‘It looks weird. Don’t you think I look weird?’ She looked at me with her bald eyes.
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I think you look great. Much better. Like a rock star. Like you’re not going to let this get you down. Shall we try a headscarf?’
She nodded and retrieved one from the kitchen table. A red and yellow number with horses cantering across it. She folded it into a large triangle and put it over her head, tying it under her chin. Then she frowned at herself in the mirror.
‘It doesn’t look much like the Queen,’ she said dubiously.
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘Hang on, let’s try it another way.’ I untied the knot and moved behind her, putting the scarf back on and tying it with a knot at the back, in the manner of Steve Tyler.
‘There,’ I said. ‘Better.’
Mum frowned again. ‘Really?’
‘Really. Honestly. Sidney’s going to love it.’
‘You don’t think it says tragic cancer patient?’
‘Nope,’ I shook my head. ‘Because you’re not tragic and the chemo’s getting rid of all that cancer. Shall we have a cup of tea and a biscuit?’
She nodded at me in the mirror.
I’d told Bill I’d go shopping with him later that week for a birthday present for Willow. It was her thirtieth, so he’d decided it had to be something ‘significant’, which I thought sounded ominous. Did ‘significant’ mean a diamond?
We had lunch first because Bill said he couldn’t possibly go shopping on an empty stomach, so I met him around Old Street.
‘You should just get a puppy,’ I said, through a mouthful of ham sandwich. ‘Good practice for when you guys have children.’
‘Oh, right. Do small children pee and shit all over the floor too?’
‘Yours probably will.’
‘I’m not mature enough for children. Last night I got home at eleven and watched Toy Story with a beer and a pizza.’
‘All right. If it’s not a puppy then what do you want to get her?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why you’re here.’
‘Jewellery? That’s the obvious thing.’
‘Like a ring?’
‘No! Not a ring. That’s too suggestive.’
‘Of what?’
‘What do you think?’ Why are men so dense, is what I was thinking.
‘A necklace?’ he suggested.
‘Mmm, maybe. How much do you want to spend?’
‘Dunno. Three, four hundred quid maybe?’
‘Blimey, William!’
‘What?’
‘Well, that’s pretty serious. Puppies are actually cheaper than that.’ I put down my sandwich. ‘Or maybe they’re about the same, actually.’
‘I think we’re getting stuck on this puppy thing, Pols. What about a bag? Or a pair of shoes? What are those ones with red soles?’
‘Louboutins, and no. She’s your girlfriend not your mistress. I think jewellery is probably better.’
‘But not a ring?’
‘No, not a ring.’
‘Because she’ll think I want to marry her?’
‘Yes. Unless you do want to marry her?’
‘What? Already? Come on, be sensible.’
‘I dunno, she was talking about you guys and children the other day.’
‘When?’
I burst out laughing. ‘Lol, your face.’
‘When were you guys discussing that?’
‘At Mum’s the other day. I mean, I don’t think she meant tomorrow but she definitely meant at some point.’
Bill puffed out his cheeks. ‘God, women! How’s your mum, by the way?’
‘All right. Well, a bit tired actually.’
‘How many more chemo sessions has she got?’
‘Just one. But her hair’s all gone now. And she’s not feeling great so not really eating. I just…’ I trailed off. ‘But she’s got Sidney, which is something.’
‘I liked him,’ Bill said, dusting crumbs off his lap.
‘Yeah, he’s sweet, isn’t he? A nice man, I think. I just worry that…’
‘What?’
‘Well, it’s not worry as such. I just feel sad that in one sense she’s found someone and seems happier than she has in years. But on the other she’s…’
‘Ill?’
‘Yeah.’ I clenched my jaw so I didn’t cry.
‘Hey.’ Bill reached for my hand across the table. ‘She’s going to be fine.’
I nodded. ‘Yup, she’s got to be, right?’ It felt more like I was reassuring myself though.
‘’Course.’ He took his hand back. ‘And I hope Jasper’s looking after you?’
My mind flicked back to Callum asking about Mum instead of Jasper, but the last thing I wanted to do was admit as much to Bill. ‘It looked like it physically pained you to ask that,’ I said, narrowing my eyes at him.
