if I’m supposed to be cheering you up, why aren’t we talking about your ever-so-perfect love life? Surely the countdown’s on for Ethan to pop the question.’ She catches my expression. ‘No? Don’t want to talk about that either?’
‘I’ve just got …’ I flap my hand, eyes pricking again. ‘A big wave of the horror. Oh, God. Oh God, oh God.’
‘Which life crisis are you oh-godding about, just so I know?’ Bee asks.
‘Work.’ I press my knuckles against my eyes until it hurts. ‘I can’t believe they’re not staffing me for two whole months. It’s like a … like a mini firing.’
‘Actually,’ Bee says, and her tone makes me move my hands and open my eyes, ‘it’s a two-month holiday.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘Leena, I love you, and I know you’ve got a lot of shit going on right now, but please try to see that this could be a good thing? Because it’s going to be quite hard to continue loving you if you’re going to spend the next eight weeks complaining about getting two months’ paid leave.’
‘Oh, I …’
‘You could go to Bali! Or explore the Amazon rainforest! Or sail around the world!’ She raises her eyebrows. ‘Do you know what I’d give to have that kind of freedom?’
I swallow. ‘Yes. Right. Sorry, Bee.’
‘You’re all right. I know this is about more than time off work for you. Just spare a thought for those of us who spend our allotted holiday at dinosaur museums full of nine-year-olds, yeah?’
I breathe in and out slowly, trying to let that sink in. ‘Thank you,’ I say, as the waiter approaches our table. ‘I needed to hear that.’
Bee smiles at me, then looks down at her plate. ‘You know,’ she says casually, ‘you could use the time off to get back to our business plan.’
I wince. Bee and I have been planning on setting up our own consultancy firm for a couple of years – we were almost ready to go when Carla got sick. Now, things have kind of … stalled a little.
‘Yes!’ I say, as cheerily as I can manage. ‘Absolutely.’
Bee raises an eyebrow. I sag.
‘I’m so sorry, Bee. I want to, I really do, it just feels … impossible, now. How are we going to launch our own business when I’m finding it so hard just holding down my job at Selmount?’
Bee chews a mouthful of pancake and looks thoughtful. ‘OK,’ she says. ‘Your confidence has taken a hit lately, I get it. I can wait. But even if you don’t use this time to work on the business plan, you should use it to work on you. My Leena Cotton doesn’t talk about “holding down a job” like that’s the best she can do, and she definitely doesn’t use the word “impossible”. And I want my Leena Cotton back. So,’ she points her fork at me, ‘you’ve got two months to find her for me.’
‘And how am I doing that?’
Bee shrugs. ‘“Finding yourself” isn’t really my forte. I’m just doing strategy here – you’re on deliverables.’
That gets a laugh out of me. ‘Thank you, Bee,’ I say suddenly, reaching to clutch her hand. ‘You’re so great. Really. You’re phenomenal.’
‘Mmm, well. Tell that to the single men of London, my friend,’ she says, giving my hand a pat and then picking up her fork again.
2
Eileen
It’s been four lovely long months since my husband made off with the instructor from our dance class, and until this very moment I haven’t missed him once.
I stare at the jar on the sideboard with my eyes narrowed. My wrist is still singing with pain from a quarter of an hour trying to wrench off the lid, but I’m not giving up. Some women live alone all their lives and they eat food out of jars.
I give the jar a good glare and myself a good talking-to. I am a seventy-nine-year-old woman. I have given birth. I have chained myself to a bulldozer to save a forest. I have stood up to Betsy about the new parking rules on Lower Lane.
I can open this wretched jar of pasta sauce.
Dec eyes me from the windowsill as I rummage through the drawer of kitchen implements in search of something that’ll do the job of my increasingly useless fingers.
‘You think I’m a daft old woman, don’t you?’ I say to the cat.
Dec swishes his tail. It’s a sardonic swish. All humans are daft, that swish says. You should take a leaf out of my book. I have my jars