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

by Shari Low

  ‘Really? Because everyone else seems to think that I’m completely losing the plot.’

  She shook her head, still possessed with a calm aura of knowledge. Bloody hell, she was already dressing the part but now she was developing the psychological skills of a sensei. Or that little Yoda bloke with the unfortunate voice on Star Wars.

  ‘Lou, it’s a control thing and, without coming over all deep and profound, it doesn’t take an expert to see why you do this. You’ve spent your whole life building an existence that only depends on you. Your own house, your own car, your own business and you achieved every single one of those things yourself.’

  ‘Apart from an act of criminal fraud on the part of my aunt.’

  A roar of laughter escaped her. ‘Shit, I’d forgotten about that. Your mother would go ballistic if she ever found out. Stroke of genius though.’

  She paused for a second, reflecting on the miracle that she never ended up in jail, before continuing. ‘But the point is, with those two fuckwits you were born to, you’ve only ever been able to rely on yourself and you’ve had to solve every problem, mould your life without back-up or support. And you’ve done an amazing job. But now you’re facing the possibility that you won’t be able to fix something, wont be able to solve a huge potential problem for Cassie and that’s freaking you out.’

  How the hell did she get all that from ‘having a bit of a meltdown’?

  And how the hell did she manage to get it oh so right.

  Her hand slid over mine and she gave it a squeeze. ‘We’ll get through this, Lou.’

  ‘You think?’

  Another nod from the sensei. ‘It’s just about staying strong and trying to stay positive, even though I know that you must be terrified. I would be.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t,’ I told her. Josie didn’t do weakness. Or fear. Or anything even resembling the behaviour of a victim.

  ‘I would, Lou. The thought of leaving Michael and Avril and you would . . .’ She stopped dead, shuddered, obviously unwilling to even contemplate it, then immediately snapped back to her general disposition of in-fucking-vincible.

  Reaching over, she topped up my cup and then slowly reached to the other side of the table.

  ‘Do you know what you need?’ she asked, grabbing a box and wrestling the lid.

  Therapy? Drugs? A bit of good luck?

  ‘A caramel log.’

  Despite knowing that they could solve all of the world’s problems, including famine, corruptions and war, I shook my head, unable to contemplate eating.

  There was still one person I needed to speak to. And I had a hunch that it would be the toughest of all.

  Two hours later, the maître d’ showed me to a corner booth in the Carriage Club.

  ‘I can’t believe they still let you in here,’ I said as I attempted to bend in tight black Capri pants, which threatened to give way at the buttock seam at any moment.

  As soon as this was over, I needed to drop the comfort Mars bars and get back to doing some kind of physical exercise. Just now it was hard with the six-inch square dressing that had more or less permanently been on my back for the last seven months. Scrape. Repair. Test. Scrape. Repair. Test. And so it had gone on, time after time. Now the dressing on my back had a matching partner on my groin where they’d removed the lymph node for testing.

  Stop thinking about it, just stop. Keep it together. Don’t freak. Calm. Stay calm.

  ‘I’ve already ordered cocktails,’ Ginger informed me. Where did she put it all? Her booze alone must have added thousands of calories to her diet every week and yet she still poured herself into killer jeans and boned basques that women half her age couldn’t carry off.

  But today wasn’t about fashion. I chewed the inside of my gum and decided to wait until after lunch to broach the subject. Yep, that was the best idea. Wait. Ponder. Work out the best way to kick off the most difficult conversation we would ever have.

  ‘Ginger, if anything happens to me, do you promise that you’ll look after Cassie?’ It was out of my mouth before the waiter had arrived with her Slippery Nipple and my Cosmo.

  She stared at me with an expression that was somewhere between horror and something that I didn’t recognise. Oh dear Lord, it was fear. When had I turned into the Grim Reaper, programmed to travel the earth causing terror, grief and spreading doom and bloody gloom to everyone I loved?

