Chapter Twenty-Four
Imminent bad decisions
My carefully considered trip to the off-licence before going round to Zoe’s flat may have been, in hindsight, ill-advised.
I really wanted to get things right after a few, shall we say, ‘unexpected generational differences’ that revealed themselves at the job interview, so went for pretty much exactly what I would have bought when I was in my mid-twenties to take to someone’s house on a Friday night.
In other words, half a litre of cheap vodka, a large bottle of Coke, and a bottle of Chardonnay.
I couldn’t find any Bacardi Breezers, unfortunately, but I did throw in two packets of Marlboro Lights, which are ridiculously expensive these days.
I’m not sure anyone really smokes anymore but always good to be prepared.
However, when I arrive at Zoe’s, my straining carrier bag doesn’t get the rapturous welcome I thought it would.
I ring the bell and Zoe opens the door wearing combat trousers that remind me of All Saints.
Not the shop, the girl band. What happened to them?
‘Never Ever’ was my karaoke song back in the day.
And that dance – so easy. You just had to shift from foot to foot and look around you, as though you were waiting for your ticket number to be called at the deli counter.
It was a gift, really. But that’s not the point.
I’m just glad I’ve put on one of my Bershka handkerchief tops, so I feel like I look just as cool as her. Not cool, sick. Or whatever it is.
‘Hey girl! It’s Erica, isn’t it? I’m Zoe.
Haha! You know that already!’ Zoe leads me down the hall – she speaks really fast and laughs a lot, not always at things that are funny.
The flat is dusty, cluttered, hair ties lying on every surface.
It’s nothing like Devon’s, despite there being only two floors between us.
As we come into the living room area, she spots my bag and tells me I can ‘put my shopping on the table out of the way’, which is awkward.
It isn’t exactly frozen peas and a Flash Bathroom spray – I was rather hoping we’d drink and/or smoke it.
Then she offers me a cup of tea – also not what I was expecting.
Unless she’s referring to gossip? Channing told me that’s what ‘tea’ means these days.
Zoe chatters on, introducing me to Kai and Jamal, who I recognise from the lift.
They’re sitting on the floor by a large coffee table and seem to be playing a board game and eating popcorn and grapes.
Kai has a nose ring and blond hair that forms ‘curtains’ on his forehead and reminds me of the good-looking one from East 17.
Jamal is less smiley and wearing a baseball cap back to front, which I decide must be ironic. Or not. Who knows?
‘Erica is our new neighbour!’ says Zoe.
‘For real,’ says Kai, looking up at me. ‘What do you do, like, I mean, are you at college or…’
‘No, I’m…’ Why hadn’t I planned this reply? ‘I’m a… I work in… erm… advertising.’ I haven’t heard back about the Behold The Banana job yet but I’m pretty confident.
‘For real.’ He smiles. He has a twinkle in his eye, and yes, I’m aware that sounds like something from a Carry On film. Thankfully, I resist the temptation to say ‘Oooh Matron’.
Nobody asks me any more questions. But alarm bells are ringing: the scene is nothing like anything I recognise from my youth.
Where are the banging house tunes? There doesn’t even seem to be any music on at all, just a bubbling noise coming from the fish tank.
Why does the room smell like scented candles rather than tequila and imminent bad decisions?
And most importantly… what’s with all the toys?
‘Do you have kids?’ I ask, desperate for an explanation of the Sylvanian Families figurines everywhere. It’s less the elephant in the room, more the squirrels, rabbits and hedgehogs in the room.
Jamal looks up. ‘Ha! No, they’re Zoe’s. She’s into whimsy.’
I really have no idea what’s going on. ‘The rapper?’ I ask, more for something to say than with any conviction. ‘Whimsy’ does sound a bit like ‘Stormzy’ though, surely? And I saw him on the Brits a couple of years ago so he’s definitely a real person and (possibly) fashionable.
Everyone looks at me. Feeling I need to act quickly, I say the first thing I can think of about the toys, a character I remember from when I was babysitting Oli a few years ago. ‘Personally, I like Postman Pat.’
Nobody says anything for a few seconds, so I carry on. ‘I’ve got the van. And the… sorting office.’
