by Shari Low
‘I do not believe I’m here,’ Sarah said wearily. ‘Buying clothes is my idea of hell.’
Patsy was low on sympathy. ‘I do not believe that you left it until today to shop for this trip. Just be grateful that Eliza isn’t here. I had to bribe her with twenty quid not to show up and drag you into the size 8, teenage nirvana of Topshop. Right, let’s get organized. I’ve got a list.’
Sarah watched, open-mouthed, as Patsy pulled one side of a cornflakes box from her bag, turned it over, and proceeded to rhyme off what was written on the back of it.
‘Ten pairs of knickers, four of them sexy with matching bras.’
Sarah’s face turned the same shade as Patsy’s hair and mortification robbed her of the power of speech.
‘Four one-piece swimsuits with matching sarongs.’ Patsy looked up. ‘Don’t take offence but those abs haven’t seen a gym in, well, ever. And I say that from a place of love.’
Dear God, this was like spending the day with Gok Wan’s evil, non-identical, hippy-chic twin. And she was still going.
‘Ten cruise-casual outfits, fully accessorized. Ten evening cocktail dresses, various styles. Three evening dresses. Three sets of nightwear, one raunchy in case you get lucky.’
Where was that fire alarm?
‘One wrap for chilly evenings – preferably pashmina. I’ve heard that’s all the fashion these days. One light cardigan. One pair of jeans…’
‘I have jeans!’ Sarah managed to blurt.
Patsy countered her objection with, ‘That were manufactured after 1984. Oh, and shoes. Two flip-flops, two wedges – one day and one night – one pair of comfortable yet chic walking shoes, three pairs of drop-dead-gorgeous heels.’
Sarah groaned in despair and Patsy replied with an arched eyebrow. ‘What? Count yourself lucky – I had a pair of furry mules on there as well, but I took them off when I scored out the erotic negligee. Didn’t want you embarrassed if you get stopped at customs.’
Sarah sighed. ‘I’m welling up with gratitude.’
Patsy ignored the sarcasm and ploughed on with a breezy, ‘So you should be. Right. Let’s get to it.’
In less than fifteen minutes Patsy had accumulated an armful of garments and was prodding Sarah in the direction of the changing room.
‘Six items maximum,’ a cheery, WAG-in-waiting told them at the entrance.
Patsy did a quick count. ‘That’s fine – there are twelve here so that’s six each.’ Before the WAG-in-waiting could compute this logic, Patsy was already past her.
They headed into the largest cubicle: double-sized and perfect for those requiring a second opinion, whether they wanted it or – in this case - not. Patsy held up the first outfit as Sarah stripped to her underwear.
‘It’s a good thing that we’re heading to Markie’s underwear department next. Fishing boats could catch tuna with those knickers.’
Sarah looked down at the offending undergarments in question. White, large, and yes, they’d probably seen better days. And no, they didn’t match the nude, bland, slightly stretched bra, either. She’d got dressed in a hurry this morning and since her knickers hadn’t been viewed by another living person anytime this decade, she hadn’t given underwear a second thought.
‘You’re supposed to be my non-judgemental friend.’
‘You’re right. Now put this on and cover them up before I’m forced to call the gusset police.’
That started it. The giggles came and wouldn’t stop until the tears were running down her face. Two almost-fifty-year-old women, in a changing room, one of them practically naked, and both doubled up with laughter. Sarah didn’t even want to contemplate what people in the other changing rooms were thinking. But for once she didn’t care.
‘Oh, Patsy, I feel like we’re sixteen again and you’re dragging me into C&A for a frock for the school dance. Remember? That was the first night I kissed Drew. And I already had a boyfriend. What a tart I was! I’d fancied him for years, though, and he knew it.’
‘You’re right. I should have kept you home that night. Your whole life would have been different. Maybe you’d have stayed single and been Sarah Armit forever. Or perhaps you’d have married Phil Kenny.’
‘Oh my God, Phil Kenny! Whatever happened to him?’
