Friday Night With The Girls: A tale that will make you laugh, cry and call your best friend!

by Shari Low

  ‘Hello my darling oh my God you look wonderful just blooming and fat and the way a mamma should and are you not due to have that baby soon?’

  Donna Maria, my lovely landlady, spoke without small technicalities like punctuation.

  ‘I’m two weeks late,’ I said for the 1232nd time that day. ‘How are you? Is it time for your colour again?’

  Was it me or did her eyes shift in a weird way just then? There was a pause that was more pregnant than my abdominal cavity.

  ‘Lou, I’m really sorry to have to do this to you especially at a time like this but I’m terminating your lease on the shop.’

  ‘Pardon?’ I waited for the bit where she laughed and told me she’d been sent by the girls outside to play a joke that would shock me into labour.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lou,’ she repeated, ‘but my Chantelle Donna Maria wants to open a beauty salon and now that she’s about to become eighteen we want to give her this shop as a gift. You’ll understand when you have your own little one that you would give them your heart and soul if they asked for it.’

  Speech proved momentarily elusive. Chantelle Bloody Donna Maria - who last week wanted to be a glamour model, the week before a pop star, who had two convictions for shoplifting from Ann Summers shops and who lap danced at the weekends without her mother’s knowledge up at Bar Muff.

  ‘But, Donna Maria, we have a contract.’

  Didn’t we? We did. Surely. It had been so long ago I only had vague recollections of signing something.

  ‘Yes but it allows either one of us to give thirty days notice of termination.’

  She had the grace to look apologetic and to try to sugar-coat it.

  ‘Maybe it’ll be a good thing give you a chance to stay home with the baby I mean who needs a job like this when they’ve got a little one I dedicated every minute of my time to Chantelle Donna Maria and I’ve never regretted it because she’s turned into a beautiful kind giving girl.’

  It didn’t seem the time to point out that the blokes up at Bar Muff were probably grateful too.

  ‘But Donna Maria, this is my business. Please, you have to reconsider! I . . . I . . . I’ve spent my whole working life here.’

  My heart was starting to race and my child chose that very moment to send another kick reverberating up my spine.

  ‘I’m sorry Lou but we’ve already promised her that she can have it and we can’t go back on that I’ll go now before you get stressed . . .’

  Horse bolted. Stable door shut.

  ‘. . . and I really am sorry Lou you know I hate to give you problems but my hands are tied.’

  Just like that she was gone. And so, apparently, was the business that I loved. So much for bloody having it all.

  ‘Josie!’ I tried to shout but it came out more of a pitiful blurt.

  ‘Bring the Kleenex!’

  Thirty-five

  What was it about visits to doctors, dentists and lawyers’ offices that always made me nervous?

  ‘My God, you’re huge. Shouldn’t you have had that baby by now?’ Alex asked.

  ‘I’m two weeks late.’

  ‘Would you punch me if I made a joke about boiling the kettle and having towels on standby?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK then. Let’s talk about this contract.’

  Don’t cry. Do not cry. It was twenty-four hours since Donna Maria had broken the news and it had passed in a complete blur of tears (from me and the rest of the staff), fury (me) and threats to sneak into Bar Muff and take incriminating photos of Chantelle Donna Maria, which would rid her parents of any inclination to give her my shop (Josie).

  I was devastated. Distraught. The only glimmer of hope was the man sitting right in front of me – the lover of my best friend’s husband. Who was also now my best friend’s tentative friend. It had taken a few months of heartbreak, talking and soul-searching, but Lizzy had finally come to terms with Adam’s new relationship and to everyone’s astonishment, the two men had rented the house four doors along from her and they were making their new family set-up work. It helped that Adam and Alex had done everything possible to save her feelings and make up for the shock and devastation. Now the children split their time between the two homes and they’d all brokered some kind of working alliance. I’d met Alex a few times now at birthdays and special occasions, but it was Lizzy who’d dug out my original contract, faxed it to him, brought me here to see him and who was now busy explaining the situation.

