‘Oh, it’s not a big job –’
‘Who says it’s not a big job?’ I say and suddenly I feel as if I’m hearing Nate’s voice. ‘You’re an estate agent, which is a big job, and you’re a mum, and you run the house and you clearly do all the cooking.’
I don’t know why, but I want to shake her and tell her she’s incredible. And thatgood-looking dude in there doesn’t deserve her, because all he wants to do is show off his lovely house and his great choice in wine. And she’s running around exhausted. I stare at her and I realise I’ve upset her.
‘Oh don’t mind me,’ I say, ‘I shouldn’t really be let out to see the general public. I’m a bit eccentric, I think.’ I’m exaggerating, but I want to make her feel better.
‘Are you seeing Finn?’ says Marin hopefully. ‘He’s gorgeous. I know he says you’re not, but I would love to see him happy. I used to long for him to get together with Bea because he’s such a darling and so’s she, but they’re just old pals.’
At that exact moment, I want to say no, that she can’t have him because I want him. And then I think, don’t be ridiculous, where did that come from?
‘No, we’re friends,’ I say quickly, ‘just friends. It’s good to have friends, right, you know, like dinner parties: fun.’
‘Yeah,’ says Marin, ‘fun.’
19
Bea
I feel like someone from Hollywood being primped for the Oscars.
I’m standing up in my bedroom with Christie and my mother sitting on the bed, watching, while Shazz fusses over me. I’m wearing a tight black skirt, black nylons and alow-cut top from Shazz’s wardrobe that says ‘come and get me, baby’. Or so I’m told.
‘It’s too low,’ I say for what feels like the tenth time.
I bend forward. ‘Look, if I do this, you can see my bra.’
‘But it’s a nice bra,’ says Shazz, utterly delighted with herself.
We have very different ideas about clothes and while Shazz thinks there is no such thing as ‘too tight’, I do. The top is satin and I feel I should be standing on a street corner telling people how much I cost.
‘I’d fancy you in it,’ says Christie.
‘You are not my target market,’ I reply. ‘My target market might think I am asking for it. Imagine what Tom will think.’
Tom is my date for this evening, picked after enormous examination of all the prospective dates and while his looks do not fill me with excitement, although it could just be a bad profile picture, he sounds mild. Mild is what I want for this first date.
‘Tom will think all his Christmases have come at once,’ says Shazz, trying to decide whether her vermeil heart necklace – which nestles just above my breasts – is better than my own tiny gold and lapis lazuli beads, which circle my neck.
‘I wish I could become a lesbian,’ I say to Christie, with a sigh as I have often said before. She laughs, as she always does. ‘Women are kinder and have much less testosterone,’ I add. ‘Testosterone is the problem.’
‘It doesn’t work that way, sweetie,’ pipes up Mum, who has never heard this conversation between me and Christie before. ‘I don’t think you get to choose. You just are what you are.’
Christie leans down and hugs my mother tightly. Her own mother is devoutly religious, thinks any variation of homosexuality or gender issues is bad and has never even seen Christie’s two beautiful daughters because they weren’t born in a straight family. Her predjudice is her loss, Shazz and I always say when Christie gets sad.
‘I know that, Mum,’ I say. ‘It’s a joke between us but it would be easier.’
Shazz has been ignoring us. ‘Tom is going to love this,’ she says thoughtfully, deciding – to my relief – on my own beads. Her necklace would be like a sign pointing down to my bosoms.
‘I still feel like I’m hooking in this outfit,’ I say.
‘You’re too classy, Bea,’ says Shazz and both Christie and my mother agree.
‘You look elegant,’ Mum says. ‘Now have fun.’
Tom and I are meeting for drinks in a pub not too far from my home.
‘Dinner’s too risky,’ says Shazz. ‘If he turns out to be a total weirdo, you’re stuck.’
