‘You’re not old, Mum, you just need to do it more often.’
‘Well, perhaps you’re right. Don’t stay up too late, okay?’
‘I won’t, love you.’
‘Love you, darling. Night-night.’
Tasha
2019
‘Full fathom five thy father lies.’
Tash thought she could probably have got some sort of compassionate exemption from having The Tempest as a set text, but nobody had thought to ask if she was bothered by it. Least of all her mum, who just giggled when she told her, and then went on about how she’d seen it in Stratford on a school trip in the early 1980s when Ariel’s tights had caused collective hysteria amongst the Sevenoaks Grammar School girls.
Instead of studying, Tash was wedged in her window seat looking down over the back garden where Karen stood, like a suburban Prospero, waving her mobile phone around at a couple of bewildered Eastern Europeans trying to erect the marquee. It was obvious that she loved this house. She couldn’t resist taking every opportunity to show it off, like she was the chatelaine of fucking Chatsworth or something. They used to live in a little Victorian terrace close to the station until they got this with Jonathan’s life insurance money and the inheritance from Tasha’s gran. Tash knew in her heart that her mother had been devastated when her dad died, but his careful investments had undoubtedly provided a silver lining. When she was feeling uncharitable, Tash occasionally wondered if, given the choice, Karen would have picked the house and the money over having her husband back.
That was what the party was about – Karen’s chance to show off her gorgeous house, her charming daughters, her wonderful charity work. Tash wasn’t sure quite what it was that her mother felt she had to prove, but it was bloody exhausting watching her doing it. Callie said she wanted a party – what twelve-year-old wouldn’t? But this was Karen’s own vanity project, make no mistake.
Still, at least Stanno was coming.
He’d heard about the Valentine’s card. Of course, he had; the video got something like seventeen hundred hits. But he’d come up to Tash a few days afterwards to tell her that he’d had a word with Lola. Apparently, he let her know that he and Tash had been mates for years and she should lay off. All of which would have had zero impact other than making him feel like he’d earned some brownie points … except that two days after that he actually asked her to go out with him.
It wasn’t like when they were in first or second year and (after lots of pushing from the girls) a boy would say ‘will you go out with me?’ to one of the girls and if she said yes everyone would start saying that they were boyfriend and girlfriend. So, he didn’t ask her out to be his girlfriend, but he did ask her out to an actual thing. It was a band showcase. One of the local pubs was putting it on and it was open to sixteens and up so the door policy wasn’t as strict as it usually would be.
She had a bit of a panic in case they asked for ID, because she wasn’t going to be sixteen until July. But the doorman wasn’t really fussed. Stanno got one of his mates to get her a vodka and lemonade, but she wasn’t really that keen on it, plus she’d just started the dieting thing so she only sipped it and stirred the ice around until it melted. They stood around in a group, unable to chat much because of the noise of the bands. But Stanno had his arms around her shoulders the whole time and Lola and her mates were shooting her these looks like they couldn’t decide whether they hated her or suddenly wanted to be besties with her.
Then, at the end, Stanno walked her home and they had a quick kiss in the street. It wasn’t like it was her first kiss or anything, but it felt more grown-up than anything she’d done before. His lips were soft and dry and he smelt of stale lager. When Tash got home her phone pinged with an invitation from Lola to join the Panda Eyes WhatsApp group, which, for some unknown reason, is what Lola had called the group that only had about twenty of the most popular girls in it.
Best of all, Stanno and Tash had become a thing. They went out most weekends on their own or with friends, and hung around together at school when he wasn’t playing football. Tash was working on her history teacher to let her sit next to him. It was just a shame he wasn’t in Maths too. They were getting better at kissing – well, it felt that way to Tash anyway. Stanno was an only child with a room in the attic, so they could mess around a bit when she went over to his house. It wasn’t like at home where there was always someone around just waiting for a chance to catch you out.
The party would be the first time he’d really spent any time at her house. The first time he’d met her sisters, or her mum (not that Tash was bothered what her mum made of him). So maybe the party wouldn’t be totally hideous after all.
Misty
2019
The call from Andrew Dyer had been a shock, but not a huge one. They’d kept in touch a little over the years, mainly through mutual college friends from the old music crowd. He had been asking her to come to Karen Neville’s fiftieth.
‘I don’t think so, Andrew, I’ve not spoken to Karen since we were at Cambridge.’
‘Exactly, it would be nice for you to see each other again.’
‘Or maybe not.’
‘Well, you might both get a pleasant surprise. And if it doesn’t work out, we can just leave and go to the pub. Is Eusebio around? What else would you be doing?’
Knowingly or not, he’d hit on her weak spot. Her Costa Rican partner, Eusebio, was due to return from one of his lengthy photographic expeditions into the Amazonian jungle. While he was away, she could expect nothing more than a couple of ten-minute sat-phone calls a week. Now he would be ensconced in front of his computer, sorting and editing the images, fulfilling his various commissions and hustling for sales. The low-maintenance relationship suited her because it didn’t interfere with her drive to devote herself to the clinic.
As friends had settled, had families and moved to the suburbs or away from London altogether, both the pressure and opportunity to engage in much of a social life had declined. The chances of her being busy on any given Saturday with anything other than a weekend on-call duty were minimal. Even if she had been on call, she’d taken on so many extra shifts from junior colleagues over the years, she wouldn’t have struggled to find someone who owed her a swap.
‘Eusebio’s due back that week, but we don’t have any plans yet …’
‘Exactly. Bring him along then. It starts at half two. Meet me at Twickenham station around three, there’s a good coffee place – I’ll send you a link – and the three of us can walk over to Karen’s together.’
Now it was only a couple of hours before Andrew would be waiting for them at the café. She sighed, wafting two dresses on coat hangers in front of the mirror. It was impossible to summon the enthusiasm to actually try them on. The bedroom door creaked open and Eusebio slunk in, unshaven and still in the joggers and T-shirt he had pulled on when he got out of bed.
‘Well, what do you think?’
‘The red one. The colour suits you more, and the dress give you