The doorbell goes again. Excellent, the Deliveroo rider must have found my missing samosa. I haul myself up off the floor to open the front door. Why do my ankles seem to take longer to get going than the rest of me these days? I was hoping I’d at least get to fifty before needing to know what ‘arch support’ means. Mind you, if it’s as ground-breaking as the rumours suggest, maybe this WULT® thing will fix that too.
However, it’s Josie, who does not appear to have a samosa about her person, but instead a large Tupperware box and a bunch of those orange flowers that look like lanterns. ‘I brought you some butternut squash gnocchi. And these.’ She sticks theflowers under my nose. ‘I can never remember what they’re called.’
She looks like the personification of autumn, wearing brown cords and an oatmeal colour jumper with a roll neck so big it’s like a scarf.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘How was the party – did the magazine give you a commission?’
I’m not really sure what to say, and I certainly don’t want to tell her about WULT® yet. I look at Josie’s smiling face, the Tupperware glistening with condensation, the flowers… and it all just feels so kind and lovely – the polar opposite of the thoughts I was having about my depressing existence just minutes ago. So, I burst into tears. I don’t think I’ve ever cried in front of Josie, except maybe that time when we drank all that Gavi and I told her why I broke up with Kofi, and about that terrible night.
‘Erica – oh no… I’m sorry, are you okay?’ She ushers me into the hallway and puts down the gnocchi and flowers so she can hug me.
‘Yes. Sorry. Just the hangover… I’m fine. Ignore me.’ I compose myself almost as quickly as I started crying. ‘All good. And yes, I might have a commission.’
‘That’s great!’ Josie throws her arms around me again. ‘Well done you.’
‘Yes, well done me…’
I try to shake off the self-pity that always bubbles up when people are nice to me at my most miserable, and focus instead on the possibility that the misery might change into something more positive soon. I go quiet and Josie seems to sense I would rather be alone and backs out onto the pavement, continuing to eye me with concern.
‘Why don’t you come to dinner on Saturday? Keith is coming too. We could go to The Perch after, if you like?’
The mention of The Perch immediately makes me think of Gabe, and the retching/wet-flannel-jeans incident, which then makes my eyes fill up once more, although more out of retrospective embarrassment than sadness. Josie looks alarmed again.
‘Only if you feel like it, Erica,’ she says, as if asking someone extremely elderly if they want to go for a walk.
I nod. Then I remember the goodie bag from the party, and grab it from the hall table. I thrust it at her, despite knowing she won’t use half of what’s in it.
‘I got you this. There’s a lip mask in it.’
‘Thanks, Erica, that’s really kind of you.’ She doesn’t look in the bag. ‘Hopefully see you on Saturday. Oh, and the gnocchi just need two minutes in the microwave – and some parmesan on the top, if you have it.’
‘Of course I do.’ I manage a smile as I shut the door.
