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‘God, that sounds terrible. Why don’t we meet for coffee this weekend? I’m around both days.’ She realises that she will not tell Marcia about the last twenty-four hours, nor about Peter; that this is not why she has called her and it is too soon to tell Marcia she was right.
‘Cool,’ Marcia is saying. ‘Text me.’
They won’t meet at the weekend either, Samantha knows. This is a holding conversation, a wave over a wall until time and circumstances allow them to rekindle their friendship.
‘Listen,’ Samantha says. ‘Party animal. You’ve taken E, haven’t you?’
‘Er, yeah, you know I have, loads of times, why?’
‘Well, you remember Peter offered it to me the first time I came here?’ She pauses. Mentioning that night, Peter, is difficult. It was when life came between her and Marcia in a way so quick, so violent that neither of them noticed until it was too late. Marcia has never said she doesn’t like Peter. She’s never had to.
‘It was only half a pill,’ Samantha adds irrelevantly.
‘But you didn’t take it, did you?’
‘No. Well, sort of. I was planning to take it out and hide it but it dissolved too quickly. It tasted horrible.’
Marcia laughs. ‘God, I’d forgotten how square you are. A whole half pill and you’re anybody’s.’
‘Thanks, I love you too.’ Samantha waits while Marcia gets it out of her system, reminds her of the time they had to call an ambulance after she drank two cans of extra-strong lager, the time she vomited after her first half joint. ‘I just wanted to ask,’ she goes on once Marcia’s sniggers have died down a bit. ‘Do other drugs taste like that, or just E? And can you get E in powder form, you know, like cocaine?’
‘Christ, Sam, what the hell is going on in that house?’
Samantha gives a fake laugh. ‘Nothing, no, not here. It’s just something one of the mums said at playgroup.’
In her ignorance, Marcia is still chuckling. ‘Bloody hell,’ she says. ‘What kind of crazy-ass playgroups are you going to, girl?’
Samantha thinks quickly. She should have got her story straight. She’s an idiot.
‘Oh, it’s all going on in Richmond Hill, you know.’ She attempts a chuckle. ‘We’re mainlining heroin in our flat whites up here. No, actually, one of the mums has a much older child, so they were talking drugs awareness, what to do if you suspect your kid is taking something, or addicted to something, whatever.’ Or if your fully grown, hair-dyeing, abusive, narcissistic, academic twat of a partner is, she thinks.
‘So, what, had this woman found something in her son’s room?’
‘She found some pills in, like, a plastic bag, and some whitish powder. And she said it tasted like hairspray and wondered what it was.’
‘Sounds like MD,’ Marcia says. ‘I mean, it could be ket, sorry, ketamine. That’s pretty rank too, to be honest, but it’s usually a drip. Sounds like he’s got a baggy and some stuff to dab. MDMA, I reckon.’
‘Right. Cheers. That’s helpful.’
‘Tell her not to worry about it,’ Marcia goes on. ‘It’s just what kids are into. It’s unlikely he’s an addict. He probably just canes it on a night out, maybe has a few dabs to keep him going. Main thing is to talk to him, make sure he buddies up and doesn’t take more than he should. Honestly, some of Jacob’s mates take, like, five or six in a night.’
‘Five or six?’ What an education this is, talking to Marcia.
‘Yeah. Listen, hon, I’ve got to go. Text me about coffee, yeah?’
‘OK, babe. Take care. Love you.’
‘Love you.’
She is still feeding Emily when her phone rings. She grabs at it, thinking it will be Christine, but it’s Aisha, calling to see if she’s OK.
‘I’m fine,’ Samantha tells her, feeling herself bristle. ‘It’s kind of you to call.’
‘Have you found out what happened?’
Why do you care?she doesn’t say.
‘Not yet.’