He dropped his baguette and held his hands up in the air as if surrendering. ‘I’m not saying anything. So long as you’re happy, I’m happy.’
‘Listen,’ I started. I’d been worrying about the conversation I’d overheard between him and Willow at his party. I hadn’t said anything because I hadn’t seen Bill since. And because I would rather cut off my left foot than ever have any sort of awkward conversation with him. But I hated the idea that people were discussing my relationship behind my back. Or, more specifically, I hated the idea that Bill was discussing me behind my back.
‘Listen,’ I said again, ‘I heard you and Willow.’
He looked confused. ‘What do you mean? In bed?’
‘No, gross! Stop it. I heard you guys talking about me and Jasper.’
He still looked blank.
‘At your party. In your room. I wasn’t eavesdropping. Well, I was. But I went to the loo and then I heard you guys. And I know what everyone thinks. I know it’s wildly implausible that this will have a happy ending. I know he’s been a jerk in the past, but he hasn’t been a jerk to me.’
He held his hands up again. ‘Sorry that you heard. Or sorry that we were discussing it is what I should say. Guilty.’
‘It’s all right,’ I said, feeling relief at finally having talked to him about it.
‘It’s only that I don’t want you to get hurt. And—’
‘Me neither,’ I said, interrupting. ‘But so far it’s been… fun. Am I going to end up with him? God knows. But I just want people to give him a break.’
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I still don’t think he’s good enough. But OK.’
‘Dude, I love you, but it’s like having a watchful big brother, armed with a bit of lead piping, waiting to kick his head in.’
‘OK,’ he replied, ‘I promise. I’ll play nice.’
‘Good.’
‘By the way,’ he went on, ‘did something happen between you and Callum?’
I felt instantly guilty. ‘Why?’ I said slowly.
His eyes widened. ‘Oh, so it did!’
‘Ages ago,’ I said, trying to play it down. ‘How come?’
‘Something Lex said at my party, after you’d left.’
‘Ah, my secret’s safe with Lex then.’
‘Why’s it a secret?’
‘I was joking. It’s not. It was just back in January. After your dinner. And it really wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t sleep with him.’
Bill screwed up his eyes and shook his head. ‘I don’t want to think about you and Callum. Bad enough that I have to hear about Lord Voldemort.’
‘Jasper,’ I said. ‘And why is it bad?’
‘What?’
‘Thinking about me with Callum?’
‘It’s not Callum. It’s just… It’s you, Pols. It just feels… weird, you kissing my mate.’
‘Well, I don’t think it’s going to happen again so don’t worry.’
‘All right,’ he replied, before having a swig from his Coke can. ‘A very confessional lunch this has been, hasn’t it? How’s work, by the way?’
I sighed, thinking about Peregrine’s orgy s
tory. ‘All right. But I need to start looking for something else, I think. Posh! has been great but I feel like… I dunno… I feel like I’m in a bit of a rut, I suppose. And I don’t know how to get out of it. I’m running out of adjectives for dogs.’
Bill laughed. ‘I really want you to meet my friend Luke, the one I mentioned at my party? He’s just launched a sort of news website.’
‘How d’you know him?’
‘Google.’
‘And what do you mean “sort of news”?’
‘It’s called Nice News,’ said Bill, brushing crumbs off his legs. ‘Memes about kittens and puppies, admittedly, but they also interview sort of unsung heroes, I think. People working for NGOs in Africa. Or Syria or… wherever. I can intro you over email if you like? He’s just raised a load of funding from an American firm.’
‘Amazing,’ I replied. ‘Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to at least speak to him.’
‘’Course. Done.’
‘Thanks, love. How’s your work anyway?’
‘Good,’ he said, grinning. ‘The NHS has just confirmed they can launch it in October so I’ve got to hire, like, ten more people to work on it. All on track. I mean, it’s going to be a hectic few months, but I’m loving it.’
I shook my head and smiled at him. ‘A modern Aneurin Bevan.’
Bill frowned. ‘Who was he?’
‘Labour politician, you nerd. Founded the NHS.’
