‘Come and walk the dogs with me,’ she requests, putting the milk in the fridge. She pauses to smell something in a brown container. ‘I’m not even sure what this is but it’s rank,’ she informs me, her face scrunched in disgust. ‘Mushroom soup, maybe?’
I frown from the comfort of a dining chair. ‘Do you realise how much walking I did in Italy? My feet are stubs.’
‘Come on, it’s a beautiful day!’
‘Is that toast ready?’
One slice peanut butter, the other jam, I wolf it down, watching Naomi water the plants on her window. School run, shopping, plant watering, I don’t know how she has the energy.
‘Finished?’ she asks, grabbing my plate. ‘Great, let’s go.’
‘I thought—’
She’s already at the back door, Nancy’s ball in one hand, lead in the other, staring at me. No doesn’t seem to be an option which, as hard as I try, continues to be the running theme.
‘Fine!’ I concede. ‘But only because you have nice shower products. . . and you’re going to make me an omelette when we get back. Rihanna laid those good eggs, I saw them.’
The field behind her house is the perfect place for the Bridgers’ dogs to run around like maniacs, which they do. Barking, tongues out, playing, it’s quite the scene.
‘Won’t they run away?’ I ask. Sid has his face buried into the grass while Nancy chases her ball. ‘Or fight with other dogs?’
‘They’re very well trained,’ Naomi replies. ‘I have the lead in case they forget their manners. Shall we do something this afternoon before I pick the kids up? Bit of shopping? Cow tipping?’
‘Shopping might be good,’ I reply. ‘I need some new mascara, this one’s gone a bit crusty. Maybe a new foundation to go with my three per cent darker skin tone.’
‘Great. I need to pick up a prescription for Philip from Boots. His eczema is running wild. His crotch is all scaly, it’s gross.’
‘Wow, I did not need to know that.’
‘I disagree,’ she replies. ‘Someone else should share my disgust.’
I haven’t had a proper wander around town for years. In secondary school, Naomi and I used to mosey around here, quietly giggling at the kids who were still forced to shop with their mums.
‘Do you remember those love beads we used to buy?’ I ask Naomi, as we turn into Baxtergate. In around an hour the schools will be finishing up and it’ll be a sea of blazer-clad teenagers, but for now it’s relatively quiet.
‘I do!’ she replies. ‘Your love beads always lasted at least a fortnight. Mine always broke on the way home. I used to find those little beads in my pocket, taunting me. In the nineties we used to be able to buy so much shit for a tenner. These days that goes nowhere.’
‘You sound like such an old fart. In my day. . .’
She laughs. ‘God, I know, but fuck it. I miss getting a Big Mac for two quid.’
We visit Boots and I search for a new mascara while Naomi impatiently waits in line for Philip’s prescription. While she misses Big Macs for two pounds, I miss having skin that would look good in any old foundation. I choose a Max Factor mascara and a No.7 serum foundation in the shade ‘I’ve been on holiday’.
We hit another couple of shops where I buy a lavender-scented candle and a Cornish pasty from a local bakery before we walk back to the car park.
‘I think I’m going to get going tomorrow morning,’ I tell her through a mouth of pasty. God, I’ve missed these. The ones in London are nowhere near as good. We find the car and jump in.
‘You sure you don’t want to stay for another couple of days?’ she asks. ‘There’s no rush, you know. Stay as long as you like.’
‘Thanks but I need to get organised for work,’ I tell Naomi. ‘I should also visit Mum while I’m here. Good daughter and all that. She’d kill me if I didn’t.’
‘Fair enough,’ she replies. ‘I’ll drive you if you like, it’s only half an hour away.’
‘Thank you. You’re an angel.’
‘I am,’ she agrees. ‘But only because I love you, otherwise you’d be carrying those cases down the driveway like Julie Andrews inThe Sound of Music. . .’
I grin. ‘I have con—’
