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‘I think you’ll probably find that was moisture. There’s been a lot of that lately.’
‘You’re a strong woman, Charley. I know you’re going through the mill, but you’re a fighter and I reckon you’ll be OK. I mean it.’
‘Thanks, Tracey.’
She sets the alarm, turns off the lights and locks the door. As I walk to my car in the darkness, I reflect on what she said. I don’t feel like a strong woman, and yet here I am functioning reasonably well, albeit with the odd glitch, just nine days after Josh ripped my world apart.
Yeah, maybe I’m tougher than I think.
7
The night out with the girls from school is great fun. Although I haven’t seen them for years, it feels as if we’re just picking up the conversation where we left off. I’m not drinking because I’m driving, and a few of the others are doing ‘Dry January’ after overindulging at Christmas, but we’re doing just fine without alcohol to loosen the inhibitions. They love bringing me up to date on all the gossip and what everyone is doing now.
I get a bit tearful telling them about Josh, especially as they are all so kind and supportive.
‘Would you like me to have him beaten up for you?’ asks Samantha (‘call me Sam’). We were close friends at school and I feel a bit guilty for letting our friendship slide so easily. She always wore her sexuality like a badge of honour, but the uniform policy and school rules on hair and piercings limited her self-expression. Freed from those constraints, she appears to have embraced every lesbian stereotype available. She’s still slight of frame, with an elfin face and large blue eyes, and her hairstyle is the same pixie cut she’s had for as long as I’ve known her, but the impressive array of piercings are new. As well as several in each ear, she has also had her nose, lip and tongue pierced. She’s dressed in a white T-shirt with black dungarees over the top, and ankle-length Doc Martens. Also new are the angry-looking tattoos on her bare arms. Despite her diminutive size, I wouldn’t mess with her, and I have no doubt that she could make short work of Josh if she needed to.
‘That’s very kind of you, Sam. I’ll bear it in mind.’ I smile at her.
After an hour or so, I feel brave enough to ask, ‘I couldn’t help doing a bit of Facebook stalking the other night, and I see Darren is living in Aberdeen. Is he still with Jennifer?’
‘You mean you don’t KNOW??’ Paula exclaims. ‘Oh, this is too good. You’re not planning on trying to get back together with him as some sort of rebound thing, are you?’
‘No, and what don’t I know?’ I ask.
‘She threw him out four years ago. He was having an affair…’
So far, so Darren.
‘… with a man.’
I nearly spit out my drink. ‘What? No, you’re having me on.’
‘Seriously. I don’t know what raised Jennifer’s suspicions, but apparently she didn’t have to grill him too hard before he fessed up. He’s moved up to Aberdeen with a guy called Geoff, who works on the oil rigs.’
‘Bloody hell, who’d have thought it? I remember how horrible he was to that boy in the year below when he came out. What a hypocrite!’
‘You’re right, I’d forgotten about that. What was his name – Tom something?’
‘Thomas Merriman,’ Sam reminds us.
‘That’s him. I wonder where he is now?’
‘Do you think Darren was just fighting against it by going out with you and Jennifer? He could be bisexual, I suppose,’ Paula muses.
‘Sexuality isn’t a binary thing,’ Sam begins. This is a well-worn lecture from her, and we can probably all quote it. ‘It’s a spectrum, and we all sit at different places along it. For example, it’s about the person more than the gender for me…’
‘Oh, do shut up, Sam!’ Paula retorts. ‘You’ve never looked sexually at a man in your life, and you know it!’
Sam laughs. ‘Fair point.’
‘Bloody hell. Who’d have thought it? Poor Jennifer…’ I realise that I’m actually saying that without malice.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be too worried about her,’ Paula quips. ‘Word on the street is she moved someone else in surprisingly quickly, if you get my drift. I’m not sure Darren was the only one up to no good. Now, who wants another drink?’
The conversation drifts through a wide range of topics as the evening wears on. I admire the pictures of their various babies and children, listen to them trying to outdo one another with tales of how useless their various partners are and, before we know it, the landlord is calling last orders. As we go our separate ways, we promise to make this a regular thing. I hope we do. It’s been my fault that I’ve lost contact with them, and I want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
* * *