‘All right, all right. Nerd yourself. But come on, let’s go shopping. Can’t sit around all day enjoying ourselves.’
We spent a fruitless hour traipsing around the shops, looking at necklaces in Links. Everything I liked, Bill would say ‘wasn’t Willow’. Everything he liked was the sort of necklace a middle-aged bra saleswoman in John Lewis might wear.
‘Thanks, you’ve been a fat lot of good,’ he said, hugging me when I said I had to go back to the office.
‘You’re welcome. When’s her birthday anyway?’
‘Next weekend. We’re going away to Wiltshire. Posh hotel booked.’
‘OK, you’ll find something. A necklace, I reckon. But not some hideous gold number. Just think, would my own mother wear this? And if the answer is yes then don’t buy it.’
He saluted me. ‘Roger that.’
Friday was fairly typical at the Posh! office in that nobody was there. Not even Enid. Just me, a strong Americano and my to-do list. At the top of which I had written, ‘Speak to Ana’, the Italian lady, about this sex party. She’d been travelling all week but had said she would be available to discuss it today, so I sent her a quick email to check.
Morning, Ana. I’m around whenever this morning to chat so let me know when’s good and I’ll give you a bell.
Then I had to ring Mum. ‘Morning,’ I trilled when she picked up. But it wasn’t Mum, it was Sidney.
‘Oh, Sidney! Morning. How are you?’
‘I’m very well, thank you. But… um… your mother is still in bed.’
I looked at the time on my computer. It was 10.45.
‘We didn’t have a terribly good night,’ he explained. ‘She was sick.’
‘Oh God, is she all right?’ I felt my heart speed up.
‘She’s asleep again now, but shall I let you know when she wakes up?’
‘Could you? This is all right, isn’t it? I mean, it’s expected. The chemo does this? I read the chemo might do this.’ I was gabbling.
‘Yes,’ said Sidney firmly. ‘It accumulates so she’s feeling pretty rotten now but it’ll pass.’
‘OK. I’m in the office all day so ring whenever.’
‘Absolutely. And don’t worry, I’m staying here to keep an eye on her. We’re going to have a quiet day and watch something on the Netflix.’
‘You’re amazing. Honestly. I’m so grateful.’
Sidney laughed nervously. ‘Righto.’
‘Bye, and thank you. Again.’
I hung up. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I couldn’t google ‘breast cancer’ for the 2,374th time. And then the door slammed open and Lala appeared.
‘Morning,’ she said glumly.
Hi,’ I said. ‘You all right?’
‘Suicidal. My friend Morwenna got engaged last night.’
‘And that’s… sad news?’
‘Yes! Why is everyone married and I’m not?’ she said, signing into her computer and tapping the keyboard so hard I thought she might do herself a finger injury.
‘I’m not married.’
‘Yeah, but you’ve got a boyfriend.’
Having just spoken to Sidney I wasn’t much in the mood to have a long discussion about my love life with Lala so I stayed quiet.
‘I’m going to have a fag,’ she said, having been in the office for less than three minutes. ‘Want anything?’
‘No. No, I’m good, thanks.’
I turned back to my computer screen and decided I wouldn’t google breast cancer because I felt like I’d read the whole internet on the topic and it was only ever depressing statistics. Instead, I typed ‘Ana Aubin’ into Google. Nothing came up. Not a website, not a link, not a picture of her. I checked her email again. That was definitely how you spelled her name.
With perfect timing, my phone rang and an Italian voice at the other end said, ‘Hello, ees that Polly?’
‘Yep. Ana?’
‘Yes.’
‘Morning, how are you?’
‘I am very well, thank you. And you?’
‘Great, thanks. I was just trying to do some… research on your parties.’
‘You won’t find anything online. You need to come to one of my parties instead, to see, to understand.’
She had a soft, seductive accent. I felt like I was talking to a Bond girl.
‘Yes, that’s why I wanted to speak. Peregrine is very keen that I come to one.’
‘Yes, of course, you must. Are you single, Polly?’
‘Er… no, for once in my life I’m not actually. But that’s OK. I can come along and just… watch… right? For the article?’
‘Of course you can. And anyway they are all very civilized to begin with, my soirées. It’s only later that they get a bit more party.’
