It’s always a surprise to see in the flesh someone who is occupying your mind. But in a group under the trees between the path and the pond, Ailsa was kneeling and waving.
Acutely self-conscious for several reasons, I made my way in her direction.
‘Verity,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘I thought it was you.’
She was with seven or eight other women, a few of whom I recognised – Delilah and Trish and Poor Soph’s mother with the invisible braces, and various others from her party. They were staring up at me, silent but smiling, a forty-something corps de ballet. Delilah was leaning back on her elbows, her face turned to the sun. Otherwise, I remember a lot of legs in white jeans and unsuitable shoes. The blonde woman with the prominent overbite – Susie? – was wearing a puffy pale-pink blouse you might describe as ‘milkmaid’.
‘We’ve just had sports day,’ Ailsa told me, her hand held over her eyes as a visor. ‘It’s why I cancelled. Sorry. Join us!’ She was still smiling, but there was something forced in the way she was talking. A fake brightness.
‘That’s very kind,’ I said, clipping on Maudie’s lead. ‘But I’ve got work to do. I’m in a bit of a hurry, in fact. I was in the middle of printing and I ran out of ink.’ I lifted the Ryman bag to illustrate.
‘Oh go on, do.’ She was patting a space next to her, as if I were a small child. ‘I haven’t seen you since the party. Sit down, even for five minutes.’
I faltered. I’d been so anxious about her and yet here she was. Poor Soph’s mum was smiling up at me, teeth bared, the sun giving a milky tinge to her invisible braces, and I thought about the bored, petty bitchiness in the pub. Delilah, I noticed, hadn’t even registered my arrival. Ailsa didn’t feel comfortable with these women. I felt renewed goodwill. Her wing woman; that’s what she’d called me. Moral support – at the very least, that I could provide.
She scooted up and I stepped into the space, feet together, and then slunk down, sitting with my knees bent to my chin to take up as little room as possible. Maudie lay down on the grass next to me and when I was sure she was settled, I slipped the handle of the lead around my foot. In this strained position, I was aware of the waistband of my trousers cutting into my gut, gaping low at the back. I tugged my top to tuck it in and cover the area of bare skin. Ailsa patted my shoulder. ‘Gosh, you must be a bit hot in that jacket,’ she said. ‘Do you want to take it off?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re wearing walking boots too.’
‘They’re comfortable.’
A brief kerfuffle as provisions were shunted my way – a small plastic cup of rosé, a pot of supermarket hummus, and some cold sliced pitta bread to dip into it. I took a few sips of wine and, having already eaten a tin of baked beans before leaving the house, nibbled on a piece of pitta. The big talk on the rug was school reports: they’d been given them at pick-up in envelopes; some people had opened theirs but others, including Ailsa, were waiting until they got home. She rolled her eyes. ‘When I can do so with a stiff drink.’ Lowering her voice: ‘I mean, Bea’s will be fine, but . . .’ She looked at Max and mouthed. ‘I feel sick.’
Delilah and Susie of the pink top began moaning about a school email urging them to keep up their children’s maths and literacy over the summer. ‘Ridiculous,’ Delilah said. ‘I mean, how?’ rejoined Susie in the pink.
A dark, bird-like woman who had been introduced to me as ‘Rose who works full time said’, ‘You live next door?’
‘Yes.’ I cleared my throat, adding unnecessarily, ‘I’m Ailsa’s next-door neighbour.’
‘Verity grew up in Tooting. She’s lived here for ever.’ Ailsa said. She drew the last word out, turning the ‘ev’ into quite a drone.
‘How rare,’ Rose said. ‘I can’t imagine what that must be like. My husband and I were based in north London before moving to Wandsworth and when I was growing up we lived all over for my dad’s work. I never feel I belong anywhere. To be rooted, to be properly grounded. I don’t know – it shows you’re a much more loyal sort of person. It must give you some sort of inner