Chapter 22
22
‘ S orry about the boxes. I meant to make a start but …’ As Helen turned to look at the wall of boxes in her living room, her voice drifted away. She hadn’t even tried to unpack. It defeated her, just to look at them. Four of the boxes were labelled dining room and were full of her best plates, her best cutlery, her best glasses. Three more were labelled living room and were full of books, CDs, photo albums, ornaments. Four more contained bedding: single feathered duvets, dozens of pillowcases. Another two had gardening stuff. What was she supposed to do with it all? Her flat only had two bedrooms, no dining room, and no garden.
Kay nodded.
‘I wanted it to look nice, but I had this thing today and ––’
‘It’s fine.’
‘I was going to do salmon, but I can’t find my non-stick pan.’ Face flushed, hands on hips, Helen waved a limp hand towards her kitchen. ‘I might have left it with Lawrence,’ she said, looking at the boxes. ‘Believe it or not, I haven’t taken everything yet. I didn’t realise I had so much stuff. I honestly don’t know ––’
‘Helen!’
‘Sorry.’ Helen slumped. ‘I’m a little out of sorts.’
‘I can see.’ Kay smiled. ‘Is this a good idea? We could take a raincheck?’
‘No!’ Moving across the room, she flung the balcony doors wide open and tipped her head back. ‘I just need some air. That’s all.’
‘Helen? Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine.’ But Helen didn’t turn. She couldn’t turn. Couldn’t bring herself to look once more at the boxes she hadn’t unpacked, the flatpack shelving unit still in its delivery carton. The flat was a mess. Her long-dreamed about, much-cherished place of her own, was chaos and she couldn’t, for the life of her, summon up the slightest desire to sort it out. ‘I suppose,’ she said as she turned back, ‘I’ve run out of steam.’
Kay sighed. ‘Well, I know that feeling.’
‘No.’ Helen shook her head. If anyone had the right to have run out of steam, it was Kay, not her. She hadn’t run out of steam; she just wasn’t inclined to start the engine up in the first place. ‘The truth is,’ she said. ‘I think I’ve lost my domestic gene, Kay. If I didn’t ever have to cook again, I don’t think I’d care.’ Framed by the balcony doors, Helen ran her hands through her hair. ‘This thing I said I had? It’s a chance to work in Bolivia.’
‘Bolivia?’ Kay’s eyes widened.
Helen nodded. ‘It’s not much of a chance. In fact, after today I’m pretty sure it’s no chance at all but …’And shrugging she added, ‘I just can’t seem to be bothered with all this now.’
‘Bolivia?’ Kay opened her mouth to speak, but the loud buzz of the intercom interrupted whatever it was she might have said.
‘That’ll be Caro.’ They both spoke together.
‘We should have gone out,’ Helen said.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I wanted this to be special. I told Caro I would organise it.’
‘Helen it really …’ Kay put her hand to her cheek and stopped talking. Helen was already in the kitchen. For a moment she stood listening to the sound of cupboard doors opening and slamming, of Helen muttering. ‘Shall I buzz Caro up?’ she called, and when Helen didn’t answer she lifted the intercom and let Caro in.
A minute later flushed and breathless, Caro fell through the door. ‘I used the stairs,’ she panted as she thrust a bottle-shaped package at Kay.
‘Why didn’t you take the lift?’
In response, Caro lifted her nose to the stream of fresh air coming from the open doors of the balcony. ‘I need to cool down,’ she gasped and in two strides she was across the room, gripping the ironwork with both hands, as she breathed deeply.
‘It’s no good.’ Helen came back into the room. ‘I can’t find it.’
‘Caro’s here.’ Kay nodded at the balcony. ‘She took the stairs.’
Helen turned. ‘Caro, I’m sorry. I’m a bit behind. I was going to do salmon, but I can’t find my bloody pan.’
‘Fish?’ Caro groaned.
‘Don’t you fancy it?’
‘And why did you take the stairs?’ Kay added.
‘Because I need to lose some weight!’ Caro threw her hands up. ‘There’s no wiggle-room at all in that dress, and Thomaz cooks all the time. There are three ovens on the Aga, and I swear he uses all of them, every night.’
