‘I did do some amazing paintings on those holidays, though, and I really did try to follow his passions at the start.’ Vic sighed deeply. ‘Aww, bless Nate. I’m being so spiky with him lately.He’s done nothing wrong apart from being him. And… well… we haven’t had sex for ages either.’
‘Oh. Does he still want it?’ Mandy looked concerned.
‘Yes. It’s me who doesn’t. He wants it all the time, which makes me feel worse. He’s been really understanding. I don’t know what’s wrong. Is it the beginning of the end?’ Victoria groaned. ‘He’s all I’ve known for so long, Mand, but…’ She put her hand to her head. ‘I don’t know what’s going on with me.’
‘Well. If youcansort it between you, that will involve communication, Vic…’
Vic screwed up her face. ‘I know. I know.’
‘Well, then, it could be a positive. If you do decide to go down the kids route, maybe he can be the house husband. He doesn’t like working… and you’re so talented, Vic, and your earning power could be huge if you went for it, so youcouldwork from a tent in the middle of a field. Have the best of all worlds. The successful career and kids running around with bare feet being home-schooled. Then everyone would be happy. But you just need to communicate that to him. Men aren’t mind-readers, mate. They need to be spoon-fed.’
Vic stuck out her bottom lip and touched her friend’s knee. ‘You’re right there. Although I think you’re just being nice about my art.’
‘I’m not – you reallyaretalented. Ray knows that, too – that’s why he’s looked after you so well for so many years.’
‘I know. Ten years in one job – that’s unheard of these days. But you’re right, Ray is a great boss and with Nate being so flaky with his work, I need that stability.’
‘I understand that,’ Mandy added. ‘But what do you mean about taking your art further? Can you not do that as well as work at Glovers?’
Vic sighed. ‘I guess I want to promote it to a wider audience. Take more time to do my own pieces and sell them privately. My dream is a gallery of my own, but that costs and I need aguaranteed income to pay for life and all its trappings, and well… I’m not sure I’m even good enough. And I’m definitely not brave enough to take that step.’
‘That Mrs Imposter Syndrome is a right bitch, isn’t she?’ Mandy tutted. ‘I just wish I had an ounce of your ambition.’
‘It’s clearly not combined with drive, though, is it?’ Vic drained her drink.
The train pulled into another station and an elderly couple took the seats adjacent to them. Mandy cleared her throat. ‘A happy marriage, kids and a little part-time job has always been the extent of my future wants and needs. And the only reason I chose to be a teacher wasn’t for the love of it – it was for the steadiness of it all and knowing my exact holiday dates. But as soon as I have a kid, that’s it, I’m out of there. It’s far harder than I ever bargained for.’
‘And being a mum won’t be?’ Vic raised her eyebrows. ‘Steve knows of this cunning plan, does he?’
‘I’m off the pill already, so hopefully he will do soon.’ Mandy grinned and took another sip of wine. ‘And as for you, darling, there will be a solution. There always is. Just after my dad died, Mum said to me that life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans. Remember, they had a luxury cruise around the world all booked and paid for – but Dad’s heart had other ideas.’
Vic reached out and squeezed her best friend’s hand. ‘Yes, that was so tragic. He’d be so proud of you, you know?’
‘Thanks, hun.’ Mandy sniffed back a tear.
‘Anyway, this weekend is not about me, my lovely lady. It is about Miss Mandy Burgess, soon to be Mrs Mandy Taylor.’ Vic reached into her bag and pulled out two bright pink straws and handed her friend one. ‘Ooh, look! Plastic willies!’ she exclaimed, causing the old couple nearby to laugh. ‘Where did they come from? Suck on this, lady, and let’s be as tacky as hell.’
Mandy raised her glass in the air. ‘And what goes on in Brighton, stays in Brighton. OK?’
‘Sorry, sorry, I know, I’ll be late for my own fecking funeral, so I will.’ Orla O’Malley’s loud Dublin accent reverberated around the Brighton hotel lobby as she sped across to where Vic and Mandy were tucking into cocktails and thick chips, her unruly black curls flying everywhere. Her long, red faux-fur coat was done up on the wrong buttons, allowing a glimpse of one of her perfectly pert fake boobs, housed in a black lacy bra.
Vic immediately handed her eccentric half-Irish, half-Nigerian friend the cocktail menu as Orla continued. ‘I dripped the whole yolk from a bacon and egg buttyalldown my posh new top. Went to the disgusting train bog, tried to rub it with a paper towel, got blue fluff all down it, so took it off, threw it in the bin, and put my coat back on. So I need to go shopping in The Lanes before we go out tonight. Where are we going, anyway?’
‘And breathe… and sit down,’ Mandy replied calmly.
‘After you’ve put your tit away, that is,’ Vic added.
Orla dealt with her stray boob, completely unabashed. ‘So, what are we doing, Vic?’
‘Umm. OK, so a cocktail and light lunch here, and as it’s sunny, maybe head to the pier? Or a bit of retail therapy, now madam here needs a new top, get ready, then dinner and a nightclub of everyone’s choosing. There’s a twenty-four-hour café on the front so we can stuff our faces into the early hours with unnecessary carbs and hate ourselves for the rest of the week.’
‘So, in short, you haven’t planned anything specific, have you?’ Orla chipped in, then summoning the waiter with a wink, swiftly ordered a Sex on the Beach.
‘And what exactly haveyoubrought to the party, Miss Shag O’Malley?’ Mandy drained her glass and let out a little burp.
Orla assumed a posh British accent. ‘I’ll have you know, dear friends, that Iamthe fucking party.’
‘Well, at least we have plastic willies to start,’ Vic laughed, handing Orla one. ‘And our dear little hen – or should I say, this old bantam here – said she didn’t want to dress up or have a fuss made of her.’
