The Singalong Society for Singletons. Katey Lovell

actually battling with my inner heartache. ‘Not in the way you thought she did, anyway.’

      I look away, unwilling to talk about it and nervously twist a spiral of hair around my index finger. It’s a tell-tale sign I’m bothered about something and Hope knows it. I was forever twiddling my curls back in junior school when I was bullied for the gap between my front teeth and I couldn’t help but play with my locks when our parents had separated. It soothed me somehow, the texture of my hair against the length of my fingers. When Justin had upped and left, Hope had passed comment that she was surprised my hair hadn’t fallen out from being fiddled with so much.

      ‘She’s supposed to be my friend,’ I begin. ‘She’s supposed to support me no matter what, not undermine my feelings. Issy knows exactly how hard this year has been for me, how much it’s hurting being apart from Justin. To make out we were never meant to be because of geography…’ I shake my head in disbelief, the bulky curls dancing raucously. ‘It hurts.’

      ‘She wants to protect you, that’s all,’ Connie says kindly. Lovely Connie, always seeing the good in people, even when they’re being as bitchy as can be. Although maybe Connie was right about Issy wanting to stop me from being hurt by Justin for a moment longer. She’d made it clear that in her opinion it’d make more sense to cut all ties. ‘And you know it too, if you’re being honest with yourself. She wanted to rip Justin apart limb from limb when you told her he’d run off to America with just a few days’ warning. It was a good job he was already on another continent because I’d have had serious fears for his wellbeing otherwise.’

      I chuckle despite myself and Connie and Hope do too. No one would choose to get on the wrong side of Isadora Jackson. She has no qualms about sticking up for what she believes in. And I’ll say this about Issy – she definitely believes in being loyal to her friends.

      She’d been in Edinburgh last Christmas to visit her brother when everything had blown up with Justin, only returning to Cardigan Close on the morning of the first day of term to collect a tote bag of resources and a gorgeous old hardback copy of The Secret Garden that she planned to read to her class at home time. I hadn’t wanted to tell her what a mess I was in via text – I had Connie and the dance girls rallying around me, and what could Issy have done from Scotland? – so it had to wait until we got home from work that evening for me to fill her in on my new relationship status. Issy had gone through the roof.

      ‘Connie’s right,’ Hope said. ‘Issy’s different to you, that’s all. She says what she thinks and damn the consequences. But everyone’s fighting their own battles, Mon. You know how hard she’s finding it watching her sister’s bump get bigger each week when all Issy wants is to be a mum. Penny’s bump’s unavoidable now, I saw her in Tesco the other day. She’s bloody huge. Like one of those egg-shaped toys we used to have, the ones you flick and they wibble around a bit but always end up upright.’

      ‘A weeble,’ I say with a fond smile. ‘We begged Mum to buy them for us from a car boot sale at the leisure centre, remember?’

      Hope nods, a nostalgic smile passing across her face. It gives her a softness that’s rarely seen. ‘We played with them all summer long. What I’m trying to say is don’t be too hard on Issy. She wants what’s best for you, and she thinks forgetting about Justin and finding someone new is the answer. Maybe she’s right. Even you don’t seem to know what’s going on.’ She shakes her head in despair and the corners of her lips curl up, full of pity. ‘It’s like you’re in purgatory, not sure if you’re coming or going. It’s not right.’

      ‘It’s not as easy as that, though, is it? Not when you really, truly love someone.’

      I catch my sister’s eye. We’re both familiar with the ultimate pain of rejection, when what was supposed to be forever turns into a cutting and unrequited love. I’m not over Justin. Hope isn’t over Amara. And no matter how hard we try, it’s impossible to move forward when an overwhelming surge of longing is constantly pulling us back to them.

      ‘No,’ Hope replies, with a despondent sigh. ‘It’s not as easy as that.’

      The instantly recognisable sound of Issy’s key in the lock snaps us out of our misery and into action; Connie gathering the wine glasses that litter the lounge and putting them on the kitchen worktop, Hope removing the disc from the DVD player and me lighting the floral-scented candle that sits in front of the wood burner. It wouldn’t be long until that’d be lit too, although we swore we wouldn’t cave until November hits. But there’s a definite nip in the air as Issy opens the door, a draught sweeping into the house that causes me to fold my arms over my chest in a self-made hug. Autumn’s already making its presence felt, what with the temperature dropping and the first burnished leaves already tumbling from the trees in Endcliffe Park.

      ‘I’m back!’ Issy calls cheerfully. ‘And I managed to get some fizz. There wasn’t much choice so it’s only cheapo Cava I’m afraid, but it’ll do the job.’

      ‘Thanks, Issy,’ Connie replies, obviously moved.

      There have been times in the past where the pair of them haven’t seen eye to eye. Connie had been jealous of Issy for monopolising so much of my time. Plus, I know she feels that as my longest-standing friend it should have been her right to house-share with me, but she’d never felt able to leave her dad, until now. It’s taken time (not to mention an effort on both sides) but over the years Issy and Con have learnt to rub along together, and small acts like this go a long way towards turning their acquaintance into a proper friendship.

      The cork pops with much merriment and as I raise a toast my earlier wobbles are forgotten. I’m unable to hold back the excitement any longer – things are about to change for my oldest friend.

      ‘To Connie, who’s taken the first step on a fantastic adventure!’ I bellow loudly.

      ‘To Connie,’ everyone echoes as we chink our glasses together.

      Remembering my earlier promise to find ‘The Lonely Goatherd’ again, I scroll through the menu on the DVD. The buttons on the remote don’t want to behave and it takes a few minutes to get it set up, but once I do there’s a sarcastic cheer from the girls.

      Hope moans. ‘Not those freaky marionettes again. Please, no.’

      ‘You love it really,’ I grin, turning it up. ‘And it doesn’t matter if you don’t know the words because anyone can warble a yodel. Come on, let’s sing!’

      Despite Hope’s protest, she is soon yodelling along with the rest of us, Connie and I linking arms and whirling in a dance that’s more Cotton-Eye Joe than an Austrian reel. It’s liberating to be spinning, the room passing by in a blur while we make nonsensical noises that we pass off as singing. Most of all, it’s fun and we don’t stop twirling and yodelling until Julie Andrews herself flops at the end of the song.

      ‘Lay-ee-odl-ee-odl-oo!’ sings Connie, determined to get in one last hoorah. The booze has gone to her head, I can tell by the way her strong yet thin legs are wavering. She gives in to the wobble, landing on her bottom with a giggle and a bump. My own head is muzzy with the hazy rush of alcohol and a light-headedness from pushing my burdens to the back of my mind.