We took our seats at a table in the window, overlooking the flower beds.
In she walked then, as glamorous as ever. Theresa was our Irish friend from the Hygiene School. Typically Celtic, she had pale skin, brown hair and blue eyes. She was far cooler than any of us, following fashion closely. Some of her outfits were light years ahead of us, yet she carried them with confidence and style. Today was no different; she rocked a pair of slim-fitting high waisted navy slacks and a cream lace high necked body suit, pearl jewellery and a vintage hair slide.
‘Better late than never, bitches.’ She shrugged, waiting for the slagging she knew was coming her way.
‘Ah, you’re early really, Theresa. For you anyway. I expected you to turn up at my fortieth, a decade late.’ Katie fondly embraced her.
‘Well… neighbour?’ Theresa turned to me. ‘Quite the dark horse here…’ She nudged me, prodding for more information. I’d never actually thought about it before, geography wasn’t mystrong point, but Mayo borders Galway. It was another pro for Ireland, in these searching times.
‘I actually completely forgot you’re in the next county! I promise you I will come and see you before Christmas.’ It would be a great excuse to get John out of Mayo for a day, maybe we could do an overnight.
‘Ladies.’ A smartly dressed gentleman approached us to take our drinks order.
‘Champagne please,’ we answered unanimously, giggling in the process; the sound echoed round the huge library.
The waiter returned less than five minutes later with a bottle of Bollinger and four champagne flutes. He proceeded to pop the cork and pour a glass for each of us, assuring us the afternoon tea would arrive shortly.
It was such a treat to be together. Days like these were few and far between. I’d forgotten how therapeutic a drink with this lot could be.
Afternoon tea did not disappoint; the sandwiches were made from fresh homemade breads, the smoked salmon was divine and the warm fruit scones were served with fresh clotted cream and homemade raspberry jam.
‘Oh, my goodness. I think I have eaten my own weight in clotted cream,’ Rachel said, patting her non-existent stomach.
‘Shut up,’ Theresa said, rolling her eyes. ‘If you turned sideways, we’d wonder where you went.’
We were used to Rachel’s obsession with her weight. She had a fabulous figure, but she claimed she was a heavy child, and the fear of her weight escalating again seemed to forever haunt her. Yet another reminder that everyone had their own demons.
‘So, I’ve got some news.’ Bright eyes glanced excitedly round the table.
‘Go on!’ I urged, eager for some good news.
‘You’re pregnant?’ Katie guessed. Since she had two babies, it was her initial thought. She was desperate for the day that we would join her in the unpredictable journey of motherhood, promising it to be the greatest thing in the world, but the hardest work known to man, and woman. We’d had a detailed description of both of her labours and she really didn’t sell it.
‘Don’t be daft, Katie.’ Rachel brushed her hand in front of her face. ‘Or are you trying to say I have put weight on?’
‘Put us out of our misery for God’s sake, Rach!’ Theresa begged.
‘I’m getting a boob job,’ she announced proudly while we sat with our mouths open, expecting her to say anything other than that. She’d mentioned many times over the years that she wanted to. If it bothered her, then she was as well to do something about it.
‘Well fair play to you, Rachel,’ I said raising my glass. ‘You always said you would.’
‘To Rachel’s new boobs,’ Theresa said. We clinked glasses in a toast.
‘Huh-hmm,’ Katie coughed to remind us that it was actually her birthday.
‘Happy Birthday, Katie.’ We chorused like schoolgirls and I signalled the waiter to bring us another bottle over.
Rachel had her surgery booked for two weeks-time and had paid a hefty deposit to a private clinic on George Street.
‘So, no babies…’ Katie said, cupping her chin in her hands with a pronounced pout.
‘Well… I wasn’t going to mention it… but…’ Theresa began with an enormous smile.
‘Oh my God!’ Katie jumped off her seat and threw herself at Theresa.
‘Best birthday present ever,’ she squealed with delight. ‘How far gone are you? There’s not a pick on you still.’
‘Thirteen weeks.’ She placed her hand over her flat stomach in a protective gesture.
