where the wreath is, when I notice that her eyes keep swiveling longingly to a nearby café area, so I say, “Shall we fuel up with some coffee and a mince pie?”
“Super idea!” she exclaims, and bustles me toward an empty table. Soon we’re sitting with a cappuccino and mince pie each, and I gaze around happily at the Christmassy hubbub.
“Well, thank you for inviting me, Becky,” says Janice. “Although, as I say, I’m surprised your mum couldn’t make it.”
“Oh, well,” I say carefully. “You know. One of those things.”
“She’s very busy these days,” says Janice, gazing off into the middle distance. Her eyes are flickering with thoughts, and I feel a tweak of apprehension.
“Yes,” I say carefully. “Have you seen much of her?”
“Not to speak of,” says Janice. “She’s got her new life to keep her busy, hasn’t she? In the famous ‘Shoreditch.’ Posting photos on WhatsApp all the time, showing off about everything. She’s forgotten about all of us in Oxshott.”
She dabs at her nose with a tissue, although I can’t tell if she’s upset or angry or a bit of both.
“Mum said she was going to invite you to lots of events,” I venture. “Hasn’t she done that?”
“She asked us to a poetry reading,” says Janice after a pause. “And she mentioned some sort of dance class. But we didn’t go.”
“Why not?” I say in surprise.
“Oh, love, it’s not our scene,” says Janice fervently. “They’re all young. They have a different outlook. All these new foods and new words and new views about life…We’d never fit in, Martin and I. We’re not ‘artisty gin’ people.”
“Yes, you are!” I say encouragingly. “You could be!”
“It’s not us, love.” Janice seems so determined, I don’t know what to say. “But, luckily, I have a new friend in Oxshott,” she adds distantly. “Her name’s Flo. We’ve started having a coffee together after Zumba. You can tell your mum that.”
I stare at her in dismay. This is even worse than the snippy WhatsApp messages. Are Mum and Janice actually falling out? They can’t. Mum and Janice have been friends since before I was born. If they split up, I’ll be from a broken home!
“Janice…” I begin—but I don’t know how to carry on. I can’t speak for Mum. I don’t know how to patch things up. I just know that this isn’t right.
“Anyway!” Janice says briskly, before I can gather my wits. “Let’s not talk about that anymore. How’s your Christmas preparation going, Becky? I’ve had my delivery of cosmetics for the festive makeovers, so that’s one thing ticked off, although they sent the wrong highlighter stick, would you believe….”
As she continues talking about her online orders, I gradually calm down. I’m overreacting. Mum and Janice can’t possibly fall out! They’ve been friends for too long. It’s only a little spat. I’ll talk to Mum about it and it’ll all be—
Hang on. What was that?
I’ve seen a glimpse of familiar-looking silver fronds. I whip my head round and peer through the crowd, eyes narrowed. They’re poking out of a woman’s shopper. Is that…? Could it be the must-have llama?
I squint at it desperately, trying to see, but a moment later the woman is out of sight in the crowd. Maybe it was just a bit of tinsel. Guiltily, I turn my attention back to Janice, who seems to be on to a new topic now.
“He simply wasn’t thinking!” she’s proclaiming. “I mean, you understand why I got cross, Becky.”
“Er, sorry, Janice,” I say. “I missed that last bit. What did you say?”
Janice heaves a sigh. “I was saying how Martin messed up my presents cupboard. All my labels ripped off, all my lists vanished—what am I supposed to do now?”
“Have you put labels on your presents already?” I say in surprise. “That’s very efficient.”
“I do the labels every year on Boxing Day, love,” says Janice.
“Boxing Day?” I stare at her.
“While we watch Oklahoma!” Janice nods. “Christmas Day we unwrap the presents.” She counts off on her fingers. “Boxing Day I label them and put them in the gift cupboard. Then the next December, I reassign them and wrap them again. It’s my system, love. And Martin knows that.”