Chapter Thirty-Six
A Jenga game that’s nearly over
I feel like I need one last soundtrack. Something that goes with a slow-motion ‘squad’ scene, walking in a row through the airport or getting on a plane, like inBridesmaids. And right now, that’s exactly where I find myself – marching through Heathrow with the least likely ‘squad’ you can imagine. There’s me, in my now standard Gen X meets Gen Z ensemble, then next to me is Merlyn, who today channels Bianca Jagger in a white, wide-legged trouser suit and her usual huge sunglasses. On the other side of her is Cassia, in full influencer mode wearing And Other Stories jeans, Anthropologie top, vintage Hermès bag (all#gifted), then Peach Jumpsuit, who is wearing, somewhat reassuringly, a peach jumpsuit. Last, but certainly not least, is Laure, who always looks as if she is going on a hike in adverse weather conditions. You couldn’t make it up, as Auntie Viv always says.
It’s precisely four days since Cassia turned up at Devon’s, and a lot has happened since. The following day, at nine a.m., which I felt was the earliest acceptable time to phone someone, especially someone who you are on rather strained terms with, I called Josie. I have Laure’s number, but it didn’t feel right to go straight to her. Josie was quiet at first, then when I told her the story, and explained how I want to get the treatment reversed, I could hear her defrosting.
‘Erica, I’m so happy you want to do this.’
‘Wanting is one thing – it’s whether I can or not that’s the problem now.’
‘Yes, I see. And I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘For being angry with you.’
‘It’s okay, I get it. You didn’t think this was a good example for Héloïse and I can see why now.’
‘It wasn’t just that, Erica. I was hurt… It was like you didn’t want to be the person who means so much to me.’
I took a sharp breath and tried not to let her hear my voice was shaky. ‘I’m sorry too Josie. I didn’t just do this to be vain, you know. I think I felt sad about the past. I wanted to go back and see if I could do it better.’ It was weird how just saying that made it so much clearer.
I heard her sigh. ‘I’ve got bits of my past I’m sad about too. Everyone does. The only way to feel better about them is by doing things better in the present.’
I felt like if I tried to speak I would cry.
Josie told me to hold on and went to get Laure, but I could tell she’d briefed her in that time, because when Laure came on the phone a couple of minutes later, all she said was ‘I will see what I can do’ in her French accent.
After that, I called Merlyn, who assured me it had all been ‘as ever, with the very best intentions at heart’. I didn’t have the energy to argue with her, all I could think about was whether Laure was going to get us to Professor Brandt, and if this shit show was going to be over soon so I could go and see Mother Pells. I told Merlyn that her plan had worked, and that I couldn’t wait to get back to my saggy old self. I also made her promise to take me to Brasserie Zédel when this is all over and give me a free pass at theChariot des Fromages.
The next day, a message popped up from Laure in the group chat formerly known as ‘Find Marcus’ (now hilariously renamed ‘Make Erica Old Again’ complete with a picture of the US flag). Cassia and Laure have been added to the chat alongside Merlyn, Peach Jumpsuit and me. She managed to get a ‘short meeting’with Professor Brandt, but it must be in Geneva and in two days – absolutely no flexibility, which makes Professor Brandt sound quite terrifying.
So Merlyn got us all business class flights, and I put some cross-fingers emojis in the group chat. Then, feeling more confident that there might be a way back, I sent Mother Pells a video message that I made using a filter called ‘Time Warp’, which makes you look older (Cassia’s idea). It wasn’t until after I sent it that I noticed it probably made me look too old, and that the filter added a Zimmer frame to the background, but hopefully she didn’t notice. It was only a few seconds long, saying, ‘See you soon! Lots of love!’ And then I just hoped that this would be the way forward, or should I say, the way back.
And now here we are, on our way to Geneva, and I am still hoping. Because Professor Brandt might know how to reverse the treatment, but that doesn’t mean to say she will want to, and the connection via Laure seems tenuous to say the least – according to Josie, she’s a lot higher up and they don’t even work in the same department of what appears to be a huge organisation.
The flight lasts an hour and a half. We all sit in our little business class pods, not saying much to each other. Peach Jumpsuit is listening to an audiobook and I hear Cassia twittering about how decadent it all is while taking photos for her Stories. Laure is muttering about how it’s not really a five-person job, which I think is directed at Cassia. I’m pretty sure Merlyn, who is wearing a silk eye mask and compression socks (which I feel are possibly unnecessary on a ninety-minute flight) let her tag along because it was her idea to find Professor Brandt.She also told me in the loos of the first-class lounge at Heathrow that Cassia ‘can be quite persuasive’. Sure, if you’re flogging healthy gut supplements, I thought to myself, but didn’t say anything.
It’s the first time I’ve been on a plane in about four years, the last time being on a press trip to a spa in Austria with Nandy. It wasn’t as fun as it sounds – we had to stand at the end of a tiled tunnel stark naked and be pummelled with a fireman’s hose in the name of thalassotherapy. I felt like I was being deloused before a lengthy prison sentence. But any excitement about flying is overshadowed by nervousness. I sit thinking about the last few months and try to remember the enthusiasm I had for my new appearance when I first got the treatment. It feels like a distant memory. The stewardess offers me ‘anything I want’ but I resist the temptation to have some Swiss courage. Maybe I can do that on the way back later, either to celebrate or drown my sorrows.
At the airport, a car takes us to the Médecins Sans Limites office, which is only a few minutes away, down surprisingly leafy roads considering we are in a city. Nobody says much, apart from Cassia who says that the limousine is ‘to die for’ and Peach Jumpsuit who whispers ‘Yessssssss’ in reply. The building is probably close to how I imagined Yuvana Labs would look when I first went last year, a stunning architectural design with glass and wood in a tower of different interlocking levels, like a Jenga game that’s nearly over. We pull up outside and Laure says, ‘I will do the talking please.’ Then we all get out.
Fifteen minutes later, after waiting in a huge open plan area filled with plants, we are led to Professor Brandt’s light-filled corner office. She is sitting at a wooden desk, reading something intently, and doesn’t look up when we all file in. Her assistant, a red-headed woman wearing a linen shirt dress, closes the door, and as there aren’t enough seats for all of us, we stand in a row.Professor Brandt has glasses on and appears identical to her photo online, but instead of scrubs is wearing a khaki-coloured blouse with a tie neck. She still doesn’t look up, but holds up a finger and says, ‘Twenty minutes only,’ in a strong European accent that could be German or Austrian, I can’t tell.
We stand in silence, then she slowly lifts her head, lowers her glasses and looks over them at us. ‘What’s this, the Spice Girls reunion?’
Not exactly what I expected.
Then she looks at me. ‘And you’re Baby Spice?’
‘Erm… yes.’ I never thought I’d be replying to that question in the affirmative, but I know what she means.
‘I think I read about you in one of your terrible British newspapers.’
‘Well… I…’
She takes off her glasses and puts them down on the desk, stands up and walks round the other side of it, then perches on the corner. She appears to be very tall, so this just means she is now at eye level with us.