There’s a silence, then Zoe laughs, but appears more confused than amused. ‘He’s not very… whimsical, though, is he?’
She goes into the kitchen area to make my tea and Jamal takes a big mouthful of popcorn, crunching loudly and looking at me.
‘We’re just about to play.’ He is thankfully changing the subject, and points to a console next to the giant TV, which could be an Xbox or a PlayStation or frankly, an air fryer, I really have no idea.
‘Great!’ I say, trying to shake off the sinking feeling that makes me wish I was arriving at Nandy’s with a bottle of white Rioja and an antipasti platter.
‘Are you a gamer, Erica?’ asks Kai, folding up the board game and moving cushions and bean bags into position around the TV.
I try to think of a computer game I played in the Nineties, and can’t, but then remember my flatmate Miranda. ‘Yeah, I like Quake.’ Please god let it still exist.
‘Retro!’ says Kai. ‘Love that. My dad used to play Quake. It’s a shooter though, right? We’re cosier.’
‘Yeah, same. I mean, I don’t play Quake that often.’
Zoe reappears and hands me a cup of tea, which isn’t gossip and actual tea, and very milky.
I sip it, wondering why they’re drinking tea at eight p.m. on a Friday.
Maybe they’re stoned? I can’t smell weed though.
Maybe they’ve had edibles? Hopefully I’ll be offered some soon too.
Or maybe they’re hungover from last night.
That makes more sense. Thursday was always a big night out for me too, back in the day.
I drop down on a beanbag, silently thanking Yuvana Labs for the renewed ability to perform such an action without rolling over like a sheep in a snowstorm.
‘Are you guys pretty hungover then?’ I ask as Jamal hands me a controller that I will shortly have no idea how to operate.
I instantly regret the use of the word ‘guys’ – I sound like HR asking everyone in the office not to heat up fish in the microwave.
Jamal shakes his head. ‘No… I don’t drink. Nor do you much, do you Kai?’ He tilts his head at me as though to look sympathetic. ‘It makes him anxious.’
Kai nods sorrowfully. ‘Too much self-care needed the next day; I just can’t even.’
While I wait for him to finish the sentence, then realise he isn’t planning to, Zoe sits down next to me.
‘I sometimes have a fruit cider at my social deduction games night.’ I smile in agreement, even though most of what Zoe has said means nothing to me.
If only there was a Gen Z to Gen X translation app.
She seems very friendly, although I can’t shake the feeling that she looks really young. Which she does, but then so do I. So we match – outwardly. It’s just inwardly that it feels… odd. Maybe this is what it would be like talking to Millie Bobby Brown.
It will be fun, honestly, I tell myself.
It will. I’m just finding my feet. These are just teething problems…
I have to remember that I wanted change – and I have it now.
It’s not meant to be easy. I need to take a breath though, as I feel out of my depth, so I ask Zoe where the bathroom is and head off down the hall, past my bag of booze and fags lying on the table next to what looks like a pile of Pokémon cards.
The bathroom is also scattered with hair ties, and plants – but not big monstera-style ones like Devon’s.
Instead, the shelves are crammed with succulents in pots in the shape of smiling snails or characterful frogs, and from the window hang ferns in macramé holders like the ones Dinah has in her conservatory.
I missed the memo about the return of macramé but then this also goes for drinking tea on a Friday night.
I’m not sure how long I can get away with staying in Zoe’s bathroom without it looking like I’m having some sort of embarrassing incident.
Like that woman who couldn’t flush her poo away at her boyfriend’s house and tried to throw it out the window, but then the poo got stuck between the double glazing, so the girl tried to climb between the two layers of glass to retrieve it and got stuck too, and in the end they had to call the fire brigade.
That story really haunted me – imagine becoming famous for that.
You’d really want to change your name and move away.
But sitting on the loo googling ‘whimsy’, I wonder if it would be preferable to be rescued by the fire brigade this evening.
I send Nandy a sticker of Simon holding one of his marsupials and looking really smug, and Nandy replies almost immediately with one of Cassia dressed as Margot Tenenbaum.
