Niamh can occasionally be a bit scary. She is a very determined woman who very much likes to take control. But given that I am a very passive person who often struggles to make decisions and has a serious people-pleaser problem, I have been only too happy to let her make key decisions in our friendship. Be that where we go for dinner, or any plans we make surrounding going to concerts, or days out with the kids. She’s good at it. Why would we not play to her strengths?
But even at her scariest, I would never – could never – think of her as some sort of ginormous bitch. I shake my head. ‘Not possible,’ I tell her.
‘But you would say that! I love you very, very much, Becca. Like insanely a lot. But you are the kind of person who sees the good in everyone, and while that’s all very admirable, it does sometimes blind you to days when I am in fact a complete bitch. Or grumpy in any regards. I’ve become so snappy lately. And Paul has become snappy too.’
‘You’ve had a lot on your plate,’ I say, trying not to let my mind run away with her statement that I can be blind to bad behaviour in others. Is that true? How can it be when I can very clearly see the more annoying qualities in Simon? Not to mention it was me who led a ten-year Cold War with Laura after my marriage broke down and she welcomed Simon to her home. I can be a badass when I want to be.
‘We’re in our late forties, Becs. There is always a lot on our plates. You know that. We’re dragged from pillar to post doing all the things we’re supposed to be doing and having next to no time to do things we actually want to be doing. And we’re doing it all with hot flushes and the return of acne in some twisted sequel to puberty.’ She makes quote marks with her fingers and in a deep voice, as if she’s doing a voiceover for a movie trailer, she says, ‘Return of the Acne: This Time It’s Serious.’
I snort.
‘And our periods… dear God… I fear I’ll give birth to my own womb one of these days. Then the brain fog, and the thinning skin and… and… itchy nipples! Jesus Christ, Becca! Why did no one tell us that itchy nipples are a thing in menopause? Do you know how absolutely horrific it is to have your nips itching like you’ve just dipped them in itching powder while you’re standing in front of a class of twenty-five teenagers? There is nowhere to run! And trust me, there is no discreet way to scratch them!’ Her voice has reached fever pitch now and a few other walkers have stopped to listen.
Thankfully on this cold January afternoon the walk is relatively quiet and the only people who hear her outburst are our fellow group members.
‘E45,’ one of them says. ‘Or any type of unperfumed moisturiser or emollient. Rub some in after your shower each day. It really helps.’
‘A shower definitely helps take the itch away, at least for as long as you’re under the water,’ another woman says.
‘Can we permanently stay under the shower? It can take away the itchiness and the sweatiness. I swear as soon as I get out of the shower, I start sweating all over again and want to get right back in.’ This time it’s Deirdre speaking, and she is smiling sympathetically.
‘These are great ideas,’ Niamh says. ‘I’ll definitely try them.’
‘We didn’t mean to jump into your conversation,’ Deirdre says, all of a sudden colouring.
‘Oh, God, please don’t apologise,’ Niamh says. ‘I wasn’t exactly being discreet, was I? I’d have listened in too if I heard someone mention their itchy nipples. Plus haven’t we already bonded over Troy Bolton and his abs?’
Deirdre breathes a sigh of relief, just as Peggy catches up with us.
‘All good, ladies?’ Peggy asks upon seeing us huddle together having what my mum would no doubt call a ‘Mother’s Meeting’.
‘Yeah,’ Niamh says cheerily. I know immediately that her big chat about her big feelings is over for now. Niamh is back to doing what Niamh does best – enthusiastically leading everyone on. ‘We were just perving over Zac Efron.’
‘Great!’ Peggy says, enthusiastically. ‘Although he’s a bit too young for me. I like an older man. A Harrison Ford, for example. Now there’s someone I could perv over from morning till night.’
27
SUCH A HOO-HA!
There’s an air of trepidation in the campsite this afternoon. The details offered about the ‘Locating Your Inner Goddess’ workshop have been scant.
I can’t help but worry that I might not be able to find mine. It’s entirely possible I’ve left her somewhere by accident. Maybe down the back of the sofa or on top of the microwave. Nine times out of ten I can only find my keys and purse because I have Tile trackers on them. I’m not sure it’s possible to attach a Bluetooth tracking device to an inner goddess.
At least, I think… at least Niamh seems to have let out a lot of her worry and frustration. I don’t think we’ve found a solution to any of it but I’m hoping that just talking about it will help a little. A problem shared and all that…
Deirdre meets with us as we leave our yurt and walk across the site. Her face is flushed. ‘Girls, they were talking in our yurt and one of the ladies – Ciara, I think her name is – said she’d heard it was going to involve hand mirrors and looking at our bits.’
My heart sinks and my ‘bits’ cringe so tightly that it’s hard to imagine anyone will ever get sight of them ever again. ‘I’m not doing that,’ I say. ‘Magazine article or not. I have to draw the line somewhere. Can you imagine my boys reading about the time I examined my hoo-ha in a room full of other women?’
My face is blazing red, while Niamh laughs at the horror on my face. ‘Oh, love, it’s only a hoo-ha, or a vulva as us adults like to call them. I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’ve birthed four babies, and I’ve taughtGCSEbiology, but I’m not horrified at the thought. Enough people have seen mine already, I suppose it’s probably about time I had a look at it myself.’
‘Niamh,’ Laura says, stopping stock still. ‘Please tell me you haven’t shown yourGCSEstudents your vulva, because I’m pretty sure that could get you in trouble.’ It’s my turn to laugh while Niamh realises her wording might have just been a little off.
‘Oh, for God’s sake! Of course I’ve not shown my students… I meant my doctors. And nurses. Four babies equals a lot of time on display.’
‘I’m only teasing,’ Laura says, laughing. ‘But honestly though – you’ve never had a look at it yourself?’
‘Why would I?’ Niamh asks.