  ‘Of . . . of course . . . I will,’ she stuttered, before recovering her composure. ‘I’ll visit and take her out and teach her about boys.’

  ‘If you teach her to smoke when she’s twelve I’ll haunt you,’ I warned her.

  Pools of water formed in her eyes and I swallowed hard. This wasn’t about me. It was about Ginger, and taking care of Cassie if the worst . . . God, it physically hurt just thinking about it.

  ‘OK, I’ll leave it until she’s thirteen then. Lou, shouldn’t you be saying all this to Lizzy? I mean, she’s much better at this stuff than me and she’ll be the one that Cassie will gravitate towards.’

  ‘Especially if Red marries her,’ I added.

  ‘Red’s marrying Lizzy?’ she gasped, confused.

  ‘I asked him to last night.’

  There was a moment of silence while she absorbed that revelation, then she picked up a glass of wine that had yet to be cleared from the next table and downed it in one.

  ‘You are completely fricking nuts,’ was her diagnosis. But I noticed that she didn’t hit me with platitudes and reassurances.

  ‘Your brother shared that thought with me already. Anyway, don’t avoid the question. Ginger, I don’t think you realise how much Cassie loves you and how alike you are. She will always love Lizzy, but it’s you she’ll need more than anyone because you’ll understand her. If I’m not here, you’re going to be the one she will come looking for when she’s in trouble and needs a mum.’

  Suddenly, two big fat tears appeared and she wiped them away with the sleeve of her Dolce & Gabbana jacket. Did I mention that the Grim Reaper was sponsored by Kleenex and had a talent for grief inducement? I’d finally discovered something that scared the life out of the very boldest of my friends – and it was six, loud, opinionated and currently planning on being either prime minister or a dog groomer when she grew up.

  An attractive, broad-shouldered waiter arrived with our drinks and a wary expression – two upset women in the middle of the day was never a situation that could be approached without caution.

  After a suitably long slug of her drink, Ginger finally spoke. ‘I can’t believe you would trust me with your child. Do you not remember what I did with your hamster?’

  ‘Mmm, but on balance I think it’s pretty unlikely that you’ll inadvertently let Cassie escape only for her to be kidnapped by the next-door neighbour and held to ransom for three Curly Wurlies and a skateboard.’

  She held her glass out to mine. ‘Then I hereby promise that I will take care of my gorgeous niece until the end of time should I be required to. But you need to promise me something . . .’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘Promise me that if Red and Lizzy do ever marry, I won’t have to wear that fucking horrible peach dress again.’

  I clinked her glass with mine. ‘I promise.’

  A strange wave of calm washed over me. Cassie would be fine. Red would cope. I’d spoken to everyone I needed to and I knew that even if the very worst were to happen that my family would be taken care of, because I was surrounded by the most incredible friends anyone could have.

  ‘OK. So you know what I think we should do now?’ Ginger said. ‘I think we should eat lunch and then drink until we fall down. And then I think we should still go on our spa weekend.’

  ‘What spa weekend?’

  ‘The one we booked months ago for our birthdays.’

  ‘Ginger, I can’t.’

  ‘You can.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Look, Lou, you just listen to me. I know you’re confused and scared and I would be too. I don�
�t know how I’d even begin to deal with what’s happened to you. But Lizzy and I are your family and we want to be with you. Please let us. We need this too.’

  That’s when it happened. The indefatigable warrior that was Ginger broke down and sobbed in the middle of a public place, while the moon turned blue and someone found a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked Red later.

  ‘I think you need to go. They love you, Lou, and they want the time with you, to pamper you a bit. The doctors say it helps if you can stay calm and positive and take care of yourself and it’ll take your mind off the wait. I think you should go.’

  I thought about it some more. There were still things to be said, questions to be asked. I needed them to know things and to help me with all the loose ends.

  ‘Hey, Ginger,’ I said as she picked up the phone. ‘This weekend in the hotel? I’m in.’

