I glanced at Lucy who’d noticed this too and was now pulling awtfface from behind her desk. I coughed loudly, snapping them both out of their disgusting display of mutual attraction. I couldn’t cope with this shit at 9.30 a.m.
‘So . . . thanks, Sarah,’ I said, standing up between them. ‘I’d better get on with some work now. I’m sure you have a busy day ahead, too.’
‘Not really.’
‘OK, good. Bye now and thanks again.’
Frank sidestepped me and cleared his throat. ‘Let me show you to the lift, Sarah. It’s just this way . . .’
I watched dumbstruck as Frank led Sarah out of the office while Lucy rang my desk.
‘How do you know a Real Housewife?’
‘She’s that woman from the nursery I’ve told you about. Husband had the affair.’
‘Oh shit, that’s her?! Bloody hell, I thought Frank was going to faint. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people flirt so openly in my life. Shit, he’s coming back. Speak later.’
For the rest of the day, I tried to ignore what I’d just witnessed but it was impossible. Somehow, the two most frustrating people that I’ve ever known have unexpectedly met. And I have the feeling it won’t be the last time.
Thursday June 29th
Today was my little Molly’s last day at nursery. Ever. They gathered all the kids in the brightly-decorated classroom and the parents watched as they were presented with A4-sized graduation certificates and their very first school tie. Oliver grinned so much I thought his face might split in two but me, I cried. Not an embarrassing wail, just a small blub, interspersed with sniffing and assuring Oliver I was fine. I could tell that Sarah Ward-Wilson wasn’t handling it very well either. This was the last of her brood now headed for Primary School and her mascara was making its way towards her chin in protest.
I agreed to go into work tomorrow instead of using another holiday to witness this strangely traumatic event. Afterwards we took Molly for lunch to celebrate her successfully playing with other kids for two years.
However, this now means that Molly is free to roam in the wild for six bloody weeks before school starts all over again. SIX WEEKS! We’re all doomed.
July
Saturday July 1st
SPA TRIP!
Having agreed to drive, I picked up Lucy and Hazel at half past ten this morning, giddy with excitement. Even though it would take less than an hour to get there, I’d loaded my iPod with tunes and provided granola breakfast bars for everyone.
Lucy looked like she was going on holiday; hair swept back in a bandana, massive sunglasses and a small glittery overnight case. Hazel wore her gym gear, putting my flabby ass to shame.
‘I think you are my body goal,’ I admitted as she bounced into the back seat. ‘Jesus, do you have any extra body fat, woman? I have some to spare if you need it.’
She laughed. ‘Stop it. Though, if you want to lend me your tits for an evening, I’m pretty sure Kevin would thank you.’
The weather was beautiful, which of course meant everyone within a twenty-mile radius had decided to leave the house and drive slowly in front of us. Still, we had a playlist full of Garbage, Basement Jaxx, Bowie and Fun Lovin’ Criminals to pass the time.
An hour and ten minutes later, we pulled into Cameron House, which sat on the banks of Loch Lomond. We couldn’t have chosen a more beautiful day to sit inside and sweat profusely in a sauna.
‘Look, Lucy!’ I exclaimed. ‘There’s another Loch for you to misidentify.’
Hazel sniggered while Lucy muttered for me to shut my wee face before exiting the car. As our rooms wouldn’t be ready until later, we left our small amount of luggage and caught the shuttle service to the spa.
It was a riot. Our first treatment required us to cover each other in mud before sitting in a steam room laughing at how fucking ridiculous we looked. This was then followed by showering, more showering and cries of ‘get this fucking stuff off me’ until we were clean. I fell asleep during my massage and Hazel got uncontrollable giggles during her facial, so much so that the therapist had to leave the room and come back when she’d calmed down.
We got back to the hotel around 3 p.m., where we’d booked a room for Hazel on her own while Lucy and I shared. We could have gone for a stroll, or to the boathouse, but instead we chose to pass out face first until dinner.
We ate in the Grill restaurant, which was a tad old-fashioned for Lucy, but we dressed up, drank champagne and put the world to rights over stuffed Dover Sole and flambéed prawns.
Lucy was the first to show signs of alcohol mismanagement. ‘Do you realise that by Christmas I’ll be a married woman?! I’m the last one to finally reach maturity.’
I poured myself more wine. ‘Nonsense. I spend many days in bed pretending to be Jason Voorhees on the PlayStation. I hope I never mature. Hazel is the only proper grown up here.’
