What Now? Read online

  Hey, luvly, just thinking about you. All good? Sending hugs and big love.

  I didn’t expect a reply. It was about six in the morning in New York.

  Ping.

  All good, Aunt Carly. Miss you all. Xx

  Since Sarah left us, I’d texted Hannah and her brother, Ryan, at least once a week, and called Hannah once a month or so. We all did. It was a thin line. We didn’t want to bombard them with calls that would inevitably remind them of what they’d lost, but at the same time, we wanted them to know we cared and that they had four non-biological aunts who loved them. It was the least Sarah would expect and the least I could do. I owed her.

  Kate plonked down across from me. ‘Okay, I’m all yours until I need to take the chocolate sponge out of the oven. You’ve got…’ she consulted the big brass clock on the kitchen wall. ‘Twelve minutes. Go.’

  I didn’t waste a second of my allotted time.

  ‘All those years I begged him to take time off. He never planned a holiday or a trip or even a day out. I’m not saying he wasn’t a good dad, because I know how much he loves the boys, but you know he’s never been the proactive type, so yes, I’m struggling with the notion that he’s suddenly turned into Thomas bloody Cook.’

  ‘And maybe struggling with the thought of not being involved in this too?’ she probed gently. There is a reason you should never discuss your problems with the person who’s been your friend since you were five. They know you far too well and can cut through any narrative and get to the root of your feelings before you even understand them yourself. Also, when they’re sitting there looking like a petite, chestnut-haired, Nigella-esque goddess in a pretty sundress, having cooked for and rustled up a party for twenty without even breaking sweat, they can make you feel wholly inadequate, but that’s beside the point right now.

  ‘Well…’ I began weakly. ‘It’s just that… Aw, bugger you’re right.’ I took a sip of coffee from the bright blue mug with my initial on it. Kate had bought one for each of us – Sarah, Jess and Carol too – about ten years ago on a girls’ weekend to Dublin. My throat constricted at the thought of Sarah’s mug, sitting there for so long, unused.

  I swallowed. Now wasn’t the time to go there. Domestic disagreements with my soon to be ex were easier to bear. I forced myself to focus on the present. My mug had definitely faded over the last year with excessive use. Illness, divorce, loss and way too much emotional trauma had pretty much made me a permanent resident at Kate’s kitchen table over the last twelve months.

  ‘A month touring the States is the kind of thing I used to beg him to do, and he’d always say it was impossible to take that much time off. How come he can do it now?’

  ‘And you feel it shows how unimportant you were to him? That he couldn’t do that for you, yet now you’ve split, he’s becoming the person you wanted him to be?’

  She was doing that whole spooky insight thing again. In a minute, she’d tell me I was thinking about putting my wedding dress on eBay and that I’d bought an abdominal crunching machine thingy I would never use off a late-night infomercial last night. Both of which were sadly true.

  I nodded. ‘Am I pathetic?’

  ‘Yes,’ she reached over and took my hand. ‘But it’s also totally understandable that it stings. Thing is, maybe it’s taken everything that’s happened to make Mark realise what’s important and to make the changes in his life that he should have made long ago.’

  I let that one hang for a minute. This wasn’t the moment to rehash all the reasons that Mark and I are no longer together, but Kate’s analysis of one of our issues was painfully accurate.

  Her eyes flicked to the clock again, and I knew that she was mentally counting down the chocolate sponge deadline, but she didn’t rush me. Instead, she put her hands on mine. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

  I thought about it. ‘Slash his tyres and put fish under his car seat?’

  ‘That could work,’ Kate shrugged. ‘I’ve got a couple of cans of tuna in the cupboard. I was going to have them with a baked potato, but I’ll make the sacrifice.’

  ‘That’s devotion,’ I said, laughing for the first time since I’d burst in the back door. It was what I needed to put it into perspective. At least for now. ‘Or I could get behind it, encourage them to have a great time and wave them off with a smile on my face.’

  ‘Smiling gives you wrinkles – I’d avoid it at all costs,’ deadpanned a new addition to the room. And she should know.

