The two women rocked with laughter at the sheer neck of it.
‘You know, when he turned up in the middle of the night, he asked me to make him a carbonara.’
That set them off again.
‘I don’t know why I’m laughing, Josie. If I didn’t, I’d be bawling.’
‘Wow, Cass, you’ve come a long way.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So .?.?. what about Finn?’
‘You know, I asked him to Mam’s wedding but .?.?. It felt like Gav all over again.’
Josie’s face was concerned. ‘And his kids?’
Cassie shrugged and tried to explain in a garbled way what’d happened: about Samantha’s rage, about Marisha, about how he felt he’d no choice but to finish with her and how she still felt constantly on the verge of texting him every time something good happened, or something bad. And how she was still in love with him. It was only as she described the events to Josie that she had time to really hear them herself. Despite the morning’s euphoria, a bleakness crept over her.
‘Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. He sounds .?.?. how can I put it? In a difficult position, but a bit .?.?.’
‘What? Please tell me.’
‘Mmm. He’s lovely .?.?. He’s just a bit .?.?. slippery, like mercury,’ said Josie.
‘Slippery?’
‘But I mean it in a nice way. Look, none of us are perfect, we’re all something, for God’s sake.’ Josie was trying to backtrack on the shot that had accidentally hit home.
Cassie nodded. ‘He could’ve stood up for me a bit more, but then, what do I know? I’m not a mum.’
The words hung in the air.
‘I’m so glad to be here, Jos.’
‘Me too, sweetie, I’ve really missed you.’ She rubbed her round stomach protectively. Babies or no babies, they would always be friends. Of that, Cassie was sure.
That evening the three of them cooked a meal together. As Cassie chopped a salad and crushed garlic, while sipping a glass of wine, she was reminded of the old days. Josie was long past morning sickness but still gagged at the smell of anything too strong.
‘I can’t wait for this sprog to land,’ said Pal. ‘I haven’t cooked a decent curry in months.’ He winked at Josie, who would’ve playfully kicked him in the bum if she hadn’t been liable to tip over. This was how it should be, thought Cassie sadly: two equal partners in it together, not snatched meetings here and there, and compromised loyalties. But Jos was right earlier, and no situation was perfect, second families most of all.
‘Hundred per cent, Pal, get the priorities right.’ Cassie laughed.
God, she’d missed these sessions. They sat at the old pine table and made their way through a mountain of fish pie and salad – or at least Pal did, who no amount of food seemed to fill. Cassie felt like she’d run a marathon and tucked in enthusiastically.
‘So, how did it go?’
‘Oh, Pal, don’t ask her. You know that’s like asking someone to read the future from, like, a leftover hamburger.’
‘What?’
‘People claim they can do that. I’ve seen it on TV.’
‘From a hamburger? What people? That’s the most irrational thing I’ve ever heard—’
‘Just people.’
‘The art of divination. It used to be cow entrails in ancient Rome,’ said Cassie helpfully.
