especially as her missives were always peppered with expletives that I was terrified would flag up in the system.
I’d held off telling her that Patrick and I had become an item. That we’d even talked about marriage. From a friendship point of view, I’d been closest to Ginny, but now Patrick would know my deepest secrets. And Ginny was the one around whom we all orbited, the energy, the plans, the facilitator of our group. However, when she left a message on my answerphone at home in April, saying she had something important to tell me, I knew I needed to confess my own secret.
There was that little time delay where we overlapped each other, both bursting out with ‘I’ve got some news.’ I tried to get her to fill me in first, desperately hoping that it was something good and exciting that would leave her able to be generous and happy for us. But Ginny, who always loved a surprise, insisted on me going first.
‘I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this….’ I was nervous, stuttering my way through how Patrick and I had been spending a lot of time together since Dad died because he was working in Chichester and it was convenient for him to stay at Mum’s with me. I blathered on about how Mum was so happy to have a man around the house and Ginny had joked, ‘Patrick’s not really Mr DIY though, is he?’ And then there’d been a pause when the penny dropped. ‘Oh my God, when you say you’re spending a lot of time together, you mean you’re together, like a couple?’
I tried to play down my happiness. ‘Yes. I know it’s a bit weird after being friends for all these years, but he’s been so kind. It’s been a funny few months with Dad, well, you know…’ There was a silence. ‘Ginny?’
‘Sorry, yes. Wow! Is it serious?’
‘It’s got serious so quickly I can’t actually believe it.’
‘Marriage serious?’
I hesitated. ‘We haven’t set a date or anything.’
‘Jo! Are you sure? I know we joked about marrying the boys when we got to thirty, but I didn’t realise you’d keep them to it…’
Her tone was a bit clipped, sounding like she did when she was expected to be the last word in so-called ‘black people’s issues’ – ‘I don’t know anything about blood diamonds in Angola. I grew up in Cardiff.’
I’d felt wounded then, as though Ginny thought I was a desperate old spinster ready to settle for anyone. I was let down that she didn’t sound more pleased for me. She probably just needed time to get used to it because inevitably it would impact on her friendship with Patrick as well. I jollied her along. ‘Anyway, enough about me. So what’s your big news then? Please tell me you’re coming back to live in Britain?’ I hoped to prove to her that she was still a huge part of my life, that I hadn’t become all dull and boring now I’d fallen in love.
‘No, I’m definitely not coming back to the UK.’ She sounded almost belligerent about it. I struggled not to be offended, as though she was dismissing everything, including me, as unimportant and irrelevant. ‘I’ve been offered a promotion to oversee two magazines rather than just being the editor of FemmeQ. I was wishing you could come and hit some bars in Gastown to celebrate.’ But she didn’t sound like she wanted to go out on the razz with me – or anyone else. Her voice was flat, fed up. I should have asked her what was wrong, but I didn’t want to hear the answer, to have to face any reservations she had about Patrick and me. I felt my happiness draining away.
I forced some enthusiasm into my words. ‘That’s amazing. You should be thrilled. You’ve done so well. I wish I could visit. Maybe next year? I took so much leave when we lost Dad, I don’t think I’m in a position to ask for any holiday from work at the moment. Are you planning to come home at all?’
‘Have to see how it goes. Anyway, on that note, better go. Got loads of meetings to prepare for.’
I felt short-changed at the abrupt finish to our phone call. She’d left me with the impression that she felt my getting together with Patrick had happened just because we were two saddos stranded in Sussex making do with each other due to a lack of other options. I wanted