  My sister-in-law, Carol, all five foot ten, size eight, willowy Cindy Crawford lookalike wafted in. Years on catwalks meant that while us mere mortals trudged or shuffled, she glided, head held high, everywhere she went. It would be easy to hate her, but she was one of my original lifelong gang, and we were friends for decades before she fell in love with my brother and married him. Did I mention that at the time he was also travelling the world, making bucketloads on the catwalks too? It was a modern-day fairy tale: gorgeous woman meets gorgeous man, they marry and have gorgeous kids and now earn a living as social media influencers, getting paid thousands to post pictures of their fave brand of washing powder (a tad misleading, since they have a lovely woman called Bella who comes three times a week to do their cleaning and laundry). I should deeply resent her for being so perfect, but on the inside, she has just as many hang-ups, worries and flaws as the rest of us, so I love her madly.

  She put a couple of bags on Kate’s gleaming white granite countertops, slung her white leather biker’s jacket on top, then took her mug out of the cupboard. Thoust Shall Treat Each Others’ Homes As Our Own, was definitely one of the ten commandments of our friendship – it sat between Thoust Must Always Listen To Each Other’s Worries Even If They’re Irrational and Thoust Must Not Covet Thy Neighbour’s Shoes (but if thoust does, then thoust must return them asap).

  Kate gestured to the section of her kitchen designated for the coffee station. One of the benefits of being married to an architect was that her kitchen – with the exception of the beloved old centre table that she wouldn’t part with – was constantly updated to accommodate all the latest trends. There was a juice bar there for a while, but we told her we were disowning her if she didn’t swap it back for coffee, tea and a large tin of chocolate Hob Nobs. ‘There’s fresh coffee in the pot.’

  Carol was way ahead of her. ‘Nope, I’m in need of something a little stronger,’ she said, reaching into one of the bags and pulling out a bottle of champagne, which she popped like a pro and poured straight into her mug. ‘Help yourselves.’

  I might just do that. Day drinking at 11 a.m. was something I could totally get on board with today.

  Mary Berry got up to attend to the chocolate cake, while Carol took a sip of her plonk, then slid into the chair next to me. I realised we were both wearing the same outfit: white jumpers, ripped faded jeans. However, with my size fourteen figure and her size eight, we looked like a before and after poster advertising weight-loss shakes.

  ‘Wow, who’s rained on your pavlova?’ she asked, meeting my gaze for the first time. Carol’s brain is like a war zone where metaphors, common sayings and phrases battle for supremacy and then stagger out wounded and confused, but her meaning was generally clear enough.

  ‘Mark. He wants to take the boys away for a month in the summer and go touring around America.’

  Carol went straight to my side of the marital woe, making her the instant winner of the Sister-In-Law of the Year Award. ‘You’re joking? I thought he was too busy…’

  I put my hand up to stop her. ‘Don’t proceed unless you want to see me cry. Anyway, why are you on the booze at this time in the morning? If you could make it something awful that’ll take my mind off my problems, I’d appreciate it.’

  ‘Mother’s Day,’ she replied, as if that explained it. ‘I had to get up at 6 a.m. to get the kitchen looking perfect, then drag everyone out of bed at eight, spend an hour making us all look like we rolled out of bed gorgeous, in colour co-ordinated pyjamas, all s
o we could get some Insta pics of the girls pretending to give me some inedible bloody chocolates that taste like feet. It was a good earner, but Callum was pissed off, Charlotte says she’s moving out and I’ve no idea what Toni thinks because she hasn’t spoken to me for a week. As soon as I’d posted the pic, they all went back to bed and left me sitting there like a saddo, not even a “Happy Mother’s Day” between the lot of them. Parenting teenagers is hardcore. Tell me again how much of a nightmare we were when we were nineteen?’

  ‘Complete nightmare,’ I said, trying to reassure her. Actually, I wasn’t lying. ‘You’d run off to London and were shacked up with someone double your age, and I was in Amsterdam working in a club in the red-light district. And we did it all with no mobile phones, no internet, no common sense and no way for our parents to know what we were up to.’

