Page 45 of Who’s That Girl?

‘Thanks. I made it myself.’ She grins proudly.

Yes, I know. From a handkerchief, I reflect, remembering how I thought it was a fab idea at the time. Ten years later it’s so revealing I might as well have come to the pub wearing a doily. Seriously, what on earth was I thinking? I’m practically naked.

‘Aren’t you … um, a little chilly?’ I suggest, resisting the urge to grab someone’s jacket from the back of a chair and throw it over her shoulders.

‘Chilly?’ She laughs. ‘Oh, no, not at all. In fact it’s really hot out here.’ She starts fanning herself with a beer mat to cool down, her wrists covered in bracelets, which chink loudly as they start jiggling up and—

I stiffen. The bracelets aren’t the only thing jiggling up and down. The handkerchief is made out of this thin, silky fabric and – oh my God. Is that a nipple? Suddenly I realise two things: 1) I’m not wearing a bra and 2) I’ve magically turned into my mother.

Right, that’s it. This is too much. I’m getting out of here. Grabbing my bag, I start to leave.

‘Are you sure you don’t want another drink?’ Lottie asks, following me back inside.

‘Er, no … thanks. I have to go,’ I say hurriedly, shaking my head and gesturing to the door.

‘Oh, OK.’ She shrugs, and walks over to the bar. I hear her ordering a half of cider.

I feel an unexpected wave of nostalgia. Cider used to be my favourite drink before my tastes became more sophisticated and I started drinking wine, and for a moment I pause and glance back in her direction. Fiddling with her hair, she’s waiting for her drink and chit-chatting with the person next to her at the bar, absently playing with her earring, laughing at some joke, chewing her fingernails, pulling faces, making different expressions.

I watch, completely fascinated. It’s the weirdest feeling. A bit like when I go home to see Mum and Dad and they get out the old home videos and we all sit on the sofa and hoot with laughter at our funny clothes and hairstyles. Only I’m not laughing. I’m transfixed. This is just so surreal. Did I really used to wear my skirts so short? And what’s with all that big, poofy hair? Hang on a minute … I watch as the guy next to her offers her a cigarette. Am I smoking?

Deep down in my brain I can hear a voice yelling at me to get out of here as fast as my legs can carry me. Quickly! Go on, scram! It’s easy – just turn round, get in your car and drive back the way you came. Do not stop until you’re safely home and in your pyjamas with a herbal tea and an old rom-com on TV.

Well, that’s always my guaranteed cure-all in any crisis.

I mean, this is insane, Charlotte. It’s INSANE.

But it’s also exciting, whispers another voice, and out of nowhere I suddenly feel a tingle of adventure. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to stay a little longer, have another drink. After all, it’s not as if this kind of thing happens every day, is it?

‘Actually, Lottie …’

She looks over her shoulder and, seeing me, smiles. ‘I thought you already left.’

‘No, not yet. I’ve actually got some time to kill. So I was wondering …’

‘Cranberry juice, right?’

‘Yes, please.’ I smile, and hold out a pound coin, but she pushes it away.

‘Don’t be daft – it’s on me,’ she protests.

I know she’s broke, because I was always broke back then, and as she pays the barman with what little she has, I feel a glow of affection towards my own self. Which is beyond weird, but hey. At this point, beyond weird is beginning to feel normal.

‘Try not to spill it this time,’ she jokes, as she passes me my juice.

‘Thanks.’ I take it from her. ‘Oh, by the way,’ I add, before I can help it, ‘you get a stain out by soaking it in cold water.’

‘Not hot?’ She looks at me in surprise.

‘No, that sets it.’

‘Bloody hell, trust me!’ She laughs, pulling a face. ‘I guess I’ve still got a lot to learn.’

I smile.

Actually, it’s funny you should say that …

Chapter Fourteen