‘After what happened with you-know-who, I’m not putting myself out there,’ I say. I’m not sure of my status anyway, there’s no noun to describe someone who’s on a break. ‘I’m not ready to lay my soul bare to any man, not if all they want to do is trample over it.’
I’ve said these lines so many times that it’s a well-rehearsed speech, but the doubtful looks on both Issy and Hope’s faces make me wonder how convincing I actually am. Maybe I should say them with a bit more oomph.
‘Come on, let’s get this film back rolling,’ says Issy. ‘And is this wine mine?’ she asks, gesturing to the full glass sitting on the mantelpiece. ‘Because I can feel myself sobering up by the second, and tonight I plan to get very, very drunk.’
*
We’re all glued to the television screen as the tinkly piano starts up and Elsa sadly climbs the snow-covered mountain, her purple cape trailing through the snow behind her. Even Hope’s transfixed, although she’d never admit it.
‘I love this song,’ Issy says, pulling a cushion closer to her stomach. ‘Even though I must have heard it a million times, it still gets me right here.’ She points to the centre of her chest, pulling an over-exaggerated sad face.
‘That’s why Elsa’s so popular,’ I say. ‘She gives up everything to be true to herself and doesn’t give a damn what everyone else thinks. She’s a much better role model than the sappy princesses of old. She’s spunky.’
‘Did you seriously just use the word spunky?’ Hope shakes her head in disbelief. Her eyes already look hazy; the crying and the wine a lethal combination. ‘That’s cringe-worthy, no one uses that word any more. Plus, it’s one of those icky words that makes my skin crawl. That and ‘moist’.’ She grimaces.
‘But Elsa is spunky. It’s the perfect word to describe her.’
‘Whatever.’
The misfit princess runs through the snow-covered land singing about her new-found freedom and how she can finally be the person she truly is rather than who everyone else expects her to be, and before long all three of us feel every ounce of the ice queen’s angst as we sing along to ‘Let It Go’. Elsa removes her glove and conjures magical wisps of ice from her hands and we shout the rousing chorus at the top of our lungs, well past caring what the neighbours think. We’re out of tune and Hope isn’t entirely sure of the words, but we don’t give a damn. It’s fun.
‘It feels good to sing, doesn’t it?’ Hope says out of the blue. Her cheeks are flushed now, the pinkish hue making her appear much less frail than she’d looked when she arrived. ‘To let rip and shout. Kids do it all the time, but as adults we’re expected to have found other ways to express ourselves. But the truth is, nothing compares to getting everything out of your system by having a good old yell.’
‘Letting go,’ says Issy solemnly, before realising what she’s said and dissolving in a fit of drunken giggles.
‘I read something somewhere about singing being good for the soul,’ I recall. ‘Didn’t it say people who sing live longer? Or were happier? I can’t remember, but it was all positive.’ Funnily enough, I’m feeling better for singing too and my words are spilling out at an incredible pace. ‘We’ve all had a tough year. I’ve been low since Justin went to America, even though the sensible part of me knows that taking a break was the only option. That doesn’t make it any easier though, I’m still wondering if he’s on a date with some American beauty or out on the pull. And Hope, who knows? Maybe Amara will come round and realise you need to be together in time, but right now you need to put yourself first. Don’t look at me like that! I know you think I’m fussing, but I want my only sister to be happy.’
I reach over and squeeze Hope’s hand, one small pulse that carries an infinite amount of love.
‘And Is, I know you’re happy being single, but I saw your face when your sister told you about her latest scan.’
Issy swallows, and part of me wishes I’d kept quiet. This is a sensitive subject. But it’s too late now, it’s already out there, so I carry on regardless. ‘You’re going to be the most amazing mummy one of these days, when the time is right. The best.’ Issy’s lips form an O, and I think she might cry, so I quickly move on. ‘But for now, all three of us need to pick ourselves up and take control of our own happiness. It’s like Elsa says, we’re free! Who knows where we’ll be in a month, let alone a year. We need to increase our happiness, channel the good emotions.’ I’m on a roll, fire in my belly and well-lubricated by the wine. There’s no stopping me now.
‘And how do you suggest we do that, oh wise one?’ asks Hope, her voice acerbic.
‘A club, an informal choir. Make Friday nights a musical spectacular and sing ourselves silly! Think how good it feels to shout and laugh and forget about all the crappy stuff.’ I beam, convinced it’s a winning idea. ‘We should make it a weekly event, a celebration of the weekend and being happy on our own rather than out in the meat market that doubles as town on a Friday night. It’s got to be better than having your bum pinched by some drunken chancer out on the pull, and if it raises our spirits too then it’s a bonus, surely? What do you reckon? Isn’t it the best idea ever?’
I wait for their response, fully expecting them to throw back a string of reasons why it’s a terrible idea. The pause is excruciating.
‘Oh, go on then,’ says Issy finally, knocking back the last of her wine. ‘But no more people. The last thing I want is a house full of strangers on a Friday night.’
‘And no more Frozen,’ Hope adds emphatically.
‘Okay,’ I agree, knowing this is as much enthusiasm as my sister’s likely to muster. ‘But can I ask Connie if she fancies it too? Four people isn’t too many and she could do with a boost. She’s hating her job and she’s fed up with being hit on by sleazeballs every time she goes out. This could be exactly what she needs.’
I grin and a small squeak of excitement slips out despite myself. I’m so looking forward to this. I haven’t been part of a club since I left the Brownies.
‘The Singalong Society for Singletons,’ I say wistfully. ‘To moving on and letting go!’
Friday 16th September
*The Lion King – Connie’s choice*
‘Are you sure we’ll have enough food to go round?’ Hope asks. She looks doubtful, which is ridiculous seeing as the table is laden – correction, overloaded – with snacks.
Seriously, there’s all sorts of goodies spread out on it, from breadsticks to sausage rolls to the black forest gateau centrepiece (my idea – apparently they’re due a resurgence, according to the supermarket magazine I shoved in my trolley on a whim last weekend). There are also four blue-and-white-striped cereal bowls overflowing with a variety of crisps and savoury snacks, three bottles of wine, the remnants of a bottle of Jack Daniels, a six-pack of Diet Coke and the token punnet of raspberries Connie insisted made an appearance if she was going to come. She’s always been a health freak, although she goes wild on a Friday night and allows herself a small amount of carbs. How we’ve been friends for twenty years is beyond me. Junk food is too good to go without, in my opinion.
‘Are you joking? There’s tons. It’s only us three and Connie, we’re not feeding an army returning from battle,’ Issy replies. ‘And we’re only five minutes from the supermarket if we need anything else. It’s not like we live in the back of beyond.’
‘You