Welcome Back

There are times in your life when you welcome the peace and quiet of your own industry and then there are times when you crave something a little more salacious.

After several weeks being sensible Ms Shepherd, I long for my partner in crime and the re-emergence of Bo Peep.

‘Ta-dah! Did you miss me?’ Patty bursts into the shop scaring several customers, but I rush up to greet her.

‘How on earth did you do that? I was just thinking about you,’ I say hugging her to death.

Life at sea is suiting her; she looks tanned and relaxed and, well, taller. It’s one of those strange facts of life that when people are doing exactly what they should be doing, they grow a couple of inches, or at least they seem to.

‘You look fabulous,’ I tell her as she does a twirl for me.

‘I always did,’ she replies. She hasn’t become more modest then.

‘Tonight, my place, bring wine and I will tell you all,’ she promises blowing kisses to Charlie and vanishing as quickly as she appeared.

Only the puff of smoke and swirl of the cape were missing.

Buoyed by the evening of gossip that lies ahead, I get on with the business of selling holidays. I make an appointment with Heels on Wheels for myself and Josie, just to make sure that we’re happy to recommend them, and make sure that everything is in place for the New York trip next week. It doesn’t seem two minutes ago that we were in our BIN session inventing this trip. The Big Apple around Christmas is a bucket list trip for many people. Buoyed by the movie scenes of people skating in Central Park and Miracle on 34th Street, it holds an allure that other cities just can’t match. I’m probably looking forward to spending time with Patty more than anything; I miss her more than I’d ever confess.

The business day over, I stop at the off-licence and get two bottles of wine, having never known a Patty and me session stopping at one. I wonder if the doctor did turn out to be the one prophesied by mystical Cleo.

Patty greets me with a bottle of perfume in hand.

‘Come in, Bo,’ she says, ‘I’m fumigating the house.’

‘With Chanel?’ I ask.

‘Whatever I spray into the air will ultimately land on me,’ she explains. ‘I’d rather not smell of pine forest.’

‘Good point,’ I reply sniffing at my jacket, which should smell of Ocean Breeze if her theory is correct. It doesn’t.

‘The house smelled unloved and unlived in,’ she explains. ‘The neighbour kept a look out and dealt with the mail, but it’s not the same as being here every day.’

‘I never thought...’ I feel guilty now. ‘I could have popped by, but the time has flown – or at least it had until this week when I realised I was dying for you to come back. It is so good to see you again. How was it? Come on spill.’

She makes me wait while she pours a glass of wine and makes herself comfortable.

‘Brilliant, there’s just no other word for it.’

She pauses as if reflecting on the memories.

‘I know how you feel now when you’re arranging all of the holidays and looking at new opportunities to build the business. You’ve found the thing you’re good at.’

‘I think I have,’ I say.

‘And although loads of people would say this is a ridiculous thing to be good at, I’m starting to think that my calling is to make people laugh,’ adds Patty.

‘Joan Rivers did rather well from it,’ I say.

‘I was compère every evening pre-dinner,’ she starts explaining. ‘I hosted the karaoke competition then one night I had an idea to turn it into a version of Popstars. I told the audience that my fellow Granny-Okes had to go in for hip replacements and that I was looking for new band members. I got the singers to audition for a place in my supergroup and the audience voted for who they wanted to see in the finale.’

‘Sounds great fun,’ I say.

‘It was, we had some good singers but also some atrocious ones who just liked dressing up. The audience loved it and kept voting them in.’

We’re through the first glass so I top us up and get the olives out to make sure we get one of our prescribed five-a-day. I presume olives count.

‘I dressed the winners up in Granny-Oke wigs and cardigans and we closed with “Like A Virgin”. That seemed to work best with the non-singers, although every night I had to pretend I hadn’t seen a septuagenarian thrusting away in a purple wig before. Men don’t half love dressing up.’

She takes another glug.

‘I tell you, they loved me. Do you realise that some people thought I was a man in drag?’

I shrug, not confessing that I’d heard it too.

‘Quite a compliment I suppose; men in drag always have better legs.’ Patty examines her own as she says this.

‘Home must feel quite sedate after all that excitement,’ I say.

‘Every entertainer needs a period of resting after a major gig. Oh you’ll love this. One of the tribute band members was telling me that Brighton is so full of lovelies that “resting” is an official employment status on the benefit-office forms; you couldn’t make it up.’

‘Anything else to report? Anything relevant to a certain psychic’s premonitions?’ I hint and Patty springs to life.

‘Of course, I’m sorry, I forgot to ask, how’s Alan?’

‘He’s fine, engaged to Amanda now. He did me the courtesy of dropping down on one knee, without warning, in front of all my friends – old and new.’

‘He always was considerate.’

‘But what has that got to do with the psychic?’ I ask.

