billboards in the dark to deface sexist advertising had been spray-painted over. In her place was a tasteful mantelpiece portrait of carefully understated eastern suburbs affluence.
‘Ooooh, Swedish appliances!’ Annie teased and pouted glossy red lips. ‘Anything with studs and rubber? Maybe I will stop by.’
Nina had been reading the menu in search of one last treat and had missed most of this exchange. ‘I love your hair. It really suits you,’ she said, admiring Meredith’s slim face framed by sleek silvery layers. ‘When’d you stop colouring it?’
Meredith ducked Nina’s outstretched hand. ‘Six months ago. Not long after Donald left. I needed a change. How much of a cliché is that? “Husband walks out, wife runs to hairdresser.” Let’s order coffee.’ Meredith turned away and looked for the waiter.
Nina, as the convener of the occasion and self-appointed cheerleader, was torn. Meredith and Donald had been married for . . . it must be close on thirty years. She needed more information. Then again—Nina checked her watch—it was almost 10 pm. She would just bet that Jordy was still on the bloody computer in his bedroom, that the twins hadn’t done their homework and Brad was flaked out on the couch in front of the television. She should probably call home in a few minutes.
‘How old are Sigrid and Jarvis now?’ Annie asked Meredith.
‘Well, that’s the big news. Sigrid’s getting married in Byron Bay in three weeks. Jarvis is coming back from London for the wedding. He’s been working at Sotheby’s in Asian art.’ The name ‘Sotheby’s’ was offered with some pride. Annie was suitably impressed, although she wasn’t sure Nina caught the reference.
‘Siggie’s getting married? No!’ exclaimed Nina. ‘I can remember her coming to rehearsals in fairy wings.’
There was a brief silence in which they found themselves in a bare Scouts hall, warm breath visible on a freezing July afternoon. Seven grown women shrieked with alarm to see tiny blonde-headed Sigrid tear off her sparkly wings, and her clothes, and dance across the icy floorboards as her little brother, Jarvis, sitting in his stroller, chortled with delight. The moment came to them as a black-and-white scene from an old movie, cast with people they hardly recognised.
‘So she’d be . . . what? Twenty-four now?’ Annie was groping her way down the long corridor of the past, trying to make sense of it all.
Nina’s congratulations were heartfelt. ‘Well, that’s wonderful! You must be so proud, Mother of the Bride. Who’s she marrying?’
‘I have absolutely no idea. All I know is that his name’s Charlie. Coffee! Where’s that damned waiter?’
Annie and Nina exchanged a second’s glance that said it all. They’d better order more supplies and settle in for the duration.
‘I’d like a nightcap as well. Something sticky and hideously expensive,’ chirped Annie as she swivelled her diamond ring to catch a sparkle in the low light.
‘And chocolate-dipped apricots. It says on the menu they make them in-house.’ Nina clasped her hands and gave thanks for the imminent blessing of sugar.
‘Did you know Oprah Winfrey and her best friend Gayle have known each other for thirty years?’ Nina leaned across the table. ‘And they still call each other four times a day?’ She picked at crumbs of chocolate with pink-frosted fingernails. Nina wanted a friendship like that. Half the women in the English-speaking world did. Oprah had declared her unconditional love for her friend so often that her sentiments had mutated into a global epidemic of female inadequacy.
‘How hard could it be to get someone on the phone when you’re worth more than a billion dollars?’ Meredith scoffed.
‘They’re probably gay,’ Annie muttered under her breath as she sipped at her dessert wine.
‘And Oprah says,’ Nina continued, pausing to insert a nail into her mouth and suck, ‘that she feels like their friendship has been designed by some higher power.’
Nina caught the flicker of disbelief telegraphed between her companions. ‘Have you ever had a friend like that?’ she persisted.
‘No, and I wouldn’t want to,’ Meredith stated. ‘I’ve got enough going on in my life. Who’s got the time for all that? It doesn’t sound like a friendship to me. It sounds more like some “co-dependent relationship”. Doesn’t Oprah bang on about that sort of stuff?’
Nina wasn’t to be so easily dismissed. ‘What about you, Annie? Do you spend much time with your girlfriends?’
Annie tipped her glass in Meredith’s direction. ‘Same as you. Actually, most of my friends are men. I can’t stand the way women judge each other all the time. You meet another