Page 6 of The F*cking Fabulous Forties Club

‘Is this about Kitty? I just heard in the staffroom. Awful news,’ she says without so much as saying hello first. This is standard procedure for Niamh, and I admire it. I like that we don’t have to go through the motions of small talk and can get straight to the heart of the matter.

‘Did you hear any details? What happened to her?’ I ask, feeling like a bit of a ghoul for wanting to know the ins and outs of what happened.

‘Cancer, I heard. I don’t know more than that, sorry,’ she says. ‘Except that the funeral is tomorrow.’

Cancer – the dirty big bastard. How I hate everything about it. I try to not think about Kitty being consumed by it – made smaller by it. Something catches in my throat.

‘Did they know if the wake was open or family only? I’m assuming it’s still on tonight? Are you thinking of going too?’ I croak.

‘Yes, the house is open and I suppose I should go. Are you going?’ she replies.

‘I suppose I should too,’ I say. ‘I was kinda hoping we could go together. Safety in numbers and all that.’ I know that Kitty’s house is likely to be busy this evening. It’s the last night of the wake before tomorrow’s funeral, and the final chance for people to pay their respects before the coffin is closed for the last time. But I still feel uneasy at the thought of walking in on my own, especially given how things are between Laura and me.

‘That’s a good idea,’ Niamh agrees. ‘We can just nip in, pay our respects, and leave again. We don’t even have to stay for a cup of tea.’

‘Unless Laura asks us to,’ I say, thinking that it would be bad form to say no to any invitation issued by the recently bereaved. Whether she offers a cup of tea or tells us to get lost, we’ll just have to suck it up, nod and do as she says.

‘Of course,’ Niamh says. ‘I’m not sure she will though.’ There’s a nervousness in her tone. I can understand it. It might have been Laura and I who had clashed and caused the rupture of our friendship group, but Niamh had been a casualty too. She’d tried to play it like Switzerland and remain neutral, but the time had come when it was clear that simply wasn’t going to work. She had to pick a side and I am grateful to this day that she picked mine. I know, like me, she misses Laura. I know she misses our joