‘When I was in high school, we had to wear navy gym skirts with navy knickers underneath for PE,’ I tell her as she grabs a pair of black jogging trousers off the rack. ‘It was humiliating. Trampolining was just a mid-air blur of stretch-marked thighs and stray pubic hair.’
‘Jeez, Mum,’ she exclaims. ‘The 1950s sound rough.’
I nudge her in mock offence and laugh. ‘Our school was horribly old-fashioned but I’m not that ancient! See all that grunge shit that’s coming back into fashion? My generation invented that. We ripped our jeans soyouingratescould enjoy the trend twenty years later.’
‘Thank you for your service,’ she replies, smirking. I smirk too, secretly thrilled that I have successfully raised such a cuttingly funny little smart-arse. Pretty sure she must get this from me, because her father is charming but not particularly funny. That should have been a red flag – who the hell wants to spend the next fifty years with someone who doesn’t make them laugh? In my twenties, a silver convertible and West End flat were the more attractive draws in a relationship. These days, I’d overlook a lot for someone who really makes me laugh.
‘We good here?’ I ask Charlie as I pay for her trousers. ‘Do you need anything else?’
She peeks at her phone, looking for an update. ‘We don’t need to go yet, do we? Wait, didn’t you want to get makeup?’
My hand instinctively touches the blemish on my chin. ‘I think I’ll need a flamethrower for this beast. OK, we’ll go to Boots and then home?’
‘Sure, take your time.’
By the time we leave Boots, I’ve bought tea-tree oil, two different types of concealer, and a lipstick I don’t need but claims to stay put for seventy-two weeks or something equally outlandish. Despite her ulterior motives, the hour Charlie and I have spent together has been really fun. Not the sitting-on-my-arse start to my birthday I had planned, but enjoyable nonetheless.
We arrive home to a street as empty with cars as it was when we left. Unless Faith bussed a whole load of folk in, this is a good sign. Charlie throws a look up at our living room window before bouncing in front of me to open the door.
‘Happy Birthday, Nora!’
Oh, thank God. I internally rejoice when I see that it is only Victoria and Faith standing in my living room, not everyone I’ve ever met or worked with and certainly not a surprise visit from Mum and her obnoxious husband, Darren. Saying that, I haven’t seen Mum in twelve years, and she married Darren without telling anyone, including her own children, so nothing she does would surprise me anymore.
My living room is quite a spectacle. A bright pink fortieth-birthday banner hangs unevenly above the television, balloons and party streamers cover the entire floor while Cliff Richard croons ‘Congratulations’ from a tinny-sounding mobile phone. I bet Victoria chose this. She knows I hate it. Still, it could have been a lot worse.
Faith notices my look of confused relief.
‘Ha, don’t worry, sis!’ she chirps, already halfway through a glass of champagne. ‘I know you didn’t want a big party.’
‘I believe I didn’t wantanyparty—’
‘But if you think you’re turning forty on your own, you’re mistaken,’ she continues. ‘You have the rest of the year to feel regretful about being an ageing human woman. Today is not that day. Charlotte, honey, can you bring some glasses?’
Charlie gives me a satisfiedthis was all my idealook before skipping off through balloons to the kitchen, leaving me alone with her co-conspirators.
‘Fine,’ I concede, dropping my bag beside the couch. ‘This I can handle. Charlie tried so hard to pretend everything was normal, but I swear I thought she’d organised a bloody flash mob or something equally fussy.’
‘But you should want a fuss!’ Victoria insists, pointing to the vast amount of food they’ve laid on. ‘I feel bad that you’re not being whisked off to New York by some jet-owning billionaire. It’s the least you deserve. Even Benjamin took me to Paris for my thirtieth… I mean, I’d rather have gone with you guys, but the thought was there.’
I smile. Victoria’s been married to Benjamin for nine years and although she insists it’s all just a great big bore fest, I know she’ll be married to him for fifty more. There are women like my best friend and sister, who are destined for marriage, but I am not one of them.
‘I like your earrings,’ I reply, changing the subject. ‘Are they new? I can’t wear giant hoops. They make me look like a fortune teller.’
‘H&M!’ she replies. ‘I accidentally shoplifted them, but I’m not sorry. They fell into a pair of boots I was also buying and well, here we are. I’m sure they’ll recoup the massive £4.99 loss without laying staff off.’
Charlie returns to the living room with a wine glass for me and some orange juice for herself. I know that Faith will ask her if she wants a sip of champagne and Charlie will decline because she’s the most sensible female in the room and then I’ll tell Faith to stop offering my fourteen-year-old booze at noon and she’ll scowl like I’m being unreasonably overprotective. I try to body-swerve this inevitable scenario by raising my glass before anyone else does.
‘Thank you for organising this but—’
‘What are you doing?’ Faith interrupts. ‘We haven’t toasted you yet. Stop trying to get this over with. Charlotte, honey, you could have a little champagne with your orange juice if you like?’
‘I’m fine, Aunt Faith.’
I bite my tongue as Faith smirks at me. I’m not playing.
‘To my sister, Eleanora!’ she begins. ‘May the next forty years be filled with joy, laughter and a handsome man with a huge—’
‘FAITH!’
