1
LAILA
‘How does it feel to finally be free?’ my neighbour Juliette asked, her eyes wide with excitement.
‘You make it sound like I’ve just been released from a maximum-security prison!’ I chuckled before taking a bite from one of the fancy French pastries Juliette had laid out on the posh antique dining table in her impressive conservatory.
When I told her that my twenty-one-year-old son, Ricky, was going travelling for at least a year, she insisted on hosting a special lunch to celebrate megetting my life back.
I’d heard of divorce parties, but I never knew ‘empty-nest celebrations’ to toast an only child leaving home were a thing. And to be honest, I was dreading rattling around in the house by myself.
As much as Ricky annoyed me by always forgetting to put the toilet seat down and leaving dishes in the sink (not to mention the collection of used glasses in his bedroom), I was still going to miss him.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Now wasn’t the time to get emotional.
‘Oh, Laila, but youhave!’ she declared in her thick French accent. ‘Now you can have passionate sex in the afternoon, walk around your house naked whenever you please and you will no longer have to wash your son’s dirty pants. Ifthatis not a reason to celebrate, I do not know what is!’
‘I won’t be having sex in the afternoons oranytime of day, considering I’m at work during the week and volunteering at the weekends. And there’s the small fact that I don’t have anyone to actually have it with!’ I sighed, pulling out the bottle of Cava and box of chocolates I’d bought to thank Juliette for organising this celebration out of my bag. ‘And at my age, there’s no way you’d catch me walking around naked!’
‘Atyour age?’ Juliette’s jaw dropped. ‘But you are only forty!’
‘I’ll be forty-one next month!’
‘That does not matter! With your fantastic skin and gorgeous figure, you look like you are in your twenties.’
‘Yeah, right!’ I scoffed. Whilst it was true that my warm brown skin did look youthful (definitely down to my genes and not my haphazard skincare routine), saying I looked twenty years younger was a bit of a stretch.
I wasn’t put together like Juliette. She was in her mid-fifties andsoglamorous. Her nails were always perfectly manicured. I couldn’t remember the last time I wore nail polish. Juliette’s make-up was flawless, whereas the most I ever wore was tinted lip balm and mascara. And she had weekly blow dries, whereas my thick curly hair was usually tied up or braided by yours truly.
‘Here.’ I handed her the bottle and chocolates, hoping we could change the subject.
‘Why did you buythese?’ She wrinkled her nose.
‘To say thank you – for everything.’
‘Darling, it really is not necessary. I have the champagne on ice and I picked up some French truffles from Harrods yesterday which are todiefor!’ I wished I could’ve afforded to bring something more extravagant, but money was tight right now.
‘Anyway, as I was saying,’ Juliette continued. ‘You have the chance for a fresh start. When I got divorced and my son chose to live with his father, I could have been sad that he had rejected me, but I realised it was my chance to reclaim the life that I lost. And I have not looked back! Although I loved my son, having my freedom was important. That is why I am excited to become a grandmother. Then I will have the best of both worlds: the chance to enjoy children then hand them back whenever I want so they do not interfere with my lifestyle.’
‘You’re going to be a grandmother?’ My eyes popped.
‘Not yet, but I will be soon! Now that Gabriel is back in Paris, it is only a matter of time until he rekindles his romance with his wonderful ex and they will make such beautiful babies. Did I show you the photo of him on the PinstaSpam?’
‘You meanInstagram?’ I stifled a smile. Juliette was not a fan of technology or the internet so I wasn’t surprised she’d got the name wrong.
‘That is what I said,’ she insisted as she plucked her phone and glasses from the table and started tapping the screen.
‘I didn’t realise you were on social media?’
‘Goodness, no! I am always sending Gabriel photos, but he never sends any to me, so I have saved a link to his page. I do not bother looking at the boring business things. I just check occasionally to see if there are new photos of him.’
It was weird that he didn’t like sending pictures to her. And if the Instagram page was for his business, why wouldn’t she be interested in readingallthe posts to see how he was getting on? I know I would.
Whenever Gabriel used to come over during his university holidays to hang out with Ricky, I always thought he’d go far and was amazed at how smart and sensible he was.
Whilst Ricky was in his room playing video games, we’d often talk for hours about the latest autobiography, memoir or motivational book he was reading, the things he’d learned from them and the business he dreamt of starting. He seemed so ambitious and driven. I don’t remember being even half as mature at his age.
I had so many questions about Juliette’s relationship with her son, but whenever I tried to find out more, she clammed up, so I’d stopped asking.
