‘I really remember that feeling,’ said Farah. ‘How awkward it is – not wanting to be pushed around or taken advantage of but not really knowing how to stop it. It’s crap – but then I guess learning those skills is just part of…’
‘Standing on her own two feet,’ I said, nodding. ‘I know. Navigating house shares and all those social dynamics, it’s part of growing up. That’s what Joe would say – not that he knows the details. And it’s not like we didn’t have tricky friendship situations to deal with when she was living at home.’
‘God yes,’ said Farah emphatically. ‘I remember all the drama when she was fourteen. We’ve got it going on now with Carli, not that she confides in me particularly. Girls are always falling out with best friends and making new best friends who then ditch them and go off with the original best friend, or some such ridiculousness. I can barely keep up. We didn’t have any of that with Noah.’
‘But the thing is, when they’re home and they’re having those kinds of issues you can at least offer advice – even if they ignore it. Even if they’re going through one of those phases where they hate your guts and think you’ve never been through it yourself, you can still note that they’re upset and try and do little things tocheer them up.’ I sighed. ‘To be honest, it’s not really about her flatmates or the cheese thieves,orthe fact that she hasn’t found anyone to live with in her second year yet. I just miss her. That’s all.’
Farah pulled her stool closer to mine and put an arm around my shoulders.
‘Sometimes,’ I said, hiccupping back a little sob. ‘Sometimes I just log into the tracking app on my phone and watch the little icon of Layla moving around her halls or between university buildings. I like to imagine I’m there with her, walking down to the sports ground for football, or going to the student union or lectures. You know how I used to be really snooty about parents who tracked their kids on their phones, going on about how it was an infringement on their privacy and that it encouraged too much dependence on tech. Now, I couldn’t give a toss about how these apps are using the data. I just watch that little icon moving around and I feel better.’
‘I do it too,’ said Farah, after she’d let me have a little tearful moment. ‘Although that’s mainly because it was a tracking app that alerted me to the fact that Mike was shagging his secretary – sneaking off to that spa hotel when he was supposed to be at a sales conference in Croydon. I’m all over the surveillance now. I think Neil’s expecting me to get him a Go-Pro for Christmas just so I can chart his every move with live action video.’
‘Or you could just get him his own personal drone?’
‘Maybe one day we’ll all have our own personal drones,’ said Farah bleakly. ‘We’ll probably send them out to meet other drones and do everything we used to do while we just sit at home without any human interaction, stewing in our own algorithm of anxiety.’
‘Oh, speaking of tech stealing everyone’s jobs,’ I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. ‘I had an email from ProChem last week.’
‘The pharma company?’
‘Yeah, the ones who fired me.’ I scrolled through my phone to find their website. ‘Seems they might have underestimated how much they need a human copywriter after all. Look at this ad for stoma bags.’ I showed Farah the screen where a smiling woman with four thumbs was standing beside a beach with the legend,Evoplast won’t let you downin bold type beneath her. ‘See the copy just below the headline?’
Farah began to read aloud. ‘Evoplast stoma bags are lifechanging bags. They will shine a light in the darkness of your soul and change your life for the better in countless ways. Evoplast bags best and superior quality. Client testimonials. And like sunshine on a rainy day improve your life in many ways and I cannot verify technical data, sincere apologies. Available in large and neutral skin. The beach is open for swimming. Picture of confident swimmer. Ha! Fucking brilliant!’ She scrolled further down the screen. ‘It goes on for ages. I love the fact that they’ve even left the prompts in! I mean, I really thought most AI was supposed to be better than this now?’
‘I know. The fact it’ssoshit is reassuring in a way. They must be using a really cheap package – maybe one of those free ones.’
She handed me the phone. ‘So, they’re offering you your job back?’
‘Not really. They don’t want a copywriter; they want someone to proofread the AI’s copy and amend as necessary.’
‘Is that not the same thing? I mean, if you were editing this advert, you’d have to entirely rewrite it.’ Farah was back to the pursed lips.
‘It’s fewer hours and even more poorly paid than previously, but basically, yes.’
‘Have you told them to fuck off?’
I pulled the universal face of wishing I could do exactly that. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m considering it. Taking the job as opposed to telling them to fuck off. I miss editing, even editing stuff about stoma bags. And we need the money, part-time library income not being quite the huge cash-cow I’d hoped.’
‘You’re still enjoying it though, the library work?’
‘Oh, definitely. Yes, the pay’s the only shit thing about it. The job itself, I love. I’m going to increase my hours after Christmas, do a few more Saturdays. With Layla not here it means I’ve got free weekends and Joe’s usually up at the golf course, so it makes sense.’
‘And you don’t want to take up golf? You and Joe could be one of those couples, golfing holidays in the Algarve, matching Pringle jumpers, that sort of thing.’
I laughed. ‘God, can you imagine? No, although that reminds me, I still haven’t filled you in on the horror show of Steve and Carol’s party.’
Farah stood and inclined her head towards the bar. ‘I’ll get another round in. Sounds like we’ll need it.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As it turned out, in spite of, or perhapsbecauseof, all my stressing, Christmas ended up being pretty much perfect. Rather than trying to get everything organised ahead of Layla’s return, I involved her in the Christmas admin once she was home, making it significantly more enjoyable and much less of a chore. We bought a tree the day she returned, stopping on our way back from the station and wedging it into the boot alongside her rucksack, and we spent the rest of the weekend listening to festive tunes and decorating the house.
I also decided (was forced into accepting) that I didn’t have time to buy gifts as early as I wanted, so instead Layla and I shopped for everyone’s presents together in a hilariously cavalier ‘week before Christmas’ way that I haven’t done since I was a student myself, grabbing any old bargain from the town market with two days to spare. And now that it’s become the norm for all civilised society to buy their gifts months in advance it seems that shops are actuallykeento reward you for a lack of organisation by dropping their prices mid-December!
‘I can’t believe this is half price!’ I said now, holding up a cashmere-blend cardigan in a pale blush shade. Layla and I were in one of the last remaining nice boutiques in the town centre looking for presents for Mum.
‘Oh, that’s perfect for Granmerry,’ said Layla, flicking through a set of floral scarves and pulling out one with a rose print. ‘Would go nicely with this. And how about those chinos for Dad?’ She pointed to the rack of men’s trousers with a 60% off sign dangling from the rail. ‘Although…’ she pulled a mock-grimace, ‘they’re not golf-themed, so maybe we can’t get them.’