  Fifty-one

  Ginger

  St Kentigern Hotel, Glasgow. 3pm

  ‘God, my head hurts,’ I groaned. I moved my wrist in and out in front of my face as I tried to focus. ‘Shit, it’s three o’clock.’

  Where had the day gone? God, I felt awful. The whole point of this weekend had been to pamper Lou, take her mind off Monday, give her some support and what had I done? Slept through most of it. Fuck, I was hopeless. What kind of crap friend was I?

  ‘Lou, I’m so sorry. I’ve missed the whole day.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She smiled. I could see that she and Lizzy had been crying. It didn’t take a genius to work out what that was about and that made me feel even worse. Where had I been when my pal needed me? Wiped out, sleeping off a hangover.

  I knew Lou wouldn’t mind – she was the most accepting, forgiving friend ever and God knows I tested that often enough. But that wasn’t the point. I minded.

  I forced myself up to a kneeling position and tried not to fall back down when the world started spinning around me.

  ‘What can I do to make it up to you? Anything. Except my handbag collection because that’s way too expensive.’

  ‘Actually there is something,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘I want you to stop drinking.’

  Of all the things that could possibly have come out of her mouth at that moment, I didn’t expect that one.

  ‘What?’ I could feel my defensive barriers kicking in. I didn’t drink too much. It was sociable. Part of my job and my image. A bit of fun. I could stop anytime. Anytime at all.

  ‘I told you that you drank too much when you were in the hospital after your fall and I asked you to stop then. You took no notice, so I’m telling you again. You have to stop.’

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me what I should do!’

  Noooooo, this wasn’t how today was supposed to go. This was supposed to be a fun day of girlie bonding, not a mass blowout. But somehow I couldn’t stop my outrage from taking control.

  ‘Why?’ she asked calmly. Wow. This was a side of Lou I’d never seen before. Usually she’d roll her eyes or back down or just ignore me but now she was actually challenging me and by the sound of it she was just warming up.

  ‘Why do you think you’ve got a right to tell me what to do, to give your opinion of everything we say or do, yet we can’t be honest with you? Forget it, Ginger. We’ve stood by and watched you abuse yourself with alcohol for years. It almost killed you once and if you are the person who is going to look after my daughter then you need to be fucking alive. I might not have a choice in this but you still do and you’re a selfish cow if you don’t realise that you’re drinking yourself into an early grave and there are people around here who need you.’

  Stunned. I felt like I’d been punched in the face. The tension in the room was excruciating yet no one said anything. Not a word. Lou was almost volcanic with fury and I was just . . . stunned.

  Because she was right.

  I knew it.

  I’d known it for a long time and never bothered doing anything about it because that’s who I was. Ginger, the party girl. The rock chick. Hard-core hedonist.

  ‘Lizzy?’ I suddenly wanted to know if Lizzy felt the same. Her sad nod told me that she did.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ginger, but she’s right. I’m only saying it because I love you.’

  I felt sick, but at the same time seemed to have lost the power to move.

  ‘Actually, Lizzy, while we’re being honest because we love each other . . .’ Oh, shit, Lou was off again.

  ‘You need to stop hiding and doing everything for everyone else. This is your life. Yours. You’re not here just to facilitate the lives of everyone around you. I know it’s scary and you hate change and new challenges but you owe it to yourself to get out there and make a life on your own terms, because if you don’t you’re going to look back one day and really regret that you didn’t find your own happiness.’

  Oh for Christ’s sake, what was going on here? Lou was possessed. This was so unlike her. So random. Yet . . . again she was right.

  ‘And both of you – you need to remember everything we’ve talked about this weekend.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, slightly scared of the reply.

  ‘All the reminiscing, the stories from the past, the most important moments of my life, because if I don’t get through this then you need to tell Cassie all of them so she’ll know. I want her to understand that every single moment that mattered had you guys in it, because I want her to truly understand that how great your life is depends on your friends. She has to know how to pick great ones . . . because I did.’

