‘Simply scrumptious,’ says Soraya.
‘Yeah, so is the trout,’ says Carol.
‘The food is fabulous here. This was definitely the right choice,’ I say.
After a long boozy lunch, we head for a wander around the shops, which, on reflection, probably wasn’t the best idea if I am to stick to my strict holiday budget.
We walk past palm trees against the backdrop of high-rise apartment blocks and window-shop for the most part, almost bumping into each other as we admire the displays.
Soraya impulsively decides that we should go to the casino tonight and needs a fancy new frock, so we stop at one of the ubiquitous boutiques selling designer clothes. Despite having brought plenty of clothes with her, she insists she needs something new. I grimace as I think about what I will be wearing. I hope the dress code isn’t too lavish, or I won’t be allowed in.
Carol and I sit around waiting on the deep purple velvet sofa in the posh boutique as Soraya tries on a few dresses. We give our opinions, and when she comes out in the most beautiful black dress with diamante around the neckline, both Carol and I agree that this is the one for her. Soraya looks absolutely stunning. I can’t believe she will be fifty tomorrow. Neither can I believe how quickly we have all hit our half-century. When we were in school, we all wanted to be the eldest. But when I was the first to celebrate this milestone birthday, I quickly went to wishing I was the youngest.
After hitting the shops and with Soraya’s dress safely wrapped in a fancy bag, we head back to the apartment to get ready for tonight. If we are going to a world-famous casino, it’s going to take hours. At least there are so many bathrooms in the property that we won’t have to fight over whose turn it is.
Excitedly, we prepare for our glamorous evening, which takes me back to our teenage years. We blast out an Eighties radio station that Carol has managed to find on the state-of-the-art stereo in the living room, and it is just like being back in 1989 before the disco in our local church hall. Except now we sit around in Velcro curlers getting ready, instead of those bendy rag things we used to put in our hair and use normal hairspray instead of something that would make our hair abnormally rock hard for weeks.
By the time we are ready, I begin to feel as though I can mingle with the best of them and walk into the casino with my head held high. However, when we approach the casino and I am faced with columns and chandeliers so grand they would only be fit for the most extravagant of palaces, my imposter syndrome kicks in, and I am forced to realise that I am not part of the jet set whatsoever. I may have thought the long black and gold dress that I bought a few years back would be ideal when I was getting ready, but now I realise it just looks dated as I look at the elegant women playing blackjack in the latest collections. The material suddenly feels inferior: thin and cheap compared to these women in their fine silks that are probably made from the cocoons of rare types of silkworms that I haven’t even heard of. I am a polyester girl walking among this cashmere society. As for the men, they are equally swanky, and a group of them in tuxedos and bow ties cheers as they win on the roulette. Carol looks over, and I tell her to behave as the croupiers rake the chips back in and prepare to start a new game.
‘Oh, look at those guys on the roulette table,’ says Soraya.
‘Yeah, don’t worry. I already noticed. Actually, I’ve always fancied a go at proper roulette. I bought a little set in Argos once for when the boys turned eighteen, but it wasn’t quite the same as playing in a casino. I think we lost half the chips,’ says Carol. That sounds typical of Carol; she’s always the most disorganised out of the three of us.
Both Carol and Soraya are eager to play on the roulette. However, the thought of losing even the slightest bit of money scares me. Buying a scratch card seems like a luxury nowadays. I insist that I will stand next to my friends and watch as they place their bets.
‘Oh, go on. Have one go,’ says Carol.
‘What’s your lucky number?’ says Soraya.
‘No, I can’t.’
‘It’s almost my birthday. I can do whatever I want. Give me a number, and I’ll put a bet on for you.’
I tell her there is no way I am accepting anything more from her than I have already taken. Her generosity knows no bounds.
Soraya looks at the croupier and then at me.
‘Come on. Quick, she’s starting. Number?’
‘Seven then.’
‘Black or red?’
‘Umm, red.’
Soraya manages to place the bet just in time, and we watch as the wheel spins. It rumbles along the lower numbers, the higher numbers, and everything in between. Then we watch closely as the roulette wheel begins to slow down.
‘Come on. It’s got to be twenty-three,’ shouts Carol. But slowly the wheel passes her number and stops. It takes a moment to register, and it is only because Carol and Soraya are grabbing me and trying to high five me that it all computes. I watch as the croupier hands over a load of chips to me.
‘You won, my dear. It’s yours,’ says Soraya.
‘No. I’m not taking it. It’s your money. You paid for the bet.’
‘Stop it. When you are a massive bestselling author, you can treat me. But you can buy us a drink, and that won’t be cheap,’ says Soraya. Then she points towards the cashier’s glass compartment for me to exchange my chips for the real stuff.
‘No arguing. Just go and cash your chips in, will you.’
I give Soraya a stern look and shake my head. She is generous to a fault.