‘Found dead in a brothel in Thailand.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘Nope.’
‘On balance, I think I was better off with Drew then, don’t you?’
‘Nope. You’d have got Phil’s insurance money.’
That set them off again, with Sarah sending up apologies to the heavens in case the dearly departed Phil Kenny was listening.
When she finally pulled on the first dress, she stood back to survey the reflection of a gorgeous but simple white calico maxi that skimmed her ankles while revealing an inch of nude bra at the top. Patsy stood beside her so that they were both appraising the vision in the mirror.
‘A decent bra would be a start, but the rest of it looks great. Or at least, it will when you’ve got a bit of colour.’
Sarah wasn’t so sure. Was it a bit bridal? A bit… well… noticeable? These days she preferred to blend into the background and this dress was definitely not wallflower material. She stared at the mirror again and realized that she didn’t look tragically bad. The kids wouldn’t cross the road when they saw her coming. Well, Eliza probably would, but that was just standard teenage behaviour. The boobs looked a bit droopy, but as Patsy so helpfully – or brutally – pointed out, a new bra would sort that out. Her arms were still tight and toned, courtesy of all that cake-mixing. The fabric seemed to glide over the areas she disliked most (hips, bum – thanks to all that cake tasting) and the long length had a slimming effect that was rather… well, flattering. Maybe this one would be fine. The price tag caught her eye. Or maybe not. A hundred quid! That was three tit cakes! And she’d probably never wear it again after this trip.
‘Right, that one’s a yes,’ Patsy informed her.
‘I really don’t think…’
‘Stop!’ Patsy put her hand up and went into full-scale bossy mode. ‘I’m here for thinking, you’re here for obedient, but life-enhancing action. Just take that off and get this next one on.’
Sarah prided herself in knowing when to pick her battles and this wasn’t the time to go to war.
The next four hours were like being caught in a tumble dryer of clothes racks and changing rooms. An hour before the shopping centre was due to close, they staggered into Starbucks, laden down with bags, most of which Sarah had already decided would be going back, unworn, as soon as she got back from the cruise. What a complete waste of money. She didn’t need all these clothes. On the rare occasion that she left her kitchen, she didn’t go any further than the high street, the park, or – when she was really pushing the boat out – the local pub with Patsy. A leopard-print maxi dress with matching shawl was going to look more than a little out of place at the Dog and Sausage.
They both ordered large lattes and lemon muffins and plonked themselves down at the first free table. Sarah eased off the Converse trainers that were now digging into her swollen feet. Eliza would kill her when she found out Sarah had borrowed them, but she’d known she’d be on her feet all day and the only comfy shoes she had were the Crocs she wore all day around the house, Uggs in both black and brown, and her wellies with the repeating ducks pattern. Somehow she didn’t think Patsy would appreciate any of those choices, so she’d panicked and raided Eliza’s wardrobe for something flat but not friendship-threatening.
‘You know, there’s no point starting the diet today.’ Sarah reflected, justifying the large slice of sponge she was about to consume. ‘But… actually you look like you’ve lost a bit of weight.’
Patsy suddenly went bright red and involuntarily adopted a coy expression. Sarah paused, muffin in mid-air and surveyed her pal. Patsy hadn’t been coy since she snogged her first boyfriend sometime around 1976, so… oh no.
‘Are you sick?’ Sara
h asked, holding her breath.
‘No, you daft cow, I’m not sick. I’ve met someone.’
‘You’re kidding!’ It took Sarah a few seconds to realize that could be taken in an insulting manner, so she blustered out a clarification. ‘Not that you shouldn’t meet someone! But it’s just that… well, you said after Dick you’d never do it again. I seem to remember a comment about resealing a part of your anatomy.’
‘That might have been a tad rash.’