  Fifty-two

  Monday Morning. Glasgow General Hospital

  ‘Mrs. Jones?’

  The nurse hadn’t even got the whole word out before I was on my feet, Josie and Ginger just a split second behind. OK, I was ready. I could do this. I was prepared to go and no matter what the verdict was we’d deal with it. Let’s go. Let’s do this. Let’s . . .

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs. Jones, but clinic is running terribly late today. We’ll be with you as soon as possible.’

  Let’s wait a little longer.

  Slowly, we all sat back down and if Josie’s and Ginger’s hearts were racing like mine, it would take us a few moments to recover.

  Bloody hell, this was excruciating.

  The nurse had snapped me right out of my happy place, taken me away from the joys of family and friends and a night of love and laughter that I’d never forget, and now we were back to the green walls of reality.

  For a second I regretted not telling Red that I was getting the results this morning, but he’d been offered a week on the road doing a pictorial for the biggest rock band ever to come out of Scotland. He’d headed off last night, as soon as I got back from the St. Kentigern.

  It was the gig of his career. Five cities over seven days, with the possibility of photographs that could become iconic images of the future. Yet, I knew he’d give the whole lot up in a heartbeat to be here. So instead of admitting the truth, I’d told him that my appointment was next week, when the most exciting thing he had scheduled so far was a photo-shoot for a tourism push on the Isle of Mull.

  If the news was bad we’d have plenty of time to get used to the idea, so there was no point in disrupting his life yet, whether it was what he wanted or not. Besides, if the results didn’t go the way we needed them to then I highly doubted he’d believe it anyway. Illness wasn’t an option as far as he was concerned.

  My reality was a little different.

  The initial mole had been removed, a biopsy done and the doctors could see that they hadn’t removed all the affected tissue.

  More skin was cut away, checked, still cancerous.

  And so it went on. Seven times in all. Each one getting closer and closer to the possibility of a sinister diagnosis: the spread of cancer to the lymph nodes. Or worse. The liver. The kidneys. The bones. The brain.

  Fuck, where was that road cone when I needed it? My hea
rt started beating faster, sweat beads formed on the palms of my hands, on my forehead, in all the little crevices of skin that could no longer tolerate the sudden switch of my internal temperature to ‘white hot fear’.

  More blood tests, scans and a biopsy on my lymph nodes had been done two weeks before and now I was waiting to find out if I was going to be in and out in five minutes or if I was going to be one of today’s patients who would hold up those waiting outside, because I’d have questions, require strategies and plans.

  ‘Yeah, well at least I’m not dressed like the last of the samurai,’ Ginger’s voice cut through my thoughts.

  ‘You’re right, my love, much better not to be dressed at all. Do the words “mutton” and “lamb” mean anything to you?’

  A woman further along the row of plastic orange chairs, her chin almost hitting her chest with astonishment, looked at Josie and Ginger, then at the two perfectly behaved children that sat next to her. I could tell what she was thinking. Josie and Ginger, aged eight and a half.

  They’d been like this for weeks, both of them highly strung and bickering. I kept hoping they’d go for strong, heroic and dignified in the face of adversity but apparently a running commentary of insults and abuse won out in the battle of the coping mechanisms.

  I’d half expected Ginger not to turn up today after everything I said to her at the hotel, but she was here. It made me love her even more.

  My heart accelerated even further as another patient appeared from inside a consultation room, tears streaking her face, being supported in every step by a tall man who had devastation written all over his face. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

  Happy place – it was time for the happy place.

  Immediately after diagnosis, Ginger had appeared with the evidence that she’d dealt with the metaphorical kick in the melanoma bollocks in the same way as she did everything else: shopping. Apologies to anyone else in the West of Scotland who is seeking comfort or information on the subject of dealing with a life threatening illness, because the entire literary stock of the nation was now on my kitchen table.