  ‘I’ve told Lou that apart from the fact that you stole my husband and ruined my life, you’re a great lawyer, so we’re praying you’ve come up with something.’

  Alex suddenly looked slightly rattled. ‘Erm, thanks. I think. OK, so I’ve gone through it with a fine tooth comb . . .’

  Please say we can stop this. Please.

  ‘. . . and I’m really sorry Lou, but it’s watertight. Did you have a lawyer check it when you signed it?’

  A sinking feeling plummeted from my head to my swollen, water-retaining, pregnancy toes.

  ‘No.’ I shrugged helplessly. ‘I was young and naive and overwhelmingly thrilled to have got my own place. And I didn’t want anyone scrutinising things too closely in case they uncovered Josie’s financial, er, economies with the truth. Everything I tell you in here is confidential, right?’

  He nodded warily, clearly unused to this amount of drama on a Tuesday afternoon in the bustling metropolis of Weirbank.

  ‘But what about all the money I’ve invested in it? The place was a wreck when I took it over. I’ve spent thousands on refurbishment and upkeep. Doesn’t that count for anything?’

  His expression told me the answer before he spoke. ‘I’m sorry, Lou, but it doesn’t. That was all down to you and they have no liability there at all. In fact, it’s written in the small print that it must be returned to them in a perfect state of repair, so you have to make sure that any outstanding maintenance is completed before you hand it back over.’

  ‘You are kidding me!’ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Had I even read the contract before I’d signed it? I’d obviously been so ramped up on excitement that I’d blindly agreed to all their terms. What else was in there? Did I have to give them my firstborn child and internal organs should they require them? Firstborn child. Oh no! My firstborn child was coming into the world to a mother who was completely bloody useless and who had somehow managed to give away everything she’d worked for her whole career.

  I was a total failure. A total and utter hopeless case. One with a vague awareness that there were fluids spurting from my facial orifices.

  Lizzy handed me a tissue from the stock Josie had given her when she collected me.

  ‘So there’s nothing she can do? Nothing?’ she asked now. ‘Not even anything illegal?’

  Alex reddened and pulled at his Hugo Boss tie. ‘Not that I could possibly give an opinion on options involving anything that would break the law, but short of bumping off Chantelle I can’t see any way out of this.’

  Nothing. Not a damn thing. Years of blood, sweat and tears and I was going to be left with nothing to show for it except some equipment and staff that needed to earn a living. What was I going to tell them? They all had their hopes pinned on Alex pulling a legal rabbit out of the hat and I was going to have to break it to them that there was nothing we could do. How could I have allowed this to happen?

  ‘OK, don’t panic. Do not panic.’ Lizzy clutched my hand and squeezed. ‘It’s not all over yet. We still have time to do something. We could try to negotiate. Or . . . or . . .’

  I waited to see what little nugget of brilliance my lovely friend was going to come up with. ‘Or we could beg them for mercy?’ she finished weakly.

  We were officially done for.

  Alex picked up the calendar on his desk and checked the date. ‘I think you’re going to have to look at other options, Lou. Maybe move to another premises. Relaunch somewhere else. Try to buy out one of the other salons in town, perhaps?’


  Absolutely not. I wasn’t giving up that easily. I would fight this until the end. I’d worked my now-considerable arse off to build up my business, it meant the world to me and I wasn’t giving it up. I bloody wasn’t.

  No way. Definitely n –

  Alex was still talking. ‘You’ve got twenty-eight days left to come up with something so you still have time.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  Lizzy squeezed my hand again. ‘Honey, don’t say that. We’ll find a way out of this.’

  ‘No time,’ I repeated, although now it was more of a desperate hiss. ‘Lizzy, get Red. The baby . . . It’s coming.’

  Thirty-six

  ‘Push!!!!!!!!!!’

  I have never come closer to killing my husband. I was borderline manic after eighteen hours of labour and several thousand people telling me that I was ‘doing great’. I was not. The epidural had worn off and they’d been unable to administer another. But hey, Red said I was doing great. There’s a reason they don’t allow weapons in hospitals.

