WITH NEW YORK A blur of new experiences and, cringe, self-discovery, entertaining Lyla through the whirlwind of the summer holidays and work zapping all my energy, I’d forgotten how good it feels to let yourself relax and have fun with a girlfriend. God, it feels good. Like a really hot bath after a strenuous day, or a really cold cloudy lemonade on a summer afternoon.
After eating our body weight in miniature confections, we pop into Lacey’s to select an outfit to take to mine. Her wardrobe is the stuff of any girl’s dreams. Everything is neatly folded, carefully hung on matching hangers or stashed in its correct place and position. There’s no ‘crap pile’ or plastic bags of junk at the bottom of the wardrobe, like mine. I need to take note. This is how to adult. Thanks to her immaculate system, it takes about thirty seconds to select a cornflower-blue embroidered shirt dress with a chunky tan belt and wedges. She folds them (of course) into a tote and we head back to mine, where the real magic begins.
It’s late afternoon, so we’re rich in time. It’s been a hot, perfect late summer’s day but the heat of the sun is fading and cooler air is wafting in on a welcome breeze. I open every window to allow it in and lay out my brushes on the bed as if I’m at work. The plan is to visit a couple of bars along the river, making the most of the late summer nights and not focus on anything except laughing and chatting.
Like old times, we spend forever on hair and make-up. False lashes (the subtle kind), backcombed hair, the good lipsticks that I don’t use day to day – we let loose. We chit-chat about people we used to go to school with (we think Alison Berry from the year above us might be having an affair, judging by her weird Facebook statuses), Lacey and Karl’s upcoming weekend break to Rome – poor Karl has been working all hours on a big new deal – how well Lyla seems to be getting on at school at the moment, and how that’s such a relief. Standard chit-chat, lots of laughter and completely just what I need.
After twenty minutes of trying things on and taking them off again (nothing changes; it was like this fifteen years ago when we stood in Lacey’s mum’s house huffing and puffing while Tina told me I looked ‘lovely in everything’), I settle on a denim playsuit with small wooden buttons up the side of each hip and gold sandals. It’s fairly casual, but with my glimmering highlight and bouncing AF hair, I’m smashing it.
Once out and situated at a couple of sofas next to a low table near the bar, we don’t hold back. It’s as if we both inherently know that this is a treat, that it might not happen again for a while and that, maybe without realising it, we really, really needed it. We line up shots, we clink porn star martinis (even a bit tipsy, I shudder when it’s my turn to order and yell ‘porn star’ across a busy bar, even if it is just a delicious cocktail and not actually an adult entertainer in a glass) and we shout into each other’s ears about how much we love each other and how we’ll never leave the other and how ‘really, no really, you are the best friend I’ve ever fucking had’. We laugh and we dance a bit, and we have a ball. Why don’t I do this more often?
At home in bed (I’ve managed to pull the sandals off and get the playsuit down to my waist, but those little wooden buttons are like tiny arrogant prison guards, and after a couple of failed attempts and a slight stagger and crash into the door frame, I give up and decide that wearing demin shorts to bed is fine), I text Lacey to make sure she got in OK after the taxi dropped me at mine.
‘Yep, next to Karl, my second-best friend because you are my real, actual, forever best friend, Robin Wilde, I lob you.’ She means love. I get it. I lob her too.
She’s so lucky to be able to go home to her second-best friend. Her kind, handsome husband who loves her so dearly.
Suddenly the night isn’t so fun any more, and my bed feels massive and lonely (even with my playsuit still on). I wish I had a nice man in mine like Lacey does in hers. I wasn’t looking for a guy tonight, but then again, I wasn’t not looking. A couple of decent-looking types caught my eye and one or two smiled but, unlike New York, I didn’t feel brave enough to go over. Maybe I need Piper, or gummy sharks in drinks or just the buzz of the big city, but somehow I didn’t have that confidence to waltz over and make small talk. Also, in fairness, nobody came over to me either. That’s a bit sad, isn’t it? I’m not awful to look at; I’m approachable, I think. But not tonight. And so here I am, sprawled out in a double bed with no one to share it.
I don’t think it’s unreasonable to text your friends when you’re feeling a bit lonely. I’d text any of my friends right now, so it’s no big deal at all. I would text Lacey, but she’ll be asleep by now. Or not asleep with Karl, and I don’t want to interrupt that.
I start to type. I know I shouldn’t, deep down, but I carry on.
Theo, I miss you. I stare at the screen for a moment. Then: What happened to us? I wish you were here to hold me.
I hit send.