There was a stunned silence as Sarah absorbed the newsflash. This was great news. Amazing. It had taken years for Patsy to get over losing Dick to a dinner lady from Wales that he met on the Internet. For more nights than she cared to – or could – remember, they’d sat with a bottle of wine while Patsy broke her heart and they made insulting generalizations about the male species and the things they’d like to do to them with a bargepole. Despite Drew’s betrayal, Sarah never actually meant any of it, but for the sake of moral support and unconditional devotion, she went along with every one of Patsy’s declarations as to why the only thing that would make her feel better was hiring a hitman. In the end, Sarah had talked her out of cashing in her endowment policy and typing ‘killer for hire’ into Google.
‘Pats, I’m so pleased for you, I really am. So who is he? And how did you meet him? And will this require coffee refills? And should I get them now so we don’t have to interrupt the juicy bits?’
Patsy laughed and nodded, sending Sarah haring up to the counter, to return five minutes later with another caffeine fix for two.
‘He’s a policeman. He was the one who came when my car got stolen from the driveway and then I bumped into him again in Superdrug the following week and…’
‘Am I allowed to make immature jokes about “further investigations” and “taking down your particulars”?’
‘No.’
‘OK.’
‘His name’s Don, and it’s three weeks now and we’ve been out a dozen times and we seem to talk every day. He’s nice, Sarah. Really nice. I’m just taking it a day at a time, but I haven’t felt this good in years.’
Sarah felt her heartstrings ping as she glowed with happiness for her friend. Patsy so deserved every single moment of this new romance. Sarah spontaneously leaned over and squeezed her tightly, then grinned when another thought occurred to her.
‘Patsy, I’ve just realized that your timing just couldn’t have been better.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’ve got a new man, and…’ she gestured to the pile of clothes bags stacked around her, ‘I’ll give you all this lot when I get back and he can take down the particulars of the best dating wardrobe in town.’
Tess
It was after midnight when Drew got home, and Tess was sitting in bed waiting for him. There had been no further calls or texts. The cool touch of the crisp white Egyptian cotton sheets did nothing to calm her.
In the last few hours she’d picked up the phone to call Cameron a dozen times but never got further than the seventh digit. Her lips were chewed raw and her stomach was churning.
Drew hung up his jacket on the door of the wardrobe. ‘Sorry I’m so late, babe. What a night.’
‘That’s OK.’ But it wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t.
‘Turns out our tip was correct. In fact, not only was he shagging one of his teammate’s wives, but he was also up to no good with his wife’s twin sister. These guys are unbelievable.’
Normally she’d agree and they’d chat about the situation, but somehow tonight the words wouldn’t come. At this moment, nothing was more unbelievable to her than the acceptance that there were problems in her marriage and the shock of her best friend in the world declaring that his feelings for her were more than platonic.
How had she not seen this? And how was she supposed to feel about it? She didn’t have the answer to either question.
He slid his trousers off and hung them on the trouser press. He was neat that way. Methodical. Disciplined. Standing in front of her now, giving her all the gory details about the scoop, she zoned out and tried, for the first time in way too long, to appraise him objectively. He still looked great. He might not have had the time to go to dinner or pack his own suitcase, but he always made a window in his day to work out. Yep, that was yet another thing that was more important than spending time with her. Usually, he popped down to the gym in the basement of the office, but sometimes, on the rare occasions when Glasgow weather permitted, he’d cycle for an hour. He might have been only a few days away from fifty but his body was stuck at two decades earlier.
His physical shape might not have changed, but now, looking clearly, Tess could see that other things had definitely shifted. When they were first together he would look at her when he spoke, engage her in conversation, listen to what she had to say. Now he just imparted news. It was a one-way conversation. In fact, she could dispense with eighty per cent of their current relationship by just reading his newspaper every day.
The sparkle had definitely dimmed. The only consolation was that she knew he loved her and she loved him. Didn’t all marriages go through periods like this? Whenever a magazine ran a story on a couple that had been married for fifty years, they always said they’d had ‘ups and downs’. Perhaps this was just a five-year dip and the cruise would nudge them back on to an upwards phase again…
The cruise on which he’d invited his whole family.
