Page 38 of The F*cking Fabulous Forties Club

No. It can’t be that. It has to be something more serious than that. My mind drifts back to the lumpy breast incident. Could it be another health scare? A new lump? Could it be that she fears something more than hormonal fluctuations are behind a new lump? It’s scarier now, what with Kitty dying just last week from breast cancer. It has brought it all into our minds in sharp focus. I’ve even made sure to give my boobs a thorough examination in the shower twice since hearing the awful news. No. It can’t be that. The timing would be too cruel.

The familiar clutch of fear tightens around my middle. I think I could handle almost anything else except Niamh getting sick. She is my person. The most positive and loving friend a woman could ever ask for. The universe would be a complete bastard to foist an illness on her just as we all made a very conscious decision to embrace our lives to the full.

Then it comes to me that she still hasn’t opened her letter from the time capsule. In fact, she seems really, really unwilling to do so. Could it be that she doesn’t want to read about the hopes and dreams she once had when she knows she may not have much time left? I feel the Prosecco I so enjoyed earlier churning in my stomach ominously. The room takes on a slightly fluid feeling as waves of worry come at me.

Still, my phone sits, silent and dark, on my lap. I don’t know if I should text or call her. I don’t know how she would react to being questioned. If she wants me to know whatever it is that is bothering her, then she would’ve told me. Niamh doesn’t like being put on the spot, but she might really, really need a friend right now and I’m not sure if I just need to be more forceful with her.

Before I even realise it, I’m crying. Daniel sits up and is doing his very best to lick the salty tears from my cheeks. There must still be a trace of whatever gorgeous products Gabby used on my skin though, as he stops, grimaces and jumps down off the sofa. He ambles across the room to, presumably, get as far away from me as possible, and gives me the filthiest of looks. How dare I season his favourite snack?

To my shame, I give him the finger in return. ‘I’m allowed to feel my feelings,’ I tell him. ‘And get lovely facials.’

I’m done holding everything in and pretending I’m fine when I’m not. I’m not making myself uncomfortable just to make life a little easier for someone else. Even if that someone, in this case is ‘just a dog’. He gives a little bark in response. It’s more of a ‘whatever’ than anything with any real malice behind it, and I know he still loves me. So at least that’s something.

I probably should just call Niamh and then I can stop this super spiral from spiralling any further.

I have the perfect opener. A simple, ‘Ooh, I didn’t know Jodie was visiting Adam and Saul,’ would ease us into the conversation where I beg her to be okay and not be battling cancer. However, my gut is telling me to play this one carefully and the fact my subconscious is sending me warning flares just makes me more worried about the entire situation.

I try to apply rational thinking. I have no concrete reason to believe Niamh may be deathly ill or going through some similar-level life trauma.

Maybe it’s just the case that it’s been a long and emotional day. Between my mother shouting my size all over the supermarket, my near orgasmic experience in the spa, worrying about my son and now this anxiety about Niamh, it’s entirely possible all my emotional stability features are off-kilter and misfiring all over the place. That’s what I get for drinking in the afternoon and allowing a child to realign my chakras for me.

I’ll get an early night, I decide, and thankfully Daniel is forgiving enough not to stay in his huff but instead pads dutifully up the stairs behind me. To distract myself from worrying, I run through the list of the seven Walton children, prefacing each name with ‘Goodnight’ as I get changed and crawl into bed.

I resolve to call Niamh first thing in the morning.

27

THE CASE OF THE MISSING BFF

Niamh is not answering her phone. I have tried to call her three times this morning and I have sent four WhatsApp messages and a number of really very funny Instagram reels featuring dogs trying not to look guilty after destroying their homes. Normally, something among this would garner a response, even if it’s only a laughing face emoji, but no. There is nothing. She hasn’t even read the WhatsApp messages, which is very unusual and on any other occasion I’d probably consider it rude. There’s an unspoken agreement between us that we never leave the other hanging.

I don’t want to keep pushing her to reply though. There must be some reason behind her quietness and whatever it is I am sure she will tell me when she feels ready and able to.

I just hope she doesn’t leave it too long.

Thankfully I don’t have to endure the same lack of contact from my boys. Adam sent me a message shortly after midnight to say he and Saul were back at their digs, and he had put his brother to bed with a pint of water and a basin at his side. This morning, I saw my eldest (by ten minutes) son post on his Instagram that he is ‘hanging out of his arse’, complete with a picture of him looking positively grey while a mammoth Full English is on the table in front of him waiting to be demolished. Resolving to have a chat with him about his wilder ways when he gets home at Christmas, I focus my attention on Adam instead. Thanking him for letting me know they were both home safely, I ask him about Jodie.

Me

That’s a bit of a surprise about Jodie being over in Manchester. Is she visiting old school friends or on a shopping trip? It’s nice that you met up.

Adam

She came over to visit me and Saul, Mum. She’s staying with us.

Me

I hope you cleaned up that flat of yours before she arrived.

Adam

*rolling eye emoji* Of course I did, Mum. I even bought a new toilet brush, and cleared out the shower drains so that mouldy smell went away.

I cringe, imagining the particularly potent boy aroma that my darling offspring can generate. That is not something I’ve missed since they’ve been away. In fact, my house would be beautifully fragrant at all times, were it not for Daniel and his sensitive tummy.

Me

I’m very proud of you. And surprised Jodie is over. Is there something you need to tell me?

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