There’s a moment when we just stare at each other. And then we hug – big, long and hard. If Nandy could hear me say that she’d made a joke out of it.
A little later, we’re on Nandy’s sofa, Pakora curled up between us,30 Rockon the TV.
Nandy tops up my glass with red and looks at me. She’s smiling but there’s a weird edge to it that I’m not keen on.
‘You’re fucking mental. What were you thinking?’
‘It can’t be that much of a surprise – I’ve been trying to find something that would genuinely work for the last twenty years… I mean, isn’t that what we’re all in this for? To look younger? Isn’t that what we do?’ I can feel myself sounding defensive, so I lighten it up a bit. ‘I was also thinking it might make my vag work again, you know…’
‘Most people just get HRT, Erica.’
I laugh. She’s not laughing though.
‘But I mean, come on, look at my face.’ I poke my cheeks, lift my chin, stroke my neck, tilt my head from side to side, grab a tit in each hand through my gingham blouse just to show how high up they are. ‘You should see if you can get it too!’
‘No thanks.’
She gets up and walks over to the kitchen area of the open plan ground floor and fiddles about with the kebabs.
‘Don’t do that now, Nandy,’ I say, feeling the atmosphere in the room like a tight, pre-exam feeling in my chest. ‘Come and talk to me.’
She turns around, kebab in hand, which she waves as she speaks. ‘How can I talk to you when I don’t know what to say? I don’t get it, Erica. You don’t even look like you. You look like a complete stranger. Have you thought what your family are going to say? Your weirdo brother is going to have a field day.’
‘I know, I know… And we have my mum’s eightieth coming up too.’ I take a massive gulp of wine.
Nandy watches me and I can see she’s regretting being so harsh. She’s probably just miffed she wasn’t picked for it.
‘Look, Erica, I’m not having a go at you. This was your choice, and you’re an adult, so I guess you’ve given it a lot of thought. I’m just getting used to it, I suppose.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say. I wonder if she’s thinking about getting it too? Although I’m not sure there will be other freebies on offer. Perhaps Merlyn could get her a discount? How brilliant would it be if we both looked younger – we could even go out on the town together (although I’m acutely aware nobody says that anymore).
I tell her about Gabe, but she still seems on edge. Maybe things between her and Ash have lost their spark… it’s been a while since she had that first rush of romantic feeling and me talking about it probably reminds her of that.
There’s a pause in the conversation, which isn’t like us.
I try another subject change. ‘Did you see that comment on Cassia’s “January Empties” reel? Someone asked her if she’s due for a chin wax.’
‘Oh well, it’s Friday tomorrow so no doubt she’ll be making a Mint Julep in the scullery… that’ll cheer her up,’ says Nandy, who seems almost back to her old self now, thank goodness.
I wake up in Maya’s bedroom and the first thing I see is Madonna staring down at me. How funny that Maya has theDesperately Seeking Susanposter on her wall. I was obsessed with that film – Madonna’s jacket, the lace gloves… and the bit in the ‘Into the Groove’ video when she held her armpits over the hand drier. I would spend hours with a painted-on beauty spot and one of Mother Pells’ old lacy bras tied round my head, pouting at myself in the bedroom mirror. It seems like yesterday, but for Maya, it’s as long ago as Marilyn Monroe was to me at that age. Getting old seems to have happened in a heartbeat, and I feel like I didn’t get a proper chance to enjoy being young. But I have another chance now.
Nandy’s working in town so once we’re up and showered, we get the Central line in together at rush hour, standing squashed against each other in the packed carriage, holding the handrails above us. Nandy looks at me and shakes her head every couple of minutes.
‘Are you writing an article about it?’ she asks as the train sways from side to side and the ‘ugly air’ (Héloïse’s description) blows through from the next carriage.
‘No… they’re doing it. It’s like a sponsored article, an advertorial thing.’
‘Okay… so you won’t even get paid?’
The train lurches. ‘Yeah, I will. I’m doing some social media for them.’
Nandy pulls a face. ‘’Cos we all know how much you love social media…’
I don’t reply, but wonder if she said that because she only has about 500 followers and just shares pictures of her patio planters. Sometimes I feel like Nandy should move with the times a bit. She doesn’t even seem to like shifts on the features desks, so I don’t know why she does them.
When the train gets to Oxford Circus, Nandy gets off, hugging me as much as she can in the crowd. ‘Don’t go changing,’ she says. She has a weird watery-eyed look.
‘Too late,’ I call after her.