‘Drew, can I ask you something?’ He was so deep into the story about the football player with the wandering balls, that her interruption surprised him. ‘Why did you invite everyone to go with us on this trip?’
He stopped with his boxer shorts at half mast. It wasn’t an image that made for serious conversation. ‘Because I thought the company would be fun,’ he said dismissively, before stepping out of the underwear and turning to reveal a perfect arse. Perfect. This was so off-putting.
‘But you never asked me what I thought before you did it. Maybe I’d have preferred it to be just us.’
There was an uncustomary edge of challenge in her voice but Drew clearly didn’t recognize it. He slipped into bed and threw his arm across her stomach.
‘Honey, I did it for you, too. I know you miss your mum and dad, and have no other family around, so I thought it would be good for you to get closer to Mona, Sarah and the kids. They’re your family, too. It’ll be great.’
There was an edge of finality in his voice that told her the conversation was over and soon his breathing slowed as he began to slip into sleep. No ‘How was your day, darling?’ Or ‘Sorry again about ruining our plans.’ Or even a ‘Did your best friend try to persuade you to leave me today?’
In his defence, though, his explanation made sense. She did miss her parents, so perhaps it was a lovely gesture if you looked at it that way. He’d been thinking about her, wanting her life to be better.
‘I love you, honey,’ he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He loved her. And he’d been thinking about her when he’d planned this. Perhaps things weren’t in such a ‘down’ cycle after all. Maybe she was over-reacting. Misunderstanding his intentions. Taking everything too personally.
She slid down in the bed and he automatically spooned her so that she could feel his soft, sleepy breath on the back of her neck.
Hours later, as the sun began to rise, she gave up on the sleep that refused to come.
Mona
Mona brushed her teeth and flossed for the second time in an hour. She’d been hoping that Piers would be so tired that he’d settle for an early night. Perhaps he’d even had a lunchtime quickie with Emily the Frump. Apparently not. As soon as they got home, she headed to her dressing room, brushed her teeth at the vanity unit and there he was behind her like a predatory mate. She used to find his assertiveness and self-confidence appealing. Not now.
His hand slipped around and fondled her breast as he watched her in the mirror. He got off on that. She used to like it too. The ultimate narcissistic encounter. Now it was eas
ier to close her eyes and pretend it was Lance from the tennis club or Adrian the hot model.
In her imagination tonight it was Drake, an up-and-coming photographer who had kept her steamy hot on a skiwear photoshoot in Verbier. This encounter with Piers wasn’t quite as rewarding or enduring. Without the staying power of his chemical enhancers it was over in ten minutes, leaving him breathless and Mona verging somewhere between dissatisfaction and relief.
This couldn’t go on.
After a quick shower, and another brush of her teeth, she padded across the mahogany floor and dropped her satin wrap on the gold chaise longue at the end of the bed. Piers was already snoring when she joined him under the black silk sheets. They were such a cliché, but he loved them.
Half an hour later, she couldn’t listen to his snoring any longer so she got up and went into the guest room. This was more her style. She’d designed it in her favourite Cape Cod vibe, with a distressed white finish on the four-poster bed that blended perfectly with the soft vanilla cream linens and the upholstery on the overstuffed sofa under the window. The only splash of colour came from a pale blue silk-spun rug on the floor and a huge vase of red roses on each of the bedside tables. It was stark, stunning but charming, and she loved it.
For the second time that night she slid under covers with a sigh and realized that if it wasn’t for the indomitable powers of Botox, her face would be in a permanent frown.
Hours later, as the sun began to rise, she gave up on the sleep that refused to come.
Sarah
Sarah took her purchases straight from the shopping bags and transferred them directly into her suitcase. The labels were left on deliberately so that anything she didn’t wear could either go to Patsy or back to the shops on her return. She just hoped that the case didn’t go missing because if she was asked to identify it by the contents, she wouldn’t have a clue.