‘No, no… I just mean…’ I gulp my wine. I don’t really know what I mean, so I change tack. ‘I’ve nearly got as many followers as Cassia now.’
Nandy looks confused at the subject change, but I keep going, hearing myself talking faster and feeling sweat beading on my top lip. ‘She won’t be happy. She looked ridiculous doing that “healthy gut” reel the other day, did you see it? I mean who the hell could say “I’m Stool Savvy” with a straight face? I bet she got thousands for that though. I’m hoping to be able to get some big sponsors too once I hit 200K.’
‘I didn’t see it,’ says Nandy.
‘It was a load of shit. Literally.’ I laugh but it comes out quite manically. Nandy doesn’t laugh, but instead starts flicking through one of Devon’s coffee table books about Mykonos or latte art or something.
I top up our wines.
A bit later, scallop shells and bottle of Picpoul now empty, we sit in the deckchairs on the balcony smoking a joint, wrapped up in blankets like pensioners on a pier. London is twinkling all around us and car horns and sirens echo down below. After the wine, things feel slightly more relaxed.
‘Do you think Cassia knows it’s you?’ asks Nandy, licking non-existent mornay sauce out of a scallop shell.
‘Unless she thinks I’m a deep fake. But I hope so. I’m happy to flex a bit.’
‘To what?’
‘Flex. Show off.’
‘Right…’ I think Nandy is pulling a face behind the shell.
There’s a silence. It’s Nandy who breaks it though. ‘So did you say you’d made a friend in the building?’
‘Yes. Zoe. She’s nice.’ I’m pleased Nandy is taking an interest.
‘What does she do?’
‘She’s a student. At Goldsmiths.’
‘Same as Maya.’ Nandy raises her eyebrows. ‘Wonder if she knows her…’
I can tell it’s not really a question, so I just smile and pull my blanket tighter around me. ‘I’ll go and put our paella in the microwave in a minute,’ I say. ‘Sorry it’s not homecooked but it’s M&S. I got Raspberry Royales for pudding. They slap.’ I’ve heard Jamal say this and want to try it out.
Nandy looks incredulous at this. Perhaps she’s not keen on paella. Anyway, she doesn’t mention it and instead says: ‘Maybe you and Zoe can come round to ours for dinner sometime. We like having Maya’s friends over.’
For a second I smile at the invitation, then realise she’s beingsnide. I don’t say anything, but she keeps going. ‘The three of you can tell Ash and me about the latest trends and slang words. We like to hear what all the young people are up to. Helps to keep us on our toes.’
The tight feeling rises in my chest again, so I try to lighten things up. ‘Her friend Kai is into me, it seems.’
Nandy puts the scallop shell down. She seems to be taking quite a long time to reply. When she does, she has her eyes closed, which is a bit weird. ‘How old is he?’
‘I don’t know, same age as Zoe I guess, twenty-four?’
‘And, what, I’m confused… you’re interested in him?’ She’s opened her eyes now and is looking directly at mine.
‘Yes – I suppose I am.’ I smile and lean in. ‘He’s pretty hot. Although they don’t really say that these days, I’ve discovered.’
Nandy appears to be taking a deep breath for some reason, then talks really slowly and deliberately. ‘And… sorry… just to be clear… you’re planning to… what? Have sex with him?’
‘Hopefully!’ I relight the joint and then laugh, coughing out smoke. ‘You know, for the plot.’ Another Jamal expression.
‘For the plot?’
‘Yeah, you know, being adventurous.’
She does that weird incredulous look again. ‘He’s the same age as Rohan.’
I laugh again.
Nandy abruptly stands up. ‘I’m going to go, Erica. Feel free to get in touch when you have found your mind again. Because you appear to have totally fucking lost it.’
Then she marches through the living room, grabbing her bag from the sofa, and before I can even haul myself up off the deckchair, I hear the front door slam.
Later, I’m lying in bed, wondering why Nandy, Josie – and Gabe for that matter – can’t see I am just trying to be a better version of myself? But they can’t, clearly. It’s actually quite upsetting. I mean I didn’t expect them to throw me a bloody party, but I thought they’d at least try to understand. But it feels more like I’m being punished. And so maybe it’s time to move on and surround myself with people who do appreciate the new me. Maybe it’s part of the change I so desperately wanted – want. Maybe the problem isn’t mine. Maybe it’s theirs. I mean, what do they know about how I felt anyway? They’ve settled down, got married, had kids. Our lives aren’t remotely comparable.
I’m woozy from wine and weed but quickly check my emails on my phone before I crash out. There’s another email from Gabe. I didn’t reply to his last one so I’m not sure why he’s in touch again. Opening it, I see it’s just the contact details of his friend Maxine, the comedy producer, with a perfunctory note saying he’d forgotten to include them in his last email. But I don’t exactly need to email her anymore, do I? I’ve got it made doing this social media for Yuvana Labs. But I’m not rude – so I reply, briefly, just saying thanks. Not really much else to say, is there?
While I’m online, I log into the WULT® Woman Insta account to see if I have any new likes or comments, and sure enough the pro-ageing brigade have clearly had a glass of sulphite-free rosé tonight. What’s the latest? Oh, that apparently I ‘make the Kardashians look understated’. I think you’ll find it’s ‘Kardashable’, I say to myself, suddenly and unexpectedly missing my mum. Another one says that ‘this is what internalised misogyny looks like up close’, which I might need to pop into ChatGPT to decipher. The last one I read before I throw my phone down on the bed says: ‘You’ve had more work done than my kitchen.’ That doesn’t even make sense. JEEZ. It’s not like I’ve had a splashback put in.
