Tilda and I always walk to Wandsworth Common station together in the morning, and have done for six years. Tilda doesn’t actually take the train, she works from home as a remote PA to about six different people, but she likes the walk and the chat.
We’ve only been next-door neighbours for three years, but before Dan and I bought our house, we lived opposite, in a flat, and we got to know Tilda then. In fact, Tilda was the one who told us about our house being for sale and begged us to come and live next door. It’s the kind of thing she does. She’s impulsive and demonstrative and opinionated (in a good way) and has become my best friend.
‘Bye!’ I wave goodbye to Professor Russell and Toby and then start striding along. I’m wearing trainers, with my kitten heels in my bag, along with a turquoise velvet hairband which I’m going to put on at the office. Mrs Kendrick loves velvet hairbands and she gave me this one for Christmas. So although I’d rather die than wear it at home … if it makes her happy, why not?
‘Nice highlights,’ I say, eyeing up Tilda’s hair. ‘Quite … bright.’
‘I knew it.’ She clutches her head in dismay. ‘They’re too much.’
‘No!’ I say quickly. ‘They brighten your complexion, actually.’
‘Hmm.’ Tilda plucks at her hair dubiously. ‘Maybe I’ll go back and have them toned down.’
Tilda is a bit of a contradiction when it comes to looks. She dyes her hair religiously, but rarely wears make-up. She always wears a colourful scarf but doesn’t often wear jewellery because she says it reminds her of all the guilt presents her ex-husband bought her. At least, she realizes they were guilt presents now. (‘I wish he’d bought me kitchen equipment!’ she once exclaimed furiously. ‘I might have a KitchenAid!’)
‘So,’ I say as we turn the corner. ‘This quiz.’
‘Oh my God.’ Tilda rolls her eyes in horror. ‘I know nothing.’
‘I know less than nothing!’ I counter. ‘It’s going to be a disaster.’ Tilda, Dan and I have volunteered to be in a team for a charity quiz, tomorrow night. It’s at the pub at the end of our road, and it happens every year. Simon and Olivia across the road organized our team, and they lured us in by saying the standard was ‘pitifully easy’.
But then yesterday morning, Simon saw Tilda and me on the street and totally changed his tune. He said some of the rounds might be ‘rather tough’ but not to worry, as we’d only need ‘a bit of general knowledge’.
The minute he’d walked away, Tilda and I looked at each other in horror. A ‘bit of general knowledge’?
Maybe I had a bit of general knowledge once. In fact, I once learned a hundred capital cities for a school competition. But since having babies, the only information I seem able to store is: 1. that Annabel Karmel recipe for chicken fingers, 2. the theme tune to Peppa Pig and 3. what day the girls have swimming (Tuesdays). And truthfully, I sometimes get the Peppa Pig tune confused with the Charlie and Lola tune. So. Hopeless.
‘I’ve told Toby he has to be on the team,’ says Tilda. ‘Actually, he likes the food at the Bell, so he didn’t need much persuading. He knows about music, that kind of thing. And it’ll get him out of the house, at least. That boy.’ She makes a familiar frustrated sound.
To say that Tilda and Toby get on each other’s nerves would be an understatement. They both work from home, but from what I can gather, there’s a slight clash of working cultures. Tilda’s culture is: work in your home office in an orderly, contained way. Whereas Toby’s culture is: spread your crap all over the house, play loud music for inspiration, have sessions with your business partner at midnight in the kitchen and don’t actually make any money. Yet.
Yet is Toby’s watchword. Anything he hasn’t done in life, he was totally planning to, he just hasn’t done it yet. I’ve even heard him bellowing it, through the party wall: ‘I haven’t cleared up the kitchen yet! Yet! Jeez, Mum!’
He hasn’t found funding for his start-up yet. He hasn’t considered any other careers yet. He hasn’t thought about moving into a flat yet. He hasn’t learned how to make lasagne yet.
Tilda has an older daughter, too, called Gabriella, and by the age of twenty-four she was working for a bank, living