‘Can’t you say something?’ Helen said, her lips twitching with amusement. She knew how many ovens there were on an Aga. Hadn’t she had one for twenty years?
‘I’ve tried. I was telling him about intermittent fasting the other week.’
‘And how did that go down?’ Kay said mildly.
‘Well, he seemed interested, but then the next day I sat down to a casserole with dumplings.’
Now Helen laughed.
‘I think you’re going to need to be clearer than that, Caro.’ Kay held up the package. ‘Can we open this? Do you have glasses?’ She turned to Helen.
‘Umm … there’s a box somewhere. But ––’
‘Don’t worry.’ Kay raised her hand. ‘I’ll use cups if I have to. Someone has to get this party started.’ And clutching the package she went into the kitchen.
‘Kay’s right,’ Helen said as she joined Caro on the balcony. ‘You are going to have to be clearer with Tomasz. I lost count of how many times I said, divorce, before Lawrence actually heard me. It was getting to the point where I was thinking of painting it on the front door. Like they did in the plague,’ she added grimly.
‘Oh, Tomasz isn’t like …’ Caro’s voice dried. ‘I didn’t mean …’ She stopped again.
’It’s fine, Caro.’
‘I wasn’t …’
‘I know you weren’t.’ Helen smiled. ‘Let’s not go there. As far as I’m concerned, it’s all in the past. I just want to concentrate on the future now.’ She meant it. The decades long rivalry between them, the secret torch Caro had carried for Lawrence, the awful rows they had had in Cyprus and Vegas. It felt like village gossip now. Gossip about people she didn’t know and wasn’t interested in.
‘Me too,’ Caro said. Her face brightened. ‘Talking of the future, where were you?’
‘When?’
‘The photo you sent this morning. I presume it was the city?’
‘Oh.’ Helen frowned. She’d forgotten all about the photo. ‘I’ll explain later,’ she said.
Caro arched her brows. ‘Promise?’
‘I think so.’ It was as far as she could go. To tell Caro how she had thrown away the most exciting opportunity to pass her way in years, to explain how she had stalked out of the office like a stroppy teenager, wasn’t something she could commit to. Maybe in time, but certainly not now. Now, regret and disappointment lashed her, and if she didn’t get a grip and put the day’s events to the back of her mind, it would ruin what was supposed to be a special evening. Squeezing Caro’s arm, she went back inside and dropped into the nearest armchair. ‘Let’s just enjoy ourselves,’ she called back, and to her immense relief, Caro came in, collapsed onto the sofa opposite and said: ‘I’m up for that.’
Kay came back in, bearing a tray with three glasses of champagne.
Stunned, Helen stared. ‘Where did you find those?’
‘In a box, labelled glasses, ’ Kay said. ‘Under your kitchen table.’
‘Oh.’ Helen smiled. ‘It’s been such a long day,’ she said as she took the glass Kay offered. ‘And I know I invited you both to dinner, but now you’re here I really really don’t want to cook. Is that awful?’
‘Terrible,’ Caro said, as she too took a glass.
‘What about takeaway?’
‘Takeaway?’ Helen’s face lit up. ‘I could hug you, Kay.’
‘I can’t think of anything better.’ Caro eased off her shoes. ‘Just a poppadom for me and a bottle more of this, and I’ll be fine.’
‘Oh, my goodness!’ From her head to her toe, Kay shivered. A whole-body movement that had the champagne in her glass wobbling. ‘I just had the most amazing flash of Deja vu,’ she gasped. ‘Do you remember our first night in the Sydney Road flat?’
Helen and Caro looked at each other.
‘We had Indian then, didn’t we?’ Helen said.
Caro nodded. ‘It was my first time. I’d never had it before.’
‘That’s right.’ Kay laughed. ‘Me neither.’
Helen put her hand to her mouth. ‘I remember! I had to persuade you both, and you both loved it.’
‘Well, it’s just like old times then.’ Caro raised her glass to the wall of boxes. ‘We hadn’t unpacked then either had we?’
