Girls on Tour

by Nicola Doherty

  Anyway, bit of a tangent. The point is, I really want to see lots of you both while I’m home, and I want to introduce you two as well! I think you’ll get on.

  Love,

  Lily xxx

  7 January

  From: Maggie

  To Lily

  Hurrah! It’s in the diary. It will be so good to see you. And it will be great to meet Poppy, I’ve heard so much about her. One of my New Year’s resolutions is to widen my social circle and meet more people. I won’t bore you with the others because I know you don’t do resolutions, but suffice it to say, this is going to be MY year. (Sorry if that sounds greedy. It can be your year too.)

  If you’re not doing anything on Valentine’s Day, do you want to do something together? Dinner and a movie?

  Mxx

  7 January

  From: Lily

  To: Maggie

  Hi Mags,

  That’s a great resolution, to meet new people. I’d like to do that here – I am meeting people through work etc., but it’s tricky because I’m tied up almost every weekend travelling to Boulder or having Jesse here. For example, my flatmates are going out on Saturday night; Amanda’s on the guest list of a new club. But I can’t go with them, as Jesse’s coming over and he’s not keen. It’s such a pity. I mean, of course it’s not a pity that he’s coming over, just that I haven’t had a good girls’ night out in ages.

  And of course I will be your date on Valentine’s. I won’t want to be anywhere near Dad and Fi in any case.

  Love,

  Lily xx

  PS Gretchen (my boss) is rather creative with the truth. Today I overheard her telling someone on the phone that I’m a good friend of Pippa Middleton’s. I was going to say something but she’s in such a foul mood from her detox I decided best not.

  PPS Get this: my flatmate Megan has had business cards printed out – not because she needs them for work, but so that she can hand them out to guys she meets. I can’t work out if that’s a genius idea or not.

  8 January

  From: Poppy

  To: Lily

  Happy New Year darling! That’s great that you’re coming over, and I’ll look forward to meeting Maggie too. And thank you for the Christmas card, that was so sweet of you and so clever to customise it. I liked the picture of the goldfish but I didn’t quite understand who Monica is? I thought your flatmate was called Megan?

  How was Christmas with Jesse and the whole clan? He’s such a sweetie and we really enjoyed hanging out with you both in California. I had a nice Christmas in Brighton with my mum. I finally introduced her to Charlie – he came down for the day on the 28th. I should have done it months ago really (as she’s pointed out). It went bizarrely well! She loved that his dad worked in the prison service, and then he got major points for agreeing to a walk on the seafront even though it was blowing a gale and we could easily have been swept out to France.

  In a really weird development, she also ended up meeting Charlie’s dad. He came down to pick Charlie up in the car and she insisted on him coming in for a glass of port. I kept thinking of Ghostbusters – you know, don’t cross the streams – but they got on scarily well, and bonded big-time over their jobs (Mum’s a social worker). Bill (Charlie’s dad) has persuaded Mum to apply to join this independent monitoring board for prisons, which involves regular visits and making sure the prisoners are being treated correctly – essentially, poking around, which is my mum’s idea of heaven. I shouldn’t be mean, she is brilliant really. I just hope she and Bill don’t … um … get on too well. I’m sure they won’t. Although they have made friends on Facebook.

  Did you get nice Christmas presents? Charlie got me the most beautiful vintage silk nightie – I was very impressed. I got him the new Ottolenghi cookbook, which was rather cheeky of me, especially since I’m supposed to be on a diet. Oh well, you only live once. God, I AM turning into my mum.

  Write soon, lots of love,

  Poppy xx

  PS You know how I ended up having a lot of fun at Disneyland? Well, don’t laugh, but Charlie and I have talked about doing Euro Disney next. I know …

  6 January

  From: Jenny

  To: Oliver, David, Leo

  Subject: HAT

  Hi guys,

  Thanks for a great hols. Excellent powder snow and moguls, good chalet, I’d go again.