  Carol took another sip as she pondered that, nostalgia making the corners of her perfect pout turn up. ‘Ah, we were happy, though. God, I miss the nineties.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that was the end of the eighties,’ Kate pointed out, shaking a perfect chocolate sponge onto a cooling tray.

  Carol shook her head. ‘Sorry, you’ve clearly got your dates mixed up. I’m in my late thirties. God bless Botox.’

  Since her twenties, Carol had been getting every age-defying treatment – freezers, fillers, peelers, lifters – often before they even came on the market, and there was no doubt they were working for her. Never too much though – just enough that they did the job but still looked natural. They’d wiped at least ten years off her, fifteen in a dim light. Meanwhile, I’d neglected myself to the point where my roots were like zebra stripes and my cleanse, tone, moisturise routine had long been replaced with a quick slap with a baby wipe.

  Carol deflected back on to me. ‘What are you going to do about Mark and the boys then?’

  ‘I’m going to be extremely mature…’

  ‘That’ll be a stretch…’ She interjected.

  I ignored her.

  ‘And I’m going to smile and wave them off. Then I’ll either cry or comfort-eat my way out of my jeans. I haven’t decided yet.’

  Carol sighed, and turned to Kate. ‘Are you going to say it, or am I?’

  Over at the kitchen island, Kate flushed, shoved a wooden spoon in a bowl and started furiously stirring. ‘I’m making icing. Can’t do two things at once. I’ll leave it to you.’

  My gaze went from one to the other. ‘Say what? What are you talking about?’

  Carol put her mug down. ‘I’m saying this because I love you and I want you to be happy.’ In my mind, I got ready to retract the Sister-In-Law of The Year award. To the outside world, Carol would have my back until the death, but in our little circle of trust she was bold, blunt and, as she would say, the type of person to just rip that bandage right off. I mentally donned my bullet proof bra for the assault.

  She didn’t miss. ‘You need to give yourself a shake and find the old Carly Cooper and drag her back into your life.’

  ‘What do you mean, the old Carly Cooper? I’m still the same person I always was.’ I could feel my face flush with the lie, even as I said it.

  ‘Am I still flying solo here?’ Carol asked Kate, who murmured, ‘You’re married to her brother – it’ll be harder for her to take a hit out on you,’ then went back to focusing 100 per cent on her bowl.

  You know that thing where the hairs on the back of your neck stand up because you realise that people have been discussing you and you knew nothing about it? Well, that. My friends clearly had an issue with me, and I’d been blissfully unaware.

  Before I could swallow my outrage and delve deeper, the back door opened again and Jess came in, sporting hair like a matted red setter and huge sunglasses.

  Kate stopped stirring. ‘Wow – rough night last night? I was about to send out a search party when you hadn’t texted that you were home safe by 3 a.m. You’re lucky you answered my call or we’d have broken down your door.’

  ‘Sorry. I was otherwise engaged and lost track of time,’ Jess admitted, taking a free seat at the table and immediately putting her head in her hands. ‘I’m deleting Tinder. I swear it this time. Here, take my phone. Delete it. Or hit it with a hammer.’

  This time, the comeback was mine. ‘I deleted it last time you said that. You must have downloaded it again.’ It wasn’t surprising. Since her son, Josh, had gone off to university, her empty nest had been fitted with a revolving door to accommodate an endless stream of no-strings hook-ups.

  Jess groaned. ‘I did. I have no willpower. Hit me with a hammer. On the thumb, so I can’t swipe. I swear I won’t press charges. Happy Mother’s Day, by the way. Did you all have a nice morning and do you all feel loved and appreciated?’

  Kate put a coffee in front of Jess, then said, ‘Yes,’ at exactly the same time that Carol and I chorused, ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t think you’re getting away with not telling us about last night,’ I warned her, ‘because we’ll come back to that. But did you know that these two think I’ve changed and need to find my “old self again”. Whatever that means?’

  Jess raised her sunglasses and looked at the other two. ‘Seriously? You had to do this today? When I’ve got a hangover, a bad back and I’m still trying to remember the name of the guy I swore undying lust to last night?’

