Authors: Elizabeth Oldfield
I had parked on Tina’s forecourt when Jenny drove in.
‘All clear with Bruce?’ I enquired, as she got out of her car. After my troubles with Lynn, I was in need of cheerful news. Desperate for something up-beat and positive.
‘No.’
My heart shrivelled and I looked at her in dismay. ‘Oh my God, Jen, you mean he is –’
‘I didn’t ask him. I was going to, but then I thought of how a kiss on the cheek and his arm around the woman means nothing and I’d got everything out of proportion and he’d only tell me I was being silly, then I’d feel a fool and –’
‘You chickened out.’
‘’Fraid so. Feeble, but –’ She gave a shamefaced shrug.
‘And you’re still worrying?’
‘All the time.’
‘If you want peace of mind, you must speak to Bruce. Tonight. You must. It might be difficult, but it’s the only way.’
‘I know, and I will.’
‘Promise?’
‘I promise. It’s a lovely morning,’ she declared, looking up at the cloudless blue sky. ‘Perfect.’
‘It is, so we’ll be working out on the tennis court and there’ll be three other women with us,’ I said, and told her about meeting Tina the previous day. ‘I meant to mention it when I called in to see you, but I forgot.’
‘Poor Tina’s going through such a hard time,’ Jenny sympathised, when I had finished my recital about the television job falling through, and why.
‘She’s not the only one. Lynn and Justin have quarrelled, so she and Beth have moved in with me. Hopefully their split is temporary, but Lynn arrived on Sunday and she and Justin haven’t spoken to each other since.’
Jenny looked anguished. ‘Oh Carol, I’m so sorry, and what a worry.’
‘I feel half demented. They’re acting like a pair of kids.’
‘They are a pair of kids. Academics have redefined adolescence for their generation as lasting to the age of thirty-four.’
‘Seems about right.’
‘They’ll get back together,’ Jenny said. ‘It’s just a hiccup.’
I was wishing I shared her certainty when I heard the thump-thump of music which indicates a radio inside a vehicle, turned full on. It was Max, coming up the road in his white van. The van was battered, but had a newly-painted logo of two exercising figures on the side, underscored by his website. Could Calvin, the mouse-addicted brother artist, be responsible? Following the van were two four-by-fours and an acid yellow sports car. Max and the four-by-fours stopped outside, but the sports car swung onto the forecourt, spraying up sheets of gravel and forcing Jenny and me to jump back. It came to a halt beside my Ford Focus, a little too close for comfort.
‘Hi, babes,’ Max called, and, after collecting his holdall, walked towards us. ‘Listen up everyone, it’s getting to know you time. This is Carol and Jenny, and here we have Pippa, Gerri –’
‘That’s Gerri with a g, two r’s and an i,’ cut in the young woman who had emerged from the sports car. Emerged as in slithered snake-like, an operation which I noticed had had her door a bare half an inch off touching my car.
‘– and Dee. Everyone say hello.’
The newcomers were sun-bed bronzed – or maybe it was fake tan – and young, somewhere between late twenties and early thirties. Gerri and Dee, who carried a sleeping baby in a portable cot, were slim, while Pippa was plump. They all had dark hair with blonde streaks, cut in variations of a style which I understand is called ‘the shag’, which meant their hair looked as if it had been hacked about with garden shears. Dressed in black leotards cut high on the thigh, with matching headbands and Nike trainers, and wearing designer sunglasses, they were interchangeable fashion statements. I was about to make a comment on their similarity to the Beverley Sisters, when it struck me that they might not know who the Beverley Sisters were. And if they did, would not appreciate my wit.
Although Jenny and I said a cheery ‘hello’, their only acknowledgement was a vague nod.
‘Carol’s a reporter with
The Dursleigh Siren.
She wrote the article about me, the one which encouraged you to get in touch,’ Max told them.
There was another vague nod, before they clustered around him as he set off for the front door. It is said that when women reach their fifties they become invisible to men, but Jenny and I were invisible to Pippa, Gerri and Dee. Our T-shirts and baggy Eric Morecambe shorts had not impressed them, either.
When Max introduced the trio to Tina, they showed a fraction more interest and even managed smiles; though whether that was because she was their hostess or because they approved of her outfit was anyone’s guess. Tina wore a gunmetal-grey tank top and bootleg flares with ankle zips, which screamed ‘expensive’. I hadn’t seen them before and hoped they weren’t a new purchase. I would have enquired – and discreetly asked if she had recovered from yesterday’s disappointment – but Max declared he was running late and ushered everyone out through to the garden.
Down on the tennis court with reggae blaring, we launched into the work-out. Would Beryl hear and march down to complain about the noise? Might Peter discover an urgent need to hoe? Time passed, but there was no sign of either of them. Though Tina’s lawn was, I noticed, mown short in ruler-straight stripes.
Considering we could give our classmates a good twenty years, Tina, Jenny and I disported ourselves well. We kept pace with all the exercises, did not gasp, creak or rupture ourselves, and were not too visibly exhausted by the end. While a little red in the face, Jen and I didn’t sweat profusely, either. A month of working out meant both of us were fitter.
Afterwards everyone gathered in the conservatory, where Tina had provided glasses of iced water. Her hostess skills were improving.
