To:Lucy Jacobs
Subject:Re: So??
We have a list to work through, can you believe it? ANOTHER FUCKING LIST. Why is this my life? She gives us something new every week – this week we’ve each to make a CD with three songs that describe our relationship. Oliver doesn’t seem too engaged with the whole thing but at least he’s trying.
From:Lucy Jacobs
To:Phoebe Henderson
Subject:Re: So??
Well, that’s different. Whatever will you choose? You should just take three random, ‘I’m going to boot his truck to fuck’ country songs and make him listen to them on repeat until death.
Wednesday February 8th
I took Molly to nursery this afternoon, trying my best not to make eye contact with Lord Wilson but she cornered me as I was making small talk with Lena and Judith (who also cannot stand her).
‘Ruby was talking about coming to play at your house, Phoebe,’ she began, without an apology for interrupting. ‘Which is fine, in theory, but I just wanted to check where you live exactly before we take this any further.’
Lena and Judith slipped quietly away, making it clear that I’m on my own here. Rotten bastards. ‘West End,’ I responded. ‘You know Dowanhill?’
‘Of course!’ she replied. The mere mention of an upmarket address brought a smile to her pointy face.
‘Well, not there,’ I continued. ‘We’re much closer to Maryhill . . . or should I sayScaryhill?’
Her smile changed first to a look of confusion and then annoyance when she realised that I was messing with her. Still, she put on her fake laugh and slapped me on the shoulder with her leather-gloved hand. ‘You almost had me there,’ she snorted. ‘You wouldn’t be in the catchment area for this nursery if you lived there! Anyway, we’ll arrange a play date – yes?’
And with that, she about-turned and teetered out of the building, heels clipping loudly against the floor like a Shire horse. I finished putting Molly’s trainers in her gym bag, wondering why the fuck Sarah Ward-Wilson had taken a shine to me, out of all the mums here.
Thursday February 9th
Back to Pam’s today for the big playlist reveal, with a still-unconvinced Oliver who sighed as he sat down, clutching his CD. Apparently just Bluetoothing over a playlist wasn’t ceremonial enough or something; physically making and handing over a CD was a far more personal way to reveal our feelings.
‘How did you get on this week?’ she asked, watching Oliver fiddle with his CD case. ‘Any problems?’
‘I’m not entirely sure how effective this will be,’ Oliver blurted out. ‘Like, men and women view music very differently, especially romantic music or touchy-feely shit. We just don’t do it very often.’
‘But some of the most romantic lyrics ever written were by men,’ Pam interjected. ‘Our society favours romanticism so our philosophies with regards to love are very evident in a lot of music . . . regardless, this isn’t an exercise in romantic music per se, this is an opportunity to express your feelings in a way that’s perhaps less confrontational to begin with. There’s a communication breakdown somewhere and sometimes letting a song speak for you can be very useful.’
To be honest, I also thought the idea was a little batshit crazy but the more she explained it, the more it made sense.
‘If you’d both like to exchange your CDs,’ she continued. ‘Oliver. Can you read out Phoebe’s choices and tell us what you think she’s trying to say?’
We swapped CDs and I watched Oliver read down the list.
‘“Romance is Dead” by Paloma Faith, “Need You Tonight” by INXS and . . . oh wow! “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails.’
I felt my cheeks start to burn. I hadn’t considered that Pam would be privy to our choices. I’m hoping she isn’t familiar with the song.
Smiling, Oliver continued. ‘I guess Phoebe is trying to say that she’d like more romance in our relationship, as well as informing me that she’s filthy as hell.’
Pam smirked and I died.
‘I just want us to be close again. Erm, physically. OK, my turn,’ I interjected, moving the focus away from my list. ‘Oliver’s choices are: “In My Life” by The Beatles, “Losing My Edge” by LCD Soundsystem and “Suddenly Everything Has Changed” by The Flaming Lips.’
‘And what do you think Oliver’s trying to say?’ Pam enquired as I glanced at Oliver but Oliver stared straight ahead.
‘I think,’ I replied, ‘that Oliver is a lot more romantic than he thinks! Also that he thinks he’s getting old and . . . I’m not sure. That he’s scared of how things have changed?’