None of this makes sense, but it’s the solidarity I need.
Before I head back, I have a quick google of some of the things Zoe and her friends said.
Apparently, being ‘whimsical’ seems to be a) popular with Gen Z and b) involve liking toys, fairy stories and seemingly, interior décor last seen in a retirement home.
Okay. Next, ‘cosy gaming’. This is playing ‘low stress’ games ‘which allow players to express themselves without added mental strain’.
Righty-ho. Finally, social deduction is a type of board game where you have to ‘uncover each other’s hidden role or team allegiance’. Sounds a bit like Instagram to me.
I wash my hands and look through Zoe’s bathroom cabinets – nothing interesting, and a feeble grasp of any double cleansing routine. She’s probably never even heard of Caroline Hirons, who I met once at a beauty event and is much taller than you might think.
I’m really putting off going back through now.
Who can blame me? Convincing anthropomorphic animals to join a colony (the object of a popular ‘cosy game’ according to the internet) is not that appealing to me.
I would also really like a drink, as it’s Friday night.
And on top of that, Zoe and her friends probably think I’m quite odd, judging by the number of mistakes I’ve made so far.
I even said I needed to ‘spend a penny’ when I asked her where the bathroom was.
I mean, who even says that? I do, it seems…
I’m bracing myself to return to the living room, when I hear my phone ping. It’s Nandy again – and it’s not another sticker.
Thought you should know Cassia just mentioned you on her Insta.
WHAT?
Well not you exactly, your alter ego, Walter or whatever you call it.
WULT? Woman! What did she say??
Something about #positiveageing. And how you’re kind of…
Kind of what?
Kind of not.
Not what?
Being positive.
But I am positive. Positively young looking. Hahaha.
Yeah.
I have to go, I’m at Zoe’s.
Zoe?
New friend in my building. She’s 24!
Have fun.
I am about to type ‘Will do’, but I can see Nandy isn’t online anymore.
I don’t stay much longer at Zoe’s, as I’m keen to investigate Cassia’s reel and escape from the latest game Jamal has put on, which seems to have a farming theme – just what you want on a Friday night.
I stand up just as Kai announces he’s ‘unlocked a silo!’.
Thank god I’ve got vodka. I grab my ‘shopping’ and head upstairs in the lift, making excuses about needing some ‘self-care’.
I’m quite pleased with that excuse and they all seem very sympathetic.
Self-care takes many forms. This evening’s being a very strong Bloody Mary.
While I’m looking for the Lea & Perrins in Devon’s cupboards (surely everyone has Lea & Perrins?), I search Instagram with my other hand.
I find @cassical within seconds – I look at it often enough…
In her latest reel, Cassia is pretending to talk to her reflection in a mirror about how she feels about getting older.
It’s kind of cringey. She’s telling herself how #grateful and #blessed she is that her wrinkles and lines are from smiles and laughter blah blah blah.
Sure, Cassia, that’s all very well, but good breeding and ‘Mini Botox’ will only get you to forty-five.
When you start to look like someone Mother Pells would describe as having had a ‘tough paper round’, then you’ll be having more than one vintage cocktail a week and wishing you’d got WULT? like me.
Cassia is going on and on and on. I fast forward the reel to get to the bit about me.
Oh, here we go. Apparently, ‘someone’ (i.e.
me), is ‘championing’ (eye roll) a treatment that ‘doesn’t align with her stance’ (ooh fancy) on positive ageing.
Seriously, Cassia – mind your own business.
Although, thinking about it, of course she’s going to leap on this bandwagon: she didn’t get the treatment.
And the pro-ageing brigade will love that Cassia is supporting their cause.
I’ve come across them before in the comments sections of my articles, with their outdoor wear and salt and pepper hair: to them, any attempt to look younger is an act of betrayal and anti-feminist. Apparently, we should all be embracing our saggy bits as ‘badges of honour’.
Fine, do that. But surely I should be allowed to make a different choice.
It feels like you can’t win. If you do nothing, you’re ‘letting yourself go’.
And if you do something like I did you’re a bad example to womankind.
Frankly, I’d rather be a bad example and have no chin hairs.