‘A row with someone that you don’t get on with – your ex,’ says Patty. ‘A dark moment – it was night-time – and an illness, the heart attack. It was all there. Now he’s recovered she was right about it ending well too, provided you’re well and truly over him that is.’

‘I am,’ I say reconciling all she’s said.

‘Engaged, eh? So what else has happened?’ asks Patty.

‘Zoe has a man. He’s forty so I’ve warned her to keep him away from you.’

She flicks her head back dramatically.

‘No need to worry,’ she declares, ‘I am now spoken for.’

I fill both our glasses and get the next bottle out.

‘Now we’re getting there. Spill,’ I instruct.

‘Well, I was a bit nervous when you all left and I was the last Granny standing,’ she says. ‘I’d planned to keep a low profile: do yoga, eat healthily and preserve the voice like a professional.’

‘I can’t imagine that happening,’ I say. ‘Go on.’

‘Simplee Rouge didn’t work out as I’d hoped,’ she continues.

‘I was trying to get into it but they weren’t very good and the one who played Mick had no charisma. I was convinced that Cleo had it all wrong. Then on the third week, we got the line-up through and there he was, Rock Astley. After everything Cleo said, I was sure that this had to be it and I couldn’t very well let my destiny pass me by.’

‘Something tells me this doesn’t end well,’ I say.

‘Oh it does, but not how I expected. I got all dressed up and went to the gig. I went up to the balcony and was watching quietly from the back, being all nonchalant.’

‘Again – that’s hard to imagine. So what happened?’

‘I only knew one of his songs and he played that at the end, “Never Gonna Give You Up”; you know it. I got quite into it and started dancing along with some of his fans, the Rick-Rollers, they’re called.

‘In the chorus we had a little dance routine. We reach to the sky, then to the ground and finally do a big twirl.’

She gets up to demonstrate these moves.

‘Simple enough, but it was quite good fun and then when he finished the Rollers made a rush for the bar where he was signing autographs.’

‘Keep going,’ I say wondering where on earth this is going.

‘Well, all of my crimson scarves had wound themselves around the railings when I was twirling, hadn’t they? When I ran with the crowd, I damn near garrotted myself and when I yanked them free I didn’t know my own strength and went flying down the steps backwards. They all just ran past me. I tell you, never rely on a Rick-Roller for help when you’re ill; they certainly do “give you up” and at the very first sign of trouble. I ended up in the sick bay.’

‘Finally we get there,’ I murmur. I urge her to continue.

‘I had a sprained wrist and bruised coccyx. I was under the doctor all week after that, literally,’ she taunts.

‘I knew it,’ I exclaim, ‘I knew you’d get the doctor.’

‘Oh Bo, he’s just wonderful. What he doesn’t know about a woman’s body...’

‘He should probably do some training for,’ I suggest.

‘So Cleo might have been right for you, but she was way out for me,’ says Patty.

‘I don’t know,’ I say, ‘listening to redhead Rock Astley, killing yourself with red scarves – without them you wouldn’t have met him.’

‘It’s a bit vague, I might have worn a blue scarf that night.’

‘No chance, you haven’t worn any other colour for months. Besides which, there was this.’ I pull out my phone and show her the shot of them both bathed in red light.

‘I knew you’d end up with him as soon as I saw that,’ I say.

Patty gazes at the picture then hands me back the phone.

‘And you still let me sit through two weeks of gingers wailing?’ she laughs. ‘Thanks a bunch.’

It is so good to have her back.

‘What’s next then?’ I ask. ‘Is he on leave now?’

‘Yes, he’s divorced but has kids and grandkids that he’s gone to visit. I needed time to think anyway,’ replies Patty. ‘I mean, I haven’t been with a man for over four years – although naturally I haven’t been short of offers.’

‘Naturally,’ I reply.

‘And there’s something else I have to think about...’ She pauses and then says, ‘Bo, they’ve offered me a residency for the season.’

I am delighted for her but sad for me.

‘For how long?’ I ask.

‘The winter season around the Caribbean, so January to March; it’s the perfect time to get away from here and Dr Lurve would be on the same rota,’ she explains.

‘You really call him that?’

She nods and we giggle.

‘It’s a nineties cruise though, so I’ll have to learn some new material,’ she adds.

‘You can still do Madonna,’ I say.

‘Ooh yes, a bit of “Vogue”,’ Patty replies, doing the hand movements, ‘and I thought maybe some Britney.’

I imagine only Charlie would get away with the appropriate reaction to the idea of Patty in a school uniform so I say nothing.

‘So it’s new man, New York, New Year and new set list,’ she continues.

‘I’ll miss you so much,’ is all I can say.

‘Who wouldn’t?’ She tilts her head sympathetically and I throw an olive at her, getting a direct hit.