Same Time Next Week

Chapter 38

Mel’s phone rang just before twelve and Joss’s name was on the screen.

‘Long shot, but are you free this aft? Look at the freaky hot weather, not to be wasted. Dad’s decided to have a barbecue and I’ve been out and bought far too much food for it. Please come. You don’t need to bring as much as a sausage.’ She didn’t wait for the answer. ‘Good. I’ll pick you up at one.’

Mel laughed. ‘I’d forgotten how bossy you used to be.’

‘Hopefully in a good way. You haven’t said no.’

Oh what the hell , thought Mel. It beat sitting in by herself trying not to mope. She was always happiest on Saturdays and this might restore some of the joy of the day for her.

‘I’ll be ready and waiting.’

She’d take a bottle though. They always had a stock of wine in, Steve liked a glass in the evening.

The thought of him usually brought with it a sharp smart as if someone had twanged an elastic band against her skin, but today she thought, bastard . No, she wouldn’t sit in the freezer waiting for him to make up his mind which one of them he wanted. She’d put on some make-up, a summer frock, some strappy sandals and she’d party. And on the drive over to Joss’s house, she’d do what Pat said she should and tell her she was joining her bloody band after all.

‘It’s nice, I like it,’ said Alex, turning around in the master bedroom of the showhouse. Erin had done some investigating on the new estate Bon had told her about. There were only three left and one was in a choice position on a corner plot. It had a bigger garden than the others and a sunroom. The fourth bedroom was downstairs and would make a perfect home office. She could have gone to view it by herself but she rang Alex anyway to see if he was free and he said he absolutely was. So here they were.

It was the first time she had seen him out of his suit and she’d wondered what he would look like in casual gear. He had an ace bum for jeans, great taste in footwear and the plain, blue T-shirt he sported showed off a surprisingly toned physique.

She was too much a creature of impulse, but everything about the house was saying it was the right fit.

‘I’m going to reserve it,’ she said.

‘If you want it, you should have it,’ said Alex. ‘Let’s find the salesperson and strike while your iron is sizzling.’

They found her, she took details, Erin formally reserved 1, Renaissance Place – even the street name was screaming she should buy it. She’d already started to pack up her things in the flat because the buyer was pushing for a speedy sale and she was happy to oblige. She’d probably have to rent somewhere before her new house was ready for her but that was fine; the sooner she could leave the apartment, the better.

This was a grand day. A new beginning secured, with sunshine and good company, because Alex really was good company. Very good company, and he liked hers too, she could tell. They smiled a lot at each other and she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him after the paperwork was completed.

‘There’s a pub down the road that does great food if you’d like to help me celebrate my new purchase,’ she said when they left the onsite office. ‘It’s on me. Call it a surveyor’s fee.’

‘Ah…’ his expression changed into one of polite regret. ‘I can’t, I’m afraid. I’m going out to dinner tonight.’

She forced out a look that she hoped covered her disappointment adequately. ‘Absolutely no problem. I thought if you were at a loose end… er then… but…’ She was stuttering and was glad when he cut her off.

‘Someone on the circuit. Asked me out of the blue yesterday and I found myself saying why not. Put my toe back in the waters of dating.’

That made it totally clear what sort of ‘dinner’ he was going to.

‘Well, you be sure to have a lovely time.’

She doubted Meryl Streep would be checking her out as acting competition.

‘Nervous, actually.’

‘That’s natural.’

‘She’s nice though. Quite a character.’

She. Erin imagined someone formidable who looked shit-hot in a barrister’s wig, who was assured and intelligent and articulate because she would be if she was ‘on the circuit’. She wouldn’t be a mess who misread signs.

‘Great.’

‘Anyway,’ Alex bent, kissed her cheek. ‘Congratulations on your purchase. And I’ll see you Wednesday for more revelations from Father Paul. Wonder how it went with the bishop.’

‘Well, I hope. Enjoy tonight.’

He turned from her and she let her smile fall because it suddenly felt too heavy to hold up. That’s why he wasn’t nervous around her , because he saw her as a friend, and only that. She didn’t want another male friend. She didn’t want another female lover. What she did need though was a man to put his arms around her and a cache of female friends, who understood what it was like to be a woman with all their insecurities and fears and faults, to confide in about how she felt.

She got into the car, stupidly tearful, feeling like an idiot, the imprint of Alex’s lips still on her skin.

Joss’s family’s house was even bigger than Mel remembered it and even more beautiful.

‘Come and meet everyone,’ said Joss, pulling her by the hand into a small throng of people. Her mum and dad were much aged, their dark hair now white, their kind faces still instantly recognisable but lined with the paintbrush of time.

‘I remember that lovely red hair,’ said Joss’s father, embracing her.

‘Do you still like meringues?’ asked her mother. ‘I’ll never forget making meringues for Joss’s birthday party and you disappearing under the table with the plate of them.’ She hooted.

‘Oh god, did I?’ said Mel, horrified. A memory winkled out of a burial place in her head of her doing exactly that meringue-scoffing thing. Memories didn’t die, then; they were just waiting to jump out at you when their graves were poked.

‘I was rather chuffed. I thought I’d made a pig’s ear of them and no one would want them. It was the first time I’d attempted them.’

‘I’m making a pig’s ear of these burgers, look, I’ve burned that one,’ said her father.

‘I’ll have it,’ said Mel, ‘I’m a speciality in pig’s ear disposals.’

‘Nope, you’re having one of my better ones,’ insisted her father.

‘Dad, we’ll be back, I just want to show Mel something.’

Joss led the way to the barn. There were people inside, Mel could see them through the windows and one of them was sitting behind a drum kit.

‘She’s here,’ announced Joss when they walked in.