‘No, we hadn’t.’ Kay laughed. She looked at the boxes. ‘Although I suspect we had a lot less to unpack.’
‘That’s true.’ And Helen too turned to look. Oh, the baggage those boxes contained. Books she’d once read and never would again, eight different coats and jackets, for what would only ever be four seasons, strappy heels, that, fifty-two years of gravity hammering her feet wide, she would never fit again, photographs of Cornish coastlines, photographs of Welsh coastlines, of dogs, once beloved and now deceased, vegetables planted, grown, long since eaten. Why was she keeping all this? ‘I don’t need half this stuff.’ She put her glass down. ‘I haven’t had anything to drink, so I’ll drive. I’ve got a menu somewhere.’
Caro reached for her handbag. ‘You’re so last century, Helen.’ She laughed. ‘If you use a delivery service, they’ll bring it to the door.’
‘Alex does it all the time.’ Kay nodded. ‘They send a text when it’s here.’ She took a sip of champagne and shrugged. ‘Your chips have arrived. ’
‘Chips?’ Helen said incredulously. ‘You can get chips delivered?’
Kay burped. ‘That’s what they text,’ she added and burped again and put her hand to her mouth and giggled. ‘Your chips have arrived.’
‘I couldn’t have asked for a better retirement dinner,’ Kay said.
The table was spread with her favourite food; the room filled with her favourite people. Along with the wonderful surprise party at school, she was riding a wave of contentment. The bikini fitted, (just about). And she had finally taken her suitcase down from the loft. It was just a reconnaissance trip after all. A month to start, she’d decided that much. ‘Caro?’ she said, stretching a chicken dish across the table.
‘No thank you.’
‘Sure?
Caro waved her arm.
‘Is that a yes, or a, no?’
‘Oh, just a bit then.’ And as Kay ladled a large spoonful of creamy korma onto her plate, she groaned. ‘It’s not going to fit.’
Standing up, Helen took the empty bottle of champagne. ‘We need another one.’
‘You still have time, don’t you?’ Kay said. ‘To lose an inch?’
‘Sex!’ Helen called as she went to the fridge. ‘Sex is good exercise!’
‘Sex?’ Kay smiled. ‘What’s that?’
‘Ask Caro!’
‘I’m not sure why you’d say that, Helen,’ Caro said.
‘Ignore her.’ Kay leaned across the table, her hand cupped at her mouth as she stage-whispered, ‘She’s just jealous.’ And leaning back she put a fist to her chest and burped again. ‘These bubbles,’ she gasped.
‘We’re both jealous!’ Back at the table, Helen opened the bottle and filled every glass she could find. ‘Seriously though,’ she said as she sat down, ‘It’s such an important part of a woman’s life.’ She picked up a poppadum and snapped it in half, lumping chutney on as she looked sideways at Kay. ‘When was the last time?’
‘I’m not answering that!’ A fountain of bubbles erupted from Kay’s mouth. ‘No.’ She raised her palm. ‘Stop looking at me.’ But they didn’t, and eventually she lowered her glass and said quietly, ‘I honestly don’t know.’ But she did.
‘Kay?’
Kay shrugged.
‘Kay.’ Now it was Caro’s turn.
‘What did you expect?’ she said defensively. ‘Alex was only eight when Martin left. I wasn’t going to be bringing anyone into the house.’
‘Of course.’ Helen nodded. ‘But you know what they say?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Use it, or lose it,’ Caro finished.
‘Use it or lose it?’ Crossing her arms, Kay leaned back. ‘How can I lose it, Caro? It’s an integral part of my biology.’
‘We mean,’ Helen said, ‘that women of our age need help. It dries up.’ And mimicking the action of a zip closing, Helen drew her hand across her lips.
‘Shrinks,’ Caro added.
‘Well, if that’s the case,’ Kay said, ‘mine will be vacuum-packed.’
‘Like my hands.’ Helen raised her hands and looked at them. ‘They always say if you want to know a woman’s age look at the back of her hands.’
‘Or the inside of her vagina?’ Kay said lightly.
