‘Is Jean getting her drink on?’ Vic asks, grinning. ‘You love to see it. I heard Mary humming to herself in the toilet, too, I think she’s already three sheets to the wind. When I grow up, I want to be just like them.’
‘I think we are already,’ I reply. ‘Jean is a talker, like you. The whole cinema will be hearing what bloody Wilbur’s been up to this week.’
‘Well, if I’m Jean in this scenario, that makes you Mary, the half-cut toilet hummer.’
‘I’ve been called worse.’
Victoria laughs and links her arm into mine as we head back towards the car. It’s been a really nice evening. Charlotte was right. I did need to have more fun.
CHAPTER4
The people who proclaim that you’reonly as old as you feelare liars. The fact that I still feel the same way I did ten years ago will not halt the ageing process, a process that in three days will have me turn forty against my will. FORTY. It’s not the actual number which upsets me, it’s the reality of what it represents.
People in their forties have joint mortgages and life insurance and hold dinner parties for all the other forty-year-olds who have their shit together. They have reliable cars and dependable spouses and know how to adult. None of these people are me.
‘Eleanora?’
My sister, Faith, sits in front of me in her Marc Jacobs blouse, looking at me like I’m the most annoying individual she’s ever met in her entire life. She’s the only person, except for Mum and the doctor’s receptionist, who calls me by my given name. Faith hates my nickname.
‘I know you think it’s cute, but Nora makes you sound plain.’
‘Well, Eleanora isn’t any better. I feel like I should be doing Victorian needlepoint while sitting on a chamber pot.’
‘Your birthday is on Saturday,’ she continues. ‘What do you want? Are you even listening to me?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, ‘I’m just a little distracted, you know, WITH BEING AT WORK. Victoria’s at the suppliers, don’t you have work to do? Somewhere else to be? I need this table for paying customers.’
‘I’m at lunch, it’s raining and I’m not moving.’
Even though she’s shaking her head in frustration, her brown bob hasn’t moved an inch. Her hair is as inflexible as she is.
I call Tracey to take over for five minutes and pull out a seat at Faith’s table. Tracey has been a godsend since we hired her. She’ll open the café early, work overtime and even came up with the idea to hold events after hours. We have mainly hosted book clubs, but they eat a surprising amount of profitably marked-up cake.
‘I haven’t even thought about my birthday,’ I lie. ‘I honestly don’t care. Get me a fancy candle or something.’
‘It’s your fortieth,’ replies the thirty-one-year-old who still thinks forty is something to be celebrated. ‘You should do something special.’
I see the glint in her eye. She’s planning something and I intend to put a stop to it right now.
‘Don’t you dare! I do not want a party or any kind of social gathering. You know I get uncomfortable in large groups. All that bloody small talk, bleh.’
‘Oh, relax,’ she replies, ‘I have no intention of throwing you a party.’
I suddenly feel insulted. Why isn’t she throwing me a party? I deserve a party. A huge one. Just not one where other people also have to be there.
‘But we should have dinner or something at least,’ she insists. ‘This is a new chapter in your life! Seize it! Embrace it!’
‘Jeez, calm down, Tony Robbins.’
‘Who?’
‘The self-help guru? He’s very famous. He was… never mind.’
The café door opens and what looks like a Saga bus tour begins traipsing in. ‘Uh-oh, I have to go. Look, I’ll have a meal or a takeaway with Charlie or something. I don’t want a fuss and NO PARTY. Promise?’
She doesn’t. Faith’s one frustratingly admirable quality is that she never makes a promise she can’t keep. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday, sis. Go deal with your pensioners.’
I don’t trust her. Not one little bit.