‘Melinda McVie, as I live and breathe,’ shouted the woman behind the drum kit with the same pixie haircut she had at school. Sue Fletcher came dancing over, arms extended, the designated drummer of the band that never was.

‘Oh my goodness,’ said Mel, walking into the hug from her old friend, inhaling her perfume. Paris. Maybe a retro choice but it still smelt great.

‘Let me look at you,’ said Sue, pushing her out to arms’ length.

‘Oh don’t, I’m a wreck,’ said Mel.

‘You look great to me,’ said Sue. She turned to Joss. ‘She’s on board then?’ Back to Mel. ‘You on board? You’re doing this with us? Fuck me, you are, you so are.’

‘And this rock chick… can you remember her?’ asked Joss, standing with her arm around another woman whom Mel kind of recognised. ‘Miss East hated her nearly as much as you.’

‘No way – Titch?’ exclaimed Mel, laughing, as it came to her who she was. ‘What the hell happened, Gina? I mean I know I’m only five three, but I used to look down onto the top of your head.’

‘I’m five ten now. Late growth spurt,’ Gina laughed and gave her a hug.

‘We’ve got a guitar all tuned up and ready for you. No pressure,’ said Joss. ‘But if we don’t have something to eat first, my dad’s been slaving for nothing.’

Sue linked Mel’s arm. ‘Come on. We’ve got thirty-six years to catch up on, we can spare another five minutes for a burger.’

Amanda walked into Ray’s diner because she didn’t really know what else to do with herself. She’d spent most of the afternoon crying, and not really sure what was upsetting her most because there were too many contenders for first place. The infection in her mum’s body was making her confused, but Amanda knew that what she’d heard from her had been the truth: intact, unadulterated, undramatised. Ingrid hadn’t loved Fred and she hadn’t wanted their daughter. She’d blamed her for wrecking her second marriage and then punished her by spending the money her dad had left for her. She’d made her pay all the way through her life, exacting duties from her so she could keep the loving, undemanding side of herself for her son. That’s what it felt like.

Amanda took a seat in the corner, a sole table for one. The diner was busy; she didn’t want to claim Ray’s attention, she just wanted to be there. It felt like a happy place for her, ever more so since Ray had taken it over. His energy, his enthusiasm, his warmth flooded through it.

He spotted her; he waved and mouthed at her to give him a couple of minutes. It took longer than that, but it was good that he was run off his feet. She’d ordered – and paid for – a coffee by the time he was free.

‘Well, isn’t this a nice surprise. Look at this place.’ He threw his arms wide. ‘I’m a hit.’

She smiled. ‘Of course you are.’

‘You want something to eat?’

‘No, I’ve not long ago had my lunch,’ she lied. ‘I was just passing and I thought I’d call in.’ Another lie.

Jean the waitress called his name.

‘Go, you’re needed,’ said Amanda. He wanted to give her more time, that was clear, but he was in demand.

‘I’ll get to you later. Don’t rush off,’ he commanded.

‘I won’t.’

On the next table a woman was sitting opposite her two children. They all had ice-cream sundaes in tall glasses and were poking long spoons into them to get to the good stuff at the bottom. Behind them a couple, her age, were having one of Ray’s mixed platters of Texan food. He was telling her to try something, popping it between her lips; she was chewing and making a face of approval. A teenage boy, gauche and thin, yet to grow properly into his limbs was sitting with a girl, both of them eating burgers. Maybe their first date. How long ago her teenage years seemed. And yet she could remember them so clearly. Seth Mason had never quite faded, he’d been preserved as perfect in her memory with his shy smile that made her heart flutter, and his ocean-blue eyes. What might have been, if fate hadn’t been such a bastard.

She could have lived anywhere in the world, followed any path, but she’d never found the confidence to move away so she’d stayed around, been a dutiful second-best child, taken second-best jobs, gone out with second-best men because that’s all she thought life had to offer her.

The door to the diner opened and in came a woman, round about her age and linking her arm was an old lady who looked as if she’d just come from the hairdresser’s because her hair was salon-perfect.

‘Come on, Mam,’ said the younger woman. She took the table next to Amanda’s. She helped her mum get comfortable and then started to read out the menu to her.

‘It’s a bit warm for chips, Jane,’ the old lady said. ‘I think I’d like one of those ice creams that those kiddies have got if you don’t mind.’

‘Mam, it’s your birthday, you can have what you like. And we’re having a glass of wine as well, so don’t argue.’

‘I’m not arguing, love. You’re a good lass,’ said the old lady and gave her daughter the sort of look that Amanda had never seen for herself but always wanted.

It was too much. She felt crushed by the very atmosphere she had come here to be healed by.

She put her cup back in the saucer and hurried out of the door before anyone could stop her.

‘So have you got a name for yourselves?’ asked Mel, sitting with the guitar, just strumming the odd chord, playing with the strings.

‘Have we got a name for ourselves,’ corrected Joss.

‘We tried but we haven’t got anywhere. Based on our collective experiences in life, how about The Disasters,’ said Sue.

‘We need something edgy, like The Slits,’ suggested Joss.

‘The Tits?’ tried Gina.

‘Something that reflects how we are now,’ said Joss.

‘The Floppy Tits then.’

‘The Menopausals.’

‘The Sweaty Heads.’

‘Brain Fog?’

‘Miss East’s Rejects.’

‘The Resilient Fuckers.’

Ideas came flooding in, a couple of possibles, most of them very funny and totally unusable.

‘Let’s play something, anything,’ said Joss. ‘Let’s just make a starting point. We don’t have to plan a world tour yet. How about “Wind of Change”, can there be anything more appropriate? Also I’m word perfect and I can do all the whistling. C Major, first chord F, I do believe. Mel, if you don’t mind.’

Mel strummed the first F chord, changed it to D minor. They were born.