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“They’re not toys, Dad. They’re limited edition designer figurines, and one day they’ll be worth a fortune.”
“That’s what you keep saying. God only knows how much you paid for them.”
“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” I chuckle.
After breakfast, I go back upstairs to start my Saturday morning routine. I tidy up a little, dust down my display cabinets and sort through my DVDs to make sure each and every disc is in the correct box. Then I gather together all my odd socks and underwear to put in the wash.
About three o’clock, I grab a cup of coffee and an egg salad sandwich for lunch. Afterwards, I watchBack to the Futurefor a spot of escapism. By five o’clock, I start thinking about what to wear tonight. Ransacking my wardrobe, I look for something suitably glam but warm enough to brave the cold weather. It’s Jill’s birthday, so I want to make a special effort, especially as I don’t go out much. There aren’t many opportunities for me to really dress up, so I need to take full advantage. At a leisurely pace, I pick out a few sparkly tops and a selection of knee-length skirts. Then pulling off my dressing gown, I stand before the mirror and run a critical eye over my body.
Jesus.
All right, I don’t look too bad butdamn, I really need to start doing those sit-ups again. I pinch my stomach and suck it in to create the illusion of a flat tummy. Then I exhale and everything pops back out again. I sigh. I’ve never been comfortable with my body, and God knows there’s a reason I don’t wear sleeveless tops, even in summer. I hate how flabby my arms look. Vests with spaghetti straps are definitely off the cards tonight.
For the next thirty minutes, I try out different outfits until finally, I settle for a blue dress with polka-dot leggings and a pair of black pumps. With my blonde hair and brown eyes, the colours fit me perfectly. Make-up wise, I decide to be a little daring, opting for a bright red lipstick and, for the first time ever,false eyelashes. I have a devil of a time gluing them on, but I get there eventually.
At quarter to six, I grab my handbag and head out the door. “All right, Dad, I’m off.”
“Have a good time.”
“Thanks. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I step out the front door and drink the cool evening air into my lungs. The street is dark and silent under the November sky, the rows of semi-detached houses stretching as far as the eye can see. I get a sudden pang of nerves. Can I really endure a whole evening in the company of Jill’s friends? What if they don’t like me? Can I really make small talk and fake the facade of normality? I have no idea what the evening will bring, but I hope I’m not making a big mistake.
And then, with a sinking feeling, I realise something else.
I need a cigarette.
CHAPTER THREE
Nando's
By the time I reach Nando’s, I’m tired and pissed off. Despite leaving home in good time, delays to the Northern Line meant I missed the seven o’clock meeting with Jill at London Bridge Station. As a result, I had to go straight to the restaurant, which would have been fine if I knew where the heck it was. For a good fifteen minutes, I roamed around Bermondsey High Street asking passers-by who don’t speak English for directions. Finally, after wandering through a myriad of cobbled lanes and back streets, I found the entrance to Nando’s tucked beneath a railway arch.
Stalling at the glass doors, I glance in my make-up mirror to check I haven’t got lipstick on my teeth. Then, taking a deep breath, I work my face into a smile, push open the doors and step inside.
A waitress rushes over. “Hiya. Table for one?”
“No, I’m here to meet some friends, actually. I think they’re already seated.”
Apprehensively, I glance beyond her into the busy restaurant and spy Jill waving frantically at me.
“Carly, over here!”
Smiling, I wave back and head uncertainly in the direction of her table. My heart lurches with unease as I approach and see six faces turn in my direction.
Oh, God, this is worse than I ever could have imagined.
Three couples. Three bloody couples. I have to take short, sharp breaths to control my anxiety. It looks like I’m going to spend the evening playing gooseberry again.
Story of my life.
“So glad you could make it, honey,” Jill squeals.
“Hi, everyone,” I beam, making exaggerated gestures to mask my terror. “So sorry I’m late, but it took me ages to find the place.”
“Tell me about it,” one of the men laughs. “I didn’t even know there was a Nando’s in London Bridge till today. It’s very well-hidden.”