  Now, finally, a spookily tall Asian doctor who, the nurses informed me, had once played volleyball for Malaysia in the Olympics, was telling me to push. And push. And push. Until . . .

  ‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.’

  That one came from the baby, but Red immediately defied his macho West of Scotland roots once again by bursting into tears too.

  ‘It’s a girl,’ Dolly, the nurse, announced gleefully. She held out what looked like a set of garden shears and asked Red if he wanted to cut the cord. He nodded. If this wasn’t the most pivotal moment of my life I may have informed her that he’d already cut through the lawnmower cable four times this year so probably couldn’t be trusted with sharp implements.

  ‘Is she OK? Please tell me she’s OK!’ I gasped, craning my neck to see what was going on down at the other end.

  The Malaysian doctor’s head appeared first, then came his absurdly long arms, and in them was the most beautiful, breathtaking mound of gooey sludge I’d ever seen. ‘She’s absolutely fine. And loud, very loud.’ He smiled.

  ‘Oh my God – a girl. Mrs. Marshall’s dead husband was right.’

  The doc tried not to look concerned for my sanity as he reached over and placed my baby on my chest. In line with recent behaviour, I cried.

  She was perfect in every single way. She had Red’s nose, Ginger’s hair and . . .

  ‘Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh’

  . . . Josie’s lungs. And my wrinkles, but apparently they would disappear after a couple of days.

  Suddenly, she stopped crying and nuzzled in and promptly fell asleep. Was that normal? Did they do that? Was that OK?’

  I searched the doctor’s face but he looked unconcerned so I went back to staring at my perfect little girl.

  I was a mum.

  A mum.

  After nine months, eighteen hours, a million tears and several replays of Stevie Wonder’s greatest hits, my baby had appeared right in the middle of ‘Superstition’, my favourite song of all time.

  She was a class act already.

  ‘I’ll be back in five minutes to weigh her,’ the doctor told us, before stooping as he went through the door to avoid concussion. I realised that Dolly had disappeared too, leaving just us. My family.

  I held the baby out to Red and he just stared at her for a few seconds before looking back at me, his face solemn.

  ‘I didn’t think it was possible to love you even more, Lou,’ he began softly, ‘But, God, I do. I don’t know how I got this lucky and I swear I’ll take care of this little one every day of her life.”

  I nodded, my chest so tight I couldn’t even speak. After being brought up by a father who didn’t give a toss about me, no other words could mean more to me. He would take care of her, love her, never ever walk away. This was his girl and he was going to be the most incredible dad. Oh Lord, more tears.

  Dolly breezed back into the room, followed by the unfeasibly tall doc. ‘Here you go my love,’ she announced. ‘Some tea and toast for you. Now hand that little bundle over and we’ll take care of all our checks while you have your tea.’

  Despite a valiant effort to hang on to her, Red finally passed her over and reached out and took my free hand.

  ‘Thanks, Lou,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘You’re welcome. But don’t think you’re getting a Christmas present because one of those new Xbox thingies would mean nothing after this.’

  Wow, another wave of crashing glee swept over me. It was like suddenly my hormones were on spin cycle and throwing out little bursts of emotion on a minute-by-minute basis. I held out the plate of toast to the love of my life, to the man who had brought me the kind of bliss I’d never even imagined could be possible.

  ‘No thanks, I’ve had some already,’ he said nonchalantly.

  ‘When?’

  ‘When the doc was giving you the epidural and you told me to go outside so I wouldn’t faint. Dolly made me some tea and toast and I had in it the TV room. Friends was on. It was the one where . . .’

  ‘What! I sent you out there to pace up and down. And to fret. And worry. And reflect on how brave and heroic your wife was in the face of one of Mother Nature’s trials, and you were in the TV room having tea and toast?’

  Even the doc and Dolly were making a really bad attempt to act like they weren’t dying to hear how he was going to get himself out of this one. Meanwhile, his horrified expression showed that he realised the gravity of his error. Half an hour with Courtney Cox had just become a demon that would haunt him forever.