‘We’re serious,’ Caro scolded. ‘You’re only fifty-two.’
‘I know how old I am!’
‘And starting a whole new life,’ Helen said.
‘Am I?’
‘I had a few problems with Tomasz.’ Caro nodded. ‘But it’s lovely now.’ She reached across, took one of Kay’s hands and shook it. ‘I want you to think about something. When was Viagra invented?’
Helen frowned. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Me neither,’ Kay said.
‘1999.’
Helen turned. ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ Caro waved her arm. ‘And hello! Why do you think it was invented?’
‘Well, that’s easy.’ Kay smiled. ‘So, men could keep an erection.’
‘Ta dah! And who is making a fortune from it?’
‘Men with erections?’ Helen picked up her glass.
‘Men with erections, making money from men keeping erections?’ Kay said, and the three of them looked at each other and burst out laughing.
‘It’s true though,’ Helen shook her head. ‘Viagra has been around for ages. Everyone knows about it. But topical HRT.’ She turned to Kay. ‘Have you even heard of that? It’s a cream you can get for … and it sort of … well, rejuvenates it.’
‘Rejuvenates?’ Kay frowned. She could recite maths equations that were two pages long, do complicated long-division in her head, but there were parts of her body, she was beginning to realise, she had simply come to accept she would never see again. The back of her knees for example, her vagina, definitely. It was a sealed vault, an abandoned mineshaft that hadn’t seen the light of day, or human contact, for many years. But she was the same age as Caro and Helen, and a year younger than Marianne. And the idea of a secret key that might open a part of her she thought had been permanently sealed was all sorts of things: intriguing, scary, exciting. ‘Topical HRT?’ she murmured, her glass at her lips.
‘Vibrators too.’ Caro tipped her glass.
‘ What! ’
‘I bought one in America,’ Helen said.
‘I’ve used one too,’ Caro added.
‘Oh …’ Kay shifted her weight. ‘Oh,’ she said again, feeling the heat of embarrassment spread up her neck and across her cheeks. This conversation was a rollercoaster and with anyone other than Helen and Caro, she would have stopped the ride and stepped off. Then again, with anyone else she wouldn’t have got on in the first place. ‘Marianne,’ she said quietly, ‘is on Tinder. ‘
Helen laughed. ‘Now that doesn’t surprise me.’
‘She has what she calls “friends with benefits”.’
Caro nodded.
‘Really?’ Kay looked from one to the other. ‘You’re not shocked?’
Helen shook her head. ‘Are you?’
‘No … and yes.’ Kay looked at them. ‘I don’t know!’ She was thinking of the photograph Marianne had shown her. The image of a woman in her prime, a handsome, confident, experienced woman. A woman who had cropped an ex-lover out of the frame. What did she think? She still didn’t know, in fact the only thing she did know was that she could never be that woman. And never could have been. She was the kind of woman who had worn dungarees all through university. CND t-shirts and Doc Martens. All of which was OK, because at twenty you can wear anything and still have sex. But now? Who was going to look at a grey-haired woman in size eighteen jeans now? She was shaking her head, because when she thought about it, she found she wasn’t shocked. And she was shaking her head because when she thought about it, she found it was a shame. But somewhere along the line she had mislaid her sexuality and hadn’t noticed, and now that she had, it was simply too late. Like neglecting to water a pot-plant for a decade.
‘Why not though?’ Helen’s voice broke her chain of thought. ‘She’s not looking for a hero, or a sperm donor. Just some fun. I understand what she’s doing.’
‘Some intimacy.’ Caro nodded.
Kay pressed her lips together. ‘A cuddle would be nice,’ she said wistfully.
No-one spoke. Helen looked at Caro and Caro looked back at Helen and across the table, Kay looked at both of them. ‘No,’ she said and shook her head. ‘Oh no. I couldn’t … I mean I really couldn’t.’
‘You really could, Kay,’ Helen said.
‘Are you on it?’
Helen smiled.
‘You are!’ Caro cried.
‘I downloaded it in the States, but I haven’t had time to do more than just chat with a couple of people.’
‘You’ve chatted?’ Kay said. ‘You can chat to people?’
