Page 57 of The F*cking Fabulous Forties Club

‘No, sorry,’ I mumble. ‘My brain is just jumping all over the place.’

‘I think we know where your brain is jumping and it involves my big brother,’ Laura says. ‘Which is sort of quite weird, if I’m being honest.’ She smiles to let me know it’s not really all that weird – that this a safe space and even though things have been tough, there is still the potential to mend this friendship once and for all. That we still understand each other. That we can still joke together and know each other’s sense of humour and each other’s boundaries.

‘Very funny,’ I tell her. ‘But no, I meant then. The big “then”. When Simon left. I felt like such a failure. I was embarrassed we couldn’t make it work, and ashamed to be heading for divorce and I, I don’t know, I was unreasonable and I wanted someone to choose me and…’

‘You were in an impossible position,’ Laura says and I freeze.

‘I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m supposed to say to you,’ I tell her but her words settle in my bones. I had been in an impossible situation. Simon and I had to break up – for our joint benefit and for our boys’ benefit. It would have been unfair to keep limping along in something that was dead and rotting. If we hadn’t split, the things that were wrong between us would have started to eat away at what positives we had created. They would have eaten away at the people we were. But that didn’t make breaking up an easy decision. We both knew it would throw a bomb into the lives and dreams we had. There was no way around that. No escape from it. That’s why I’d never had the courage to make that decision. It was why Simon had to make that decision for me. For us.

I knew that breaking up was the right thing to do but wished it didn’t have to change absolutely everything.

‘I wish I’d handled it differently,’ she tells me. ‘I’ve no idea what I would’ve or could’ve done differently, but I wish I knew, and I wish I did it. It was just a horrible situation and I’m so sorry that you were hurt.’

‘Well, I’m sorry you were hurt,’ I tell her. ‘It must’ve been awful losing Niamh and me like that too. That was brutal. It was awful of me. I was so selfish and cruel and childish.’

She gives a small smile to show we’re still friends, but she can’t hide the tears that snake their way down her cheeks, and which she tries to wipe away discreetly.

‘I think we all went through a lot,’ she says with a tremor in her voice. ‘And we’ve all missed a lot. It’s been quite the eventful ten years.’

‘I’ve missed you,’ I say and mean it – from the bottom of my heart, I mean it. ‘I don’t want to do another ten years like that.’

‘Me neither,’ she says. ‘I want to have fun again, you know. If it doesn’t sound too cringey I want to make memories again. Good ones. With stupid dance routines, and embarrassing celebrity crushes. I want to go on a girls-only holiday. I want to take up new hobbies – trendy ones. Not just crochet.’

‘But the crochet could come in handy for your dodgy scarf empire,’ I tease and she laughs.

‘True,’ she says. ‘Okay then, I want to take up new hobbies, as well as crochet.’

‘Atta girl,’ I say, and take a sip from my mug of tea. Dear me, but Conal makes the perfect cuppa. This could be the start of something beautiful.

‘So we’ll be friends again?’ she asks.

‘Yes please,’ I tell her. ‘Wait until I tell you what Niamh and I are getting up to next. You can join in if you want?’

‘Ooh,’ Laura says as she sits forward in her chair. ‘What is it?’

‘Well, we’re going to the doctors and we’re going to get us some of the best HRT the NHS can provide. Patches, pills, tablets, pessaries – whatever’s on offer.’

She smiles. ‘I’m going to have to sit this one out,’ she says, a little sadly. ‘With mum’s history, you know, I’ve decided to swerve HRT and try some natural options. I am more than willing to be our group hippy and fill you in on complementary methods of supporting menopausal women. I’ve done a lot of research these past few years.’

‘God, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about your mum and the breast cancer risk,’ I say, my face blazing.

‘It’s fine,’ she says, reassuring me. ‘I don’t have the BRCA gene so I’m really just being extra cautious. And you know, it’s quite fascinating to learn about natural remedies and how other cultures approach it. So I’m good.’

‘I’m glad,’ I say. ‘I’m embarrassed to say I’m pretty ignorant about it – except that I know it is messing with my head a bit. You know, all this getting older carry on. And Niamh, she’s finding it very tough.’

‘It is tough,’ Laura says. ‘But do you know what helps?’

‘Gin?’ I offer.

She laughs. ‘I hear that can help, for sure. But what has helped me is reading about the Mayan culture and how they view it. Mayan women believe menstrual blood is imbued with a certain power and wisdom. Because it’s so closely connected with the creation of life, they believe that having their period allows them to tap into their shamanic and healing powers. So when a woman reaches menopause, her body holds on to that powerful and life-giving blood which ushers her into her wise woman years.’

‘So the menopause makes us extra witchy and powerful?’ I ask, one eyebrow raised.

‘Exactly!’ Laura says. ‘So bring on the wise woman years.’

‘Witches assemble!’ I cheer.

‘Would you two ever stop your screeching and carrying on?’ I hear Conal say, before he pops his head around the door and I see he is smiling.

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