  My eyes widened in shock. ‘You know about this too? Is this some kind of conspiracy? I. HAVE. NOT. CHANGED,’ I blustered, more than a little bit miffed. This was like one of those interventions you see on American reality shows featuring a soap star from 1984 who is trying to reclaim his moment in the spotlight despite having a grand-a-day crack habit. Not that we didn’t have our own addictions, I thought, reaching for my third chocolate Hobnob of the day.

  Kate obviously decided she’d be the best one to take this further, given that the other two had all the subtlety of a smack in the face. ‘Honey, you were the funniest, wildest, craziest chick when you were younger. You fell in love every six months, you were fearless and you loved life. You lived for adventure and excitement and you laughed more than anyone I’ve ever known. These days… well, you’ve pretty much lost your mojo.’

  ‘It isn’t lost!’ I argued, before climbing right back down. ‘It’s just a bit misplaced. I still love life.’ That was true. Especially if there was a Gerry Butler movie on the telly.

  ‘Do you?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Yes!’ I protested, a little too sharply.

  Jess winced at the pain of my shriek and let her sunglasses fall back down over her eyes. ‘And are you actually doing any of the things that you said you were going to do after you and Mark split up?’

  Ouch. That one stung. I’d had such big plans. I was going to figure out what I needed to do to reclaim life on my own terms and then I was going to go for it, to have adventures, to change my path, to stop just existing and start living. Trouble was, after the strength it took to actually make the break, I’d got stuck in the figuring out stage, and given up like a marathon runner who collapses on a pile of foil blankets and Mars Bars at the end of a race.

  ‘No, but I’m going to. I am. I just need to get to the right place and…’ I stopped. Even to me it sounded weak.

  ‘I know it feels like we’re ganging up on you here,’ Jess said, before pausing to pour coffee down her throat, ‘but we’d be crap pals if we weren’t honest with you. You’re the one who said that you want to live your best life. So maybe it’s time to get moving on that. Now that the boys are older, more independent, you’ve got time to focus on your own life again.’

  I gave up objecting. The only thing worse than brutally honest pals is brutally honest pals who are right.

  The last few years had been tough for so many reasons and it would have been easy to keep plodding along with Mark, but I’d decided that I wanted more than a mediocre marriage with someone who’d lost all the funny, sexy ways that I’d fallen in love with. Mark and I were coasting. Just existing. And I didn’t want to do it any mor
e. But what had I done to change my life since he’d moved out? Nothing. Not a thing. No dates. No interest in anything or anyone new.

  ‘I just wanted to give the boys a chance to get used to the new normal,’ I said in my defence. It was true, but I knew what was coming next even as I said it.

  ‘Carly, the boys are fine,’ Jess said. ‘By some miracle, you’ve managed to breed two balanced, grounded guys and they’ve totally adjusted to you and Mark’s split.’ I knew she was right, but I wasn’t going to admit it in case the lump that had formed in my throat at the thought of my boys sent a sprinkler system to my eyes. Breaking up their family had been the hardest decision I’d ever made, and I put it off for a long time because the guilt was paralysing me. If I was being completely honest, what I didn’t expect was that the same guilt would hang around after I’d made the break.

  And then there was the other guilt, the one that had nothing to do with my impending divorce and everything to do with the person who was no longer in our lives. None of us had mentioned her, but we didn’t have to. I felt the weight of losing Sarah every day. I felt the grief, but worse, I felt the responsibility. And that blocked all motivation to forge a new, exciting path for myself.

  If I dropped the fleecy jumper of denial I’d been hiding behind for the last year, it was obvious. I’d kept myself so busy with the boys that, despite all my talk and big plans, I’d avoided making any fundamental changes to my life.

  ‘You’re the person that used to grab life by the whiskers…’ I don’t need to say that little confused nugget of observation came from Carol.

  Jess took over. ‘And now – don’t get pissed off – but the truth is that these days you’re all talk and no action. You need an adventure!’

  ‘I’m not getting Tinder,’ I railed, feeling my toes actually curl at the thought of having to re-enter the dating scene. I couldn’t remember how to flirt. I had zero dating game. And there was no way I was letting a stranger see my wobbly bits without a dim light and a non-disclosure agreement.