Page 22 of The Golden Girls’ Road Trip

The audiobook is still playing from the phone resting on her chest and I lean over to turn it off. It doesn’t seem right to have that still babbling on, while Alex lies there. I take in her face, her beautiful alabaster skin, lined with time and still with that lovely sprinkling of freckles high up on her cheeks. For a mad moment I want to lean down and kiss her, a gentle goodbye, but instead I pick up the phone and press for silence.

Alex’s eyes flick open and she looks shocked for a moment, taking in the scene before her. Me leaning over her, phone in my hand, a tear winding its way down my face.

‘What the absolute hell are you doing?’ she demands, as I stumble backwards.

‘I, I… I thought you were…’ I can’t get the last word out. It seems ridiculous now that Alex is breathing again, alive again.

‘Asleep, you thought I was asleep, because I was asleep?’

‘No, actually I thought you were dead,’ I say, because really, what else is there to say? Alex is trying to sit up, but she must have forgotten she’s in a hammock, because she sways for a second as she tries to get purchase, and then the whole thing moves in one fluid motion and she is unceremoniously dumped onto the patio. I move to help her but she hastily lifts a hand up into the air.

‘Don’t you dare, Connie Fitzgerald; don’t you bloody dare.’ And with nothing much holding me back now and because, for the second time in two days I have heard my name on Alex’s lips, I laugh loudly to disguise the huge grin that threatens to overwhelm my entire face. We stare at each other and finally Alex smiles.

‘What the hell are you doing here, Connie?’

*

Alex walks out of the French doors carrying two mugs of coffee, but she struggles with each step. I begin to get up from my seat to help, but change my mind when I take in the grim determination on her face. She always was a single-minded woman and didn’t take well to offers of help. I stay in my seat and take the opportunity to really look at her, to see what the intervening years have done to my friend.

She has a softness to her now. Not just in her body, but in her face too. Those angular cheekbones have rounded, giving the impression of a person more likely to smile. The lines radiating out from the corners of her eyes say the same. Her hair is shorter, but still with the same brilliant golden auburn hue. Well, not exactly the same; it now smacks of a trip to the salon to achieve it and has lost some of its depth, but it’s similar. She’s wearing dark-blue jeans and a white blouse just open at the top to reveal a gold pendant around her neck. She has a wedding band that looks platinum and an engagement ring with three large diamonds dazzling in the sunlight. Alex is beautiful and she looks chic too. I suddenly feel just as I did when we first met: gauche.

‘So, how did your exhibition go?’ I ask before taking a sip of my coffee.

‘We’re making small talk are we? Connie, why are you here?’

‘Hardly small talk – it was quite the exhibition. And that is why I’m here.’

‘How did you even know about my exhibition?’

‘I saw an advertisement in a magazine that I picked up off the seat on a train in London and recognised the painting.’

Alex lowers her mug to reveal the look of surprise on her face.

‘You found a discarded magazine and that’s why you’re here? You’ve got to be joking, right?’

‘No.’ I laugh. ‘It’s true.’

‘You’re a piece of work, Constance,’ Alex says, but she’s not laughing with me; she’s not even smiling now. She reaches into her pocket then and pulls out her phone which is silently vibrating. ‘Hank, darling,’ she drawls, almost mimicking the accent I remember from him last night. ‘What? But my appointment is at eleven-forty-five. Well, I suppose I could do that, but…’ Alex looks across at me suddenly, seeming to take me in properly for the first time. Her eyes roam over my face and across my shoulders, and I try very hard not to squirm in my seat. Her gaze is just as penetrating as it was all those years ago. ‘Okay, well, I guess I’ll have to,’ she says and hangs up.

I finish my drink slowly, waiting for Alex to say something and hoping it isn’t a swift goodbye. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, but seems to be weighing up her options.

‘Hank has buggered up his ankle on the squash court this morning and can’t drive me to my doctor’s appointment. I could phone for a taxi, but – as you’re here – could you make yourself useful and take me?’

She doesn’t ask nicely; she doesn’t say please, but I’m already fishing in my handbag for my keys.

‘Of course I can. It will be my pleasure,’ I say.

‘I doubt that,’ Alex replies with a short sigh.

12

I edge the van away from the house slowly, as if I have the most precious cargo on board and in a way, I have. Alex Mackenzie is sitting in the passenger seat looking apprehensive, and very much as if she might change her mind and leap out. I put my foot down; that’s the last thing I want to happen.

She’s tense on the seat beside me, and I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but hoped it wouldn’t be this much of a challenge.

‘So, you’re a hippy these days,’ she says glancing at my skirt.

‘Is that what it looks like? You’re not the only one to say that, to be honest. I just like buying charity shop clothes because I can’t bear the waste and I like to be comfortable.’