‘A bit more party?’
‘Yes. More sexy, you know.’ She cackled down the phone.
‘Right, sure. OK. So, when is your next party?’
The next party, said Ana, was in two weeks’ time at a private house just off Mount Street. The dress code was ‘noir’.
‘Like the coffee?’ I joked.
‘Bring a friend if you like?’ she said, ignoring the joke. ‘Maybe bring your boyfriend?’
‘Thanks. I’m not sure it’s his kind of thing. Maybe another girl?’
‘Of course,’ said Ana, smoothly. ‘There will be around ninety people.’
‘La,’ I said, minutes later when she sidled back into the office and sat down at her desk with a sigh, wafting about with the air of someone who’d just been committed to Death Row. ‘Do you want to come to a party with me in a couple of weeks?’
‘Whose party?’
‘This one that Peregrine wants me to go to. The sex party.’
‘When is it?’
‘Two Fridays’ time.’
She sighed heavily. ‘I mean I’d rather kill myself, but maybe I should. I might get a husband there.’
‘Exactly. That’s the spirit. OK, I’m going to tell Ana there will be two of us. Fun. It’ll be a laugh if nothing else.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Lala.
Later that day, Lex emailed me about her hen. Sal had booked a cottage on the Norfolk coast for ten of us. But there were certain duties I still had to do. The Ocado delivery for the weekend was one of them. Sorting out a suitable ‘activity’ for the Saturday was another. As was booking a pub for lunch. But I didn’t mind any of those, so long as I didn’t have to buy any penis crap. Veiny penis straws, penis feather boas, penis necklaces and so on. A bit funny for the first hen you ever went to. Less funny by the seventeenth he
n party. Anyway, Lex had instructed me that her mother was absolutely not to be invited.
I love her to death but she’ll just get pissed and be embarrassing.
I emailed her back.
So will you.
Another email notification popped up from Lex.
Yeah, but it’s my hen. I’m allowed.
I called Mum again to check how she was. She picked up this time.
‘Mum, hi, you all right?’
‘Hi, darling,’ she said sounding weak. ‘I’m fine. I’m on the sofa with Bertie and a cup of tea.’
‘I’m so sorry. Did you have a horrible night?’
‘It wasn’t great, but they did say I’d feel a bit wiped out.’
‘I’m sorry. Again. But one more to go. And then that’s it. Finished. Done.’
‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘Now, darling, I’m just at a good bit of this Agatha Christie, so let’s speak tomorrow.’
I took it as a good sign that she felt cheery enough to watch her murder programmes.
Legs, as usual, came to my rescue with an outfit for the sex party by calling in a latex catsuit from a company called Bondinage in Hackney.
‘You need talcum powder to get into eet, which is een there, and there’s a bottle of latex polish een there too,’ she said, handing me a bag in the office that week. ‘You need to buff yourself afterwards.’
‘Great, you’re the best, thank you,’ I said. ‘Shall I go and try it on in the loo?’
‘Oui. Go and check eet fits.’
Have you ever tried to get into a latex catsuit? It requires the flexibility of a gymnast and the nimble fingers of a harpist. First, take all your clothes off. All of them. Including underwear because you don’t want any lines underneath the catsuit. Next, coat your feet and calves with talcum powder, then step into the rubbery thing. Inch the latex up your legs with the pads of your fingers, not your nails, in case you tear it. Apply more talcum powder to your thighs and heave the catsuit over them. There, halfway in, well done. Rub some more talcum powder over your stomach, your tits, your shoulders and arms. Especially your arms. Then put one arm in, and another, before pulling the catsuit over your shoulders and doing up the zip at the front.
I say the front, but the navy catsuit Legs had found me had a zip that not only ran down the front, it went underneath my actual vagina and up my backside to the top of my bum. ‘Easy access,’ she said, when I stepped out of the bathroom to show her, leaving the loo cubicle looking like a Mexican drugs factory. ‘You look great though, eet suits you. Pulls in here,’ she said, her fingers around my waist, ‘and makes you look all chesty. Perfect. You will ’ave to fight all those perverts off.’
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