From:Lucy Jacobs
To:Phoebe Henderson
Subject:New Year
No can do – I’m meeting Kyle. Tomorrow though! We’ll go to Max’s bar and get those hotdogs with all the weird shit on them.
I looked through my work diary to discover that I had a grand total of zero appointments booked for next week, not great when my boss also has access to it so I can’t bullshit her. Still, it’s New Year. People are on holiday. I can’t work miracles and even if I could, those miracles wouldn’t be wasted on this fucking job; I’d save them for gravity-defying tits, world peace and turning wine into more wine.
Tuesday January 10th
Oliver dropped Molly off at nursery so I got into work pretty early this morning, which gave me time to grab some breakfast before starting the morning ritual of calling people who didn’t want to speak to me.
Lunch at Max’s Bar was fun; massive hotdogs, fries and a catch up session in which Lucy recounted what she could remember about New Year, including the sex they’d had in a four poster bed. And in the car. And against the window with the curtains open. Beasts.
‘Ugh. Enough,’ I said, scraping some onions off my hotdog. ‘I’m beginning to hate you.’
She stared suspiciously at me. ‘What’s up?’
‘Let’s just say this hotdog is the only phallic-shaped thing that’s been near my face recently.’ I bit into it aggressively, continuing to speak with my mouth full. ‘I think Oliver is finally fed up shagging me.’
‘Nonsense,’ she replied, politely ignoring the fact that I’d just sprayed food on to the table. ‘Oliver is nuts about you.’
‘He was,’ I said, using a napkin to brush away the accidental food spray, ‘and I’m sure he still is. But we’re not the same. We haven’t had sex since November and it was a quick spoon. We discussed painting Molly’s room and didn’t even make eye contact. Even before then, it’s been really sporadic and not remotely noteworthy.’
Lucy shrugged, picking at my unwanted onions. ‘So you’re in a slump. You still fancy each other, right? No-one is shagging anyone else?’
I could feel the colour drain from my face. I hadn’t even considered this as a possibility. ‘NO! Wait . . . do you think he could be shagging someone else?!’
She shook her head. ‘I doubt it. He has a kid now. When the fuck would he have the time? Then again, you’d make time to shag, wouldn’t you?’
My heart rate was increasing with every word that left her mouth. ‘Well, not with me obviously!’
‘I’m not helping, am I?’ she replied. ‘Is it both of you or just him?’
I thought for a moment. ‘We’re both a bit guilty. But it seems to be bothering me more than him. He’s barely mentioned it.’
Lucy gulped down some of her beer and shook her head. ‘What does Hazel think about it? She has a kid – maybe this is how it goes.’
Hazel is the adult of our group. Her life is in order, her shit is together and when I grow up, I hope to be just like her.
‘I haven’t spoken to her. She’s still at Disneyland Paris.’
Lucy smirked. ‘Then she won’t be shagging either.’
I giggled. It’s true. Hazel, Kevin and their seven-year-old daughter Grace will be sharing the same room; it’ll be out of the question. I shoved some fries into my mouth and sighed. ‘We’re just not synched. And then stuff gets in the way. And before you know it, you’re being felt up in a pantry.’
‘A what now?’
‘Never mind.’
As we headed back to the office, I vowed to speak to Oliver about this. Properly. We’re going to pull out of this rut before one of us foolishly considers looking elsewhere.
Wednesday January 11th
Day off today! Morning was spent tidying and sorting Molly’s old clothes into piles for the charity shop. Then off to nursery in the afternoon, where I bumped into Sarah Ward-Wilson by the gates, a woman who clearly cannot believe that despite her best efforts to marry well (and Botox poorly), she’s a mother of four, still living in Glasgow.
‘I cannot stand this weather, Phoebe. It doesn’t matter how expensive your car is, when it’s icy, these roads are a death trap to us all. Is that woman wearing a tracksuit? Oh dear Lord . . .’