Helen nodded. She leaned her elbows on the table. ‘I think it’s marvellous, getting to talk to all sorts of people you’d never have had the chance to otherwise. I mean, what did we have before dating apps? We had to stay home and grow our hair long enough to swing it down, while we waited for the next knight to come along and rescue us.’
‘And we didn’t get to check if he was crushingly boring,’ Caro said.
‘Or self-obsessed.’
‘Or had bad breath.’
‘We had the pub!’ Kay interrupted. ‘It wasn’t all bad.’
‘It was pretty random though.’ Caro laughed. ‘I may as well have thrown a dart at a dartboard, blindfolded, for all the forethought that went into some of my relationships. At least there’s a little stab at compatibility on these things.’
‘You’ve been on it too?’
‘Not Tinder.’ Glass at her lips, Caro turned her mouth down in distaste.
‘Elite-singles?’ Helen said.
‘Of course.’
And across the table, Kay smiled.
‘Let’s do it!’ Caro stood up and pushed her chair back. ‘Phone.’ She stretched her hand to Kay.
‘It’s on the kitchen bench,’ Helen said.
Kay laughed. ‘You won’t guess the code.’
‘Alex’s birthday?’
Now she paled.
‘140999’ And looking at Kay, Helen winked. ‘Six months before Libby.’
Kay covered her eyes. ‘I can’t look.’
Caro was back in the room. ‘Right, what do want your username to be?’
‘Nothing! I don’t want a username.’
‘KB.’ Caro said. ‘That’s fairly anonymous.’
‘KB?’ She turned to Helen who was also on her feet. ‘Where are you going? Don’t leave me now.’
Helen leaned over and squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’m getting the last bottle, KB. Who’s even going to know it’s you?’
‘Every student I’ve ever taught?’
‘And then we’ll take some pictures.’
‘I’ll do wardrobe,’ Caro said.
‘Wardrobe? We’re nowhere near my wardrobe.’
‘Exactly!’ Caro picked her glass up and drained it. ‘That’s why we should get it done now. As far away as possible from your actual wardrobe. OK, Helen, what have you got?’ she said, already on her way to the bedroom.
‘I’ve no idea.’ At the fridge again, Helen waved the bottle in her hand. ‘It’s all still in boxes.’
‘I’ll find something!’ And within another minute, Caro had found something. She came back in, a V-neck blouse in one hand, a t-shirt in the other.
‘Not that,’ Helen said, as Caro held up her Head-Smashed-In-Buffalo-Jump t-shirt.
‘I like it,’ Kay said.
‘I agree. It’s a better design than the For Fox Sake, Stop the Hunting . ..’ Caro laughed.
‘But they did, in the end, didn’t they?’ Kay said. ‘They did stop the hunting.’
‘I was never in any doubt.’ Helen nodded.
Kay smiled. ‘We were pretty sure of ourselves back then, weren’t we?’
‘It’s easy to be sure,’ Caro said, ‘when you haven’t been tested.’
No-one spoke. No-one needed to. They knew each other’s sadnesses as well as their own, the ways in which life had failed them, the ways in which they had failed themselves. And they knew now, what they could never have then. How life was a book that started easy but only became more difficult. Each chapter more challenging than the one before, as all that was once solid, family, beliefs, opportunity, thinned to air.
‘This,’ Helen said quietly, ‘is supposed to be a party.’
‘Two, actually,’ Caro said.
‘That’s three parties in a week.’ Kay smiled. ‘More than I’ve been to in a decade.’
‘Music?’ Helen put her glass down.
‘Music,’ Caro agreed.
‘Music,’ Kay echoed.
So, the music went on.
And on …
And on …
And hours later, with the sofa drowned in clothing, a mascara wand in the chicken korma, Helen crashed out in her bed and Caro in the spare room, Kay answered the intercom to the taxi she had called. ‘Not bad,’ she said as settled herself in the backseat and opened her newly installed Tinder app. There she was. With a profile picture that showed a handsome, confident woman, skin flushed with the warmth of a July evening, features softened by humour and champagne.