  We have a problem, though. My Chanel hat went missing just before we left. I found it and packed it. But it has completely vanished from my suitcase AGAIN. Someone definitely took it and it’s not funny. It’s real mink, it cost £300, and if I don’t get it back I WILL take action.

  Can you forward this to your girlfriends?

  Thanks,

  Jen

  From: Oliver

  To: Rachel, Maggie, Nina

  Subject: FW: HAT

  Hi all,

  At Jenny’s request, I’m forwarding the below email. That fur hat was NOT a party favour. If you have any information regarding its whereabouts, please come forward in confidence to this email address, or call Crimebusters on 111 9999.

  Hope you’re all well.

  Oliver

  From: Rachel

  To: Maggie

  Subject: RE: FW: HAT

  Is she for real?

  From: Maggie

  To: Rachel

  Subject: RE: FW: HAT

  For reals, you mean. What do you suppose has happened to her silly hat now? She can’t have lost it twice. Do you think Nina might actually have taken it?

  I’m innocent, I swear!

  Also why is she saying ‘girlfriends’? She knows Leo and I broke up.

  From: Rachel

  To: Maggie

  Subject: RE: FW: HAT

  She’s fishing for intel – wants to know if you’re back together. And her hat has obviously gone up in value; didn’t she tell us it cost £200?

  I’m innocent too. But how about Nina? She does love animals and is not keen on Jenny. Means, motive and opportunity … Well, she’ll be safely back in New York by now. Unless the US extradites her to face charges.

  From: Jenny

  To: Leo, Oliver, David

  Subject: FOUND HAT

  False alarm. It was in the bottom compartment of my suitcase.

  From: Oliver

  To: Maggie, Rachel, Nina

  Subject: FW: FOUND HAT

  Call off the search.

  From: Rachel

  To: Maggie

  RE: FW: FOUND HAT

  THANK GOD! I thought we were going to have to get Interpol involved.

  How are you, anyway? We must go for a drink sometime!

  From: Maggie

  To: Rachel

  RE: FW: FOUND HAT

  I’d love to! How about next Wednesday?

  MAGGIE

  As I exit Piccadilly Circus Tube to meet Rachel, I’m as nervous as a fourteen-year-old boy meeting a girl outside McDonald’s for his very first date.

  Obviously it’s not a date. But I don’t often go out on a limb to make new friends in this way. My friends are all people I’ve known since I was a kid, like Lily, or else we met at uni, or we hang out in a group like in my lab or at triathlon club. We got on well on holiday, but what if Rachel and I don’t have anything to talk about? What if she finds me really boring and hates me?

  Of course, she was the one who suggested meeting up. Though now that I think of it, all she said was ‘we must go for a drink sometime’. I was the one who pinned her down. What if she was just being polite?

  That’s enough: I am being ridiculous. We will have fun. And I think she’ll like the place I suggested. It’s funky and laid-back, with big leather seats to lounge in, and little candles on the tables, and dark wooden booths. And delicious cocktails. I must say, I feel like quite the cool-hunter, taking us here. Here we are – there’s Rachel, waiting for me outside. But it’s freezing; why hasn’t she gone inside? Oh. That’s why.

  ‘It’s closed down!’ says Rachel, stepping forward, also
swathed in a giant coat. ‘So annoying. Never mind. Hello!’ We exchange clumsy hugs, like Michelin men.

  ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry,’ I say. Not just closed, but closed down; so much for my cool-hunting. ‘Such a bad choice. Let’s see …’

  We both look around helplessly; I feel extra responsible for finding somewhere but my mind has gone completely blank of every bar in Soho. Every bar in London, in fact. In the world.

  ‘How about that place over there?’ I say at last, pointing at a pub across the street.

  Bad idea. The place is jammed to the rafters with Soho media monkeys wearing their ironic Christmas jumpers and yelling at each other over the thumping music. There’s barely enough room to stand and it looks like the only way to get to the bar would be crowd-surfing.

  ‘Hmm,’ Rachel says, looking around. ‘Bit busy. What do you think?’

  I think it’s terrible and we should leave. But I don’t want to sound like an old lady who can’t handle a normal Wednesday night in a pub, so I say cautiously, ‘I’m happy if you are?’

