I can’t think of a time when Simon and I have sat down together, just the two of us. But we are doing it now.
‘That it would always be summer!’ says Simon, leaning back and closing his eyes, the sun on his face.
‘Have you been taking mushrooms?’ I ask, watching him.
‘What makes you think that?’ he says, not looking at me.
‘Something I saw on your Facebook.’
‘Ah… social media. The great hive mind!’ He sits up, points to a bee and laughs. ‘It’s psilocybin, Erica. Very small quantities, microdosing – I have it in chocolate. It’s been a revelation. I’m just trying to get the amounts right. But I am indeed part of the “shroom boom”, as it’s called.’
‘Well – it seems to be working for you, Simon. You look happier.’
‘Youdon’t,’ he replies.
And there it is – I knew I couldn’t have a whole conversation with Simon without him being irritating.
I change the subject, and we talk about Mother Pells, and the flat, and when we should bring her to see it. I tell him I haven’t shown her my new appearance yet, and he says, ‘it’ll be fine’.
‘That’s easy for you to say.’
‘What d’you mean?’ he asks.
‘I mean that she thinks everything you do is brilliant. Me, not so much. It was the same with Dad, although slightly less so. You must have noticed.’
‘No, I hadn’t actually. She always sounds really proud when I hear her talking about you. Showing everyone her fancy skin creams and telling everyone you’re a top beauty writer.’
How weird. And there was me thinking the extent of her interest was procuring free lip balm. ‘Wonder why she never says anything like that to me?’
‘Different generation, Erica. They don’t like people getting “too big for their boots”. She never says anything particularly complimentary to me either…’
We sit in silence for a few minutes watching some birds on a feeder.
‘Simon,’ I say, eventually. ‘Do you remember that holiday on the Norfolk Broads when we were kids? When those ducks got on top of the boat and you fed them your Ringos?’
‘Yes! I haven’t thought about that for years.’
We’re both quiet again, then Simon says, ‘They looked after us, didn’t they? That’s why it’s time to return the favour.’
‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’
‘You should. They put down the deposit on your house. And remember when Mum bought all those horrible bracelets after you had that jewellery party nobody came to?’
I don’t say anything. I can’t.
Simon is clearly back on the Norfolk Broads though. ‘Dad wasn’t too happy – d’you remember when we left him on the bank that time we stopped for ice-cream?’ he says. ‘His face running up the path trying to catch us up… Mum dropped her choc ice she was laughing so much.’
He sniggers, and even though I have tears in my eyes, I laugh too – something I realise I haven’t done in a while.
Later, I get the train back to Paddington, and then the tube to south-east London. I’m tired when I finally reach the flat. Just as I’m going in, I spot someone sitting on the ground to the rightof the entrance, face buried inWorld of Interiorsmagazine. As I look over, the magazine lowers, and Keith appears over the top.
Seeing me, he stands up, puts the magazine under his arm and says in a businesslike fashion, ‘Come on, girly-pop. Let’s get you inside. We need to have a chat.’
He frogmarches me into the foyer.
I don’t know where to start with this. I mean, it’s nice to see Keith, but what is he doing here and why is he being so… officious? He doesn’t seem in the slightest taken aback by my appearance, either.
As though reading my mind, he says: ‘Before you say anything, Erica, firstly – Nandy told me where you live. Secondly, I know what you look like because I’ve seen your ludicrous Instagram – I’m@Cheshire_In_Stilettosby the way. And thirdly, I don’t take kindly to having my FaceTimes declined.’