‘Generous-sized garden,’ Pippa remarked, looking out of the window. ‘My husband and I have recently moved into a new property and we have a generous garden. Not as big as this, but –’
‘How big?’ enquired Gerri.
‘Around a third of an acre.’
Gerri smiled. ‘Ours is half.’
‘We’re fortunate, we have a full acre,’ Dee announced. ‘Ideal for the tinies.’
And so the point-scoring began. All three, they claimed, had husbands or partners who performed vital work in various industries and earned vast, vaster and vastest amounts. All three women followed their own ‘motivations’. Pippa marketed natural remedies to health food shops, Gerri counselled unfortunates who had lost their jobs, while Dee was concentrated on bringing up her children.
‘I have four, the other three are at school. A private school,’ she explained. ‘So many people employ nannies and, of course, I could do, too, but I prefer to nurture my children myself. As I did with the others, I take Nathaniel everywhere with me. It’s 24/7. We’re never parted.’
‘My perspective is completely different,’ Pippa declared. ‘I’ve got three kids under five, but for the sake of my sanity I need a life outside home. Anything less would be a dreadful waste of my brains. I’ve found a superb girl and I have absolutely no worries about leaving my children with her.’
As they banged on about their lives, Tina, Jenny and I were ignored. It was as though we didn’t do and could never have done anything of the slightest interest, and were totally out of the loop.
Next they moved on to how much they appreciated Max.
‘He’s allowed me to freely shape my time and direct my energies,’ Pippa pronounced. ‘I’ve demystified myself and I’m like, hey, great.’
‘The warm, supportive place he provides has enabled me to move forward with a new clarity,’ crooned Gerri. ‘We really resonate.’
‘So insightful,’ cooed Dee, ‘and so today. I had self-esteem issues, but no longer. And he’s done wonders for my pelvic floor.’
‘Pass the sickbag, Alice,’ I muttered.
But Max appreciated the trio, in return. He soaked up their flattery and, while he did not ignore us, was far more attentive to them. He joked, he flirted, he smiled his white, white smile. This switch of allegiance didn’t bother me – they were of a similar age and it was natural – yet Tina seemed peeved. Then he put his arm around her and asked how she was feeling, and she cheered up.
The girls had hurtled into one-upmanship prattle about who had taken the most select, expensive, trendy holiday, when the telephone rang.
‘This could be Joe, I haven’t spoken to him since – you know,’ Tina told me, and went to answer it.
If it was the comedian, there were no squeals of delight and when she returned a few minutes later her expression was grave.
‘Problem?’ Max asked, as the trio bandied descriptions of tropical islands and Italian castles and kids’ clubs in the South of France.
‘The producer doesn’t think I’m right for the show, so I’m out.’
He frowned. ‘But Joe’s the star so surely he can override him?’
‘Seems not. He says he’s tried, but the producer won’t budge. For now, though Joe reckons there’s still time for him to change his mind.’
‘So all is not lost,’ Max declared, then turned to the trio. ‘We’re talking about Joe Fernandez. He and Tina are friends. And, as I may have mentioned, Joe’s wheelering and dealering on my behalf.’
‘Anything in the pipeline?’ Pippa asked him eagerly.
‘I’m considering various projects.’
‘So we’ll soon be seeing you on the box?’
‘Hope so.’
‘If you believe it, you can achieve it,’ I recited, but Max was not amused.
Dee studied Tina. ‘You used to be on television,’ she declared.
Tina smiled and put a hand on her hip. ‘That’s right.’
‘It was when I was a child. A small child.’
Tina’s smile tightened.
‘My grandma had a thing about Joe Fernandez,’ Gerri said. ‘She used to reckon that when he sang ‘My Way’, he made her go all shivery. Old gal’s gaga now. Been gaga for ages and has incontinence issues.’
Tina’s tight smile froze.
‘Before she appeared on television, Tina was a top model,’ Jenny announced. ‘Similar to today’s supermodels. She was photographed by all the leading photographers and appeared on the covers of the most stylish magazines. She may decide to model again.’
‘She’s got the looks,’ I said, before Tina could object. ‘Let’s be honest, girls, most of us are pretty standard stuff, but her bone structure – classical!’
‘Will we be meeting here again on Thursday?’ Pippa demanded.
She had drained her glass and was ready to go. That another woman’s achievements and beauty might surpass hers did not seem to be something she wanted to hear. Especially an older woman’s.
‘I suppose so,’ Tina said flatly.
‘It’s my birthday on Thursday,’ Gerri declared, and acted out a shiver of dismay. ‘I’m dreading it. I shall be thirty. Me! Thirty! Imagine!’
‘I hated turning thirty,’ Dee said. ‘I mean, it’s like you’re not young any more. For six months, I was really, really depressed.’
‘You had it easy,’ Pippa told her. ‘Thirty pushed me to the edge of a nervous breakdown. How I’ll cope when it comes to forty, I do not know.’
Should I tell them about the menopause? I wondered, and describe bed sweats and hot flushes and how your mind can turn to jelly? It was tempting though, in fact, I had suffered relatively few problems, thanks to the magic of HRT.
‘Forty will be a major issue,’ Dee declared, and agonising over how they would ever survive the onset of middle-age, the trio exited.