  ‘OK. What would you like?’

  ‘Oh no, I’ll get this!’

  But she insists, and goes off to the bar. I seem to be right in the flight path between the front door and the bar, so I edge sideways until I’m in the flight path between the toilets and the bar. It takes Rachel so long to get served, I can almost see the hipster beards growing around me.

  ‘Phew! Sorry that took so long,’ she says, returning with two glasses of wine and a packet of crisps. ‘Oh.’ She wants to eat the crisps, but it’s hard to do that and hold her drink while we’re standing up. I tuck my drink under my arm to open the packet for her, but then there’s nowhere to put them, so she just stuffs them in her pocket. This is all happening to a constant accompaniment of jostling; we’re practically being lifted off our feet by the groundswell of drinkers.

  ‘So,’ she says, raising her voice to be heard above the racket. ‘How are you?’

  I don’t know if it’s just me, but this question sometimes leaves me completely stumped for any reply other than ‘Fine.’ Some people – Lily, for one – always seem to have some cocktail-ready headline, like they just saw a pigeon on the Tube or they’ve just got back from Marrakesh. Not me. I could tell her I just got back from skiing, but she knows that. So I just say, ‘Fine! How are you? How’s work?’

  ‘Oh, you know,’ she says, leaning back to let a guy with a tray of ten pints go by. ‘The usual. People shouting at me for …’ But what she says next is drowned out by screams from the group beside us. They’ve also just turned the music up.

  ‘Sorry,’ I yell. ‘What was that?’

  Rachel shouts in my ear. ‘This is horrendous. Do you want to get out of here?’

  Nodding agreement, I knock back my wine and we fight our way outside, abandoning our glasses by the door as there isn’t a table in reach.

  Now if we were on a date and this was a rom-com, we’d turn to each other and smile. Ice broken, we’d start wandering down a side street and find the perfect little spot, where soon we’d be perched on bar stools laughing over Cosmos, Sex and the City-style.

  But no such little spot appears, and we’re left with the problem of where to go – even more pressing now that it’s raining. Rachel’s being a good sport about it all and waves away my apologies, but I still feel very embarrassed.

  ‘Why don’t we get some food?’ she suggests.

  I agree eagerly, and we start looking for a restaurant. But there doesn’t seem to be anywhere good – possibly because we’re both being über-polite and keep deferring to each other, plus we’re unsuccessfully trying to catch up and chat while finding a refuge from the sleety rain. Eventually we end up in a random Thai restaurant, at Rachel’s suggestion. I’m not in the mood for Thai, but I’ve already made two bad choices for us this evening and I’m not risking a third.

  The restaurant’s quite full, so we end up sitting at the back, beside the swinging door to the kitchen.

  ‘Whew! Finally,’ says Rachel, unpeeling all her winter layers. ‘So … how are things? Sorry, already asked you that.’

  ‘Would you like to order some drinks?’ says the waiter.

  We both order Singha beers, choose something to eat, and finally we’re able to relax and start chatting more normally – initially, at least. First, of course, we discuss Jenny and the Case of the Missing Chanel Hat.

  ‘My favourite bit was the subject line. HAT! Like she’s a caveman,’ Rachel says.

  I laugh. ‘Well, it is the right hat for a caveman.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Rachel says, puzzled.

  ‘Just, a fur hat … like the Flintstones … They wore fur, didn’t they? Um, never mind.’

  Oh dear. I remember us laughing loads on holiday, but maybe I’m just not funny. Thankfully there’s a diversion when our food arrives. I start ladling my green tofu curry over steaming rice, trying to think of what to say next.

  ‘How is Oliver?’ I ask.

  ‘He’s fine!’ she says. ‘He’s got a patient with a very interesting elbow fracture. Apparently her arms are so long that … Never mind, it’s not that interesting. How is … um, have you heard from Leo?’

  I shake my head. ‘No – it’s for the best really.’