  Luckily, intervention from a sympathetic medical professional and our new daughter saved the day.

  ‘Here we go then.’ Dolly whipped away my cup and plate and my baby was once again placed on my chest. ‘So what is this little one’s name going to be?’

  Red and I stared at each other. ‘It would be a bad idea for you to say Monica, Phoebe or Rachel right now,’ I warned him.

  Names. We’d been through every baby name book in WH Smith and we still hadn’t come up with one that felt right. We’d even pondered the place of conception (Paisley) and the place of pregnancy discovery (Manhattan, Toilet or Cubicle). For obvious reasons, nothing seemed to fit.

  There was a kerfuffle at the door and a huge mass appeared from nowhere.

  ‘I’m sorry, but can we come in now? That militant nurse told us we had to wait until the doctor had finished.’

  Thankfully, Dolly found Ginger’s sense of humour ‘amusing and sharp’ as opposed to ‘call security and remove the cheeky cow’.

  ‘Come on then,’ Dolly replied, ‘but you’ll have to keep the noise down.’

  Ginger, Lizzy and Josie stormed in with a clatter of heels, trying their very best to scream quietly. That’s when it happened. Something that I’d lived my whole life without seeing – Josie crumbled and someone else had to pass the Kleenex to her. If ever there was a time that she needed a therapeutic caramel log, this was it.

  ‘My first great-niece,’ she whispered, awestruck.

  ‘Wow! She’s so, so, so beautiful!’ Lizzy exclaimed, her voice also thick with emotion.

  After a moment of temporary insanity during which the woman who despised public displays of affection smothered all of us with hugs and kisses, Ginger stared at the baby, her brow knotted with puzzlement, until she suddenly had a eureka moment.

  ‘I’ve just realised who she looks like!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Our aunt,’ she told Red. ‘You know, the one who caused a huge scandal when she ran away with the ringmaster from the circus then surfaced years later with that bloke who’d been a roadie for the Rolling Stones.’

  I was scared to ask questions. There were some things that should just be taken at face value.

  ‘What was her name?’ Red asked, clearly as confused as the rest of us.

  ‘Cassie. Aunt Cassie. She lives in an old hippy commune somewhere near Woodstock now.’

  No one spoke for a few seconds while we processed the
information, then, in perfect synchronicity, we all turned to look at the baby.

  ‘Cassie,’ I said softly. ‘It’s perfect.’

  Thirty-seven

  Lou

  St Kentigern Hotel, Glasgow. Saturday morning, 11am

  My first thought was that the incessant ringing was the alarm clock at the other side of the bed. I reached down, grabbed a hotel slipper and threw it in the direction of the noise.

  ‘Aw!’

  Clearly, I missed.

  ‘It’s the phone,’ Lizzy wailed, while rubbing the side of her face. ‘What is it with me? I even manage to get injured when I’m sleeping.’

  I leaned over, kissed her, apologised, then stretched right over her to grab the phone. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mama, it’s me.’

  My smile was instantaneous. ‘Who?’

  ‘Cassie, Mama. It’s Cassie.’

  ‘Cassie who?’ I joked. It was the game we played every time we spoke on the phone – and much as social services might not approve of the psychological impact of denying your own child, my little sweetheart could handle it because inevitably there was a pay-off at the end.

  ‘If you don’t remember you have to bring me a present.’

  ‘Nope, sorry, I don’t remember.’

  ‘Yaaaayyyyyyy! I get a present. I love you, Mama.’

  ‘I love you too, sweetheart. Are you having fun with Daddy?’

  ‘Yes. We watched The Princess Diaries last night. I think I’m too big for it now but it’s Daddy’s favourite.’

  I had a sudden vision of Red vouching to have his toenails extracted rather than sit through that movie again. I decided not to share the thought.

  ‘Is Auntie Ginger with you?’

  Great. I’d been away from my child for a whole day and who did she want to talk to? The creature from the Black Lagoon that was snoring at the bottom of my bed.

  I tried not to give in to the desolation that ambushed me.