I’m sure.’
Beth checked her watch before forking up another mouthful of noodles. It was just after half past nine. The fish and chip shop Libby helped her father to run on the seafront at Lavender Bay closed at 9 p.m. out of season. With any luck she’d be finished with the clean up right about now…
The app chirped to signal an incoming connection and a pale and harassed-looking Libby peered out from a box on the screen. ‘Hello, hello! Sorry I’m late. Mac Murdoch decided to try and charm his wife with a saveloy and extra chips to make up for staying two pints over in The Siren.’
Beth’s snort of laughter was echoed by Eliza as she pictured the expression on Betty Murdoch’s face when her husband rolled in waving the greasy peace offering. Considering she looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp on the best of days, she didn’t fancy Mac’s chances.
Eliza waggled her eyebrows. ‘She won’t be sharing his sausage anytime soon.’
‘Oh, God! Eliza!’ Libby clapped her hands over her eyes, shaking her head at the same time. ‘That’s an image I never wanted in my poor innocent brain!’ The three of them burst into howls of laughter.
Gasping for breath, Beth waved a hand at her screen. ‘Stop, stop! You’ll make me spill my bloody wine.’ Which was a horrifying enough thought to quell them all into silence as they paused to take a reverent drink from their glasses.
Libby lifted a hank of her hair, dyed some shade of blue that Beth had no name for, and gave it a rueful sniff. ‘So, I get why I’m all alone apart from the smell of fried fish, but what’s up with you two that we’re hanging out on this fine Friday night?’
‘Work,’ Beth muttered, digging into her takeaway.
‘Age of Myths and bloody Legends.’ Eliza said.
‘Ah.’ Libby nodded in quiet sympathy. She knew enough about them both that nothing else was needed. People who didn’t know them well found their continuing friendship odd. Those bonds formed in the classroom through proximity and necessity often stretched to breaking point once they moved beyond the daily routine. Beth and Eliza had left their home town of Lavender Bay, whilst Libby stayed at home to help her father after the untimely death of her mum to cancer when Libby had been just fourteen.
They made a good trio—studious Beth, keeping her head down and out of trouble; warm, steady Eliza who preferred a book or working on a craft project to almost anything else; and snarky Libby with her black-painted nails and penchant for