  We discuss the likelihood of Jenny and Leo getting together, and decide it’s slim; he’s not that crazy. And then, for some reason, silence descends. I’m sick of talking about Leo. But what else can we talk about? We can’t exactly discuss the food; it’s like every other Thai meal I’ve ever had.

  ‘So do you …’ I rack my brains. ‘Do you ever have to defend any bad guys, at work? Like murderers and so on?’

  Rachel looks startled; that was obviously a dumb question. ‘No. We don’t do criminal law.’

  I nod intelligently, though I don’t understand: surely all law is for criminals?

  ‘How about you? How’s work?’ she asks.

  I can’t just say ‘Fine’ again, so I try and explain about the project I’m working on, how it involves collecting samples from lots of different hospitals and how difficult it’s been. As I hear myself describe all the departments I’ve phoned up and the people I’ve emailed, I marvel at how boring I’m being. How is it possible for one person to be so boring all by herself? And yet I can’t stop myself.

  ‘Do you want some of my pad Thai?’ Rachel asks, when I’ve finally dragged myself to the finishing line of my story.

  ‘Oh, no, that’s fine. Do you want to try my tofu curry? It’s quite good.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. Thanks, though.’

  Silence again. Why is it so awkward? We got on so well on holiday …

  Suddenly it hits me. This was a holiday romance. We had a great time on the beach – well, the ski slopes – but now our tans are fading and we’ve lost our friendship bracelets and we have nothing in common any more. This Thai meal is the smoking ruins of our New Year’s fling.

  ‘Is everything OK with your food?’ I ask, noticing she’s abandoned her dinner halfway.

  ‘No, it’s fine … except I always forget how, with noodles, the first bite is the same as the last, you know? They just go on and on.’

  Oh God. She could be describing our date.

  ‘I thought it would come with more vegetables,’ she says. ‘That’s one of my New Year’s resolutions; get my five a day.’

  ‘Really?’ I say, looking up. ‘That’s one of mine! It’s surprisingly hard, isn’t it? What other resolutions did you make?’

  Rachel starts counting on her fingers. ‘Only one cup of coffee a day; stop eating Triple Berry Muffins from Pret; gym three times a week without fail; learn Spanish; and read the Economist every week. Oh, and wear less black. My friend Zoë works in fashion, and she’s always telling me to wear more colours.’

  ‘Those are great resolutions,’ I say, admiringly. ‘Mine are: get my five a day and eat more cruciferous vegetables …’

  ‘Ooh, nice.’

  ‘Thanks. Do more cultural
things; no drinking at home on weeknights; no more than half an hour’s TV a day; improve my contouring …’

  ‘What’s contouring?’

  ‘It’s where you give yourself cheekbones and sort of sculpt your face with powder.’ I demonstrate with an imaginary brush. ‘I can never get it quite right. What else … Take up indoor climbing, finish reading One Hundred Years of Solitude, and travel more. Leo was always away for the weekend; why shouldn’t I be as well?’

  ‘Brilliant!’ says Rachel. ‘Those are all great! I want to travel more too, I’m adding that. I don’t understand people who don’t make New Year’s resolutions, do you? They’re so satisfying!’

  ‘I make them every year. And I also review my life goals.’

  ‘Ooh, that sounds interesting. What are your life goals?’ Rachel asks eagerly.

  ‘Any coffees or desserts for you?’ says the waiter, clearing away our plates.

  ‘I’ll have a coffee. No, actually – can I have a green tea?’ says Rachel. ‘Almost forgot!’ she says to me.

  ‘I’ll have one too! That’s a great idea!’ I say enthusiastically.

  Over green teas, Rachel tells me her plan to make friends with one of the female partners at work, in a bid to get made senior associate. In return, I tell her about my scheme to get on the property ladder by buying a beach hut in Brighton.

  ‘See, I had hoped Leo and I would move in together, and eventually buy a place. But that won’t happen, and I can’t afford a proper flat on my own, so I’ve got to think creatively. A beach hut is the perfect solution. I’d have to commute, but imagine waking up every morning to the sound of the waves! And the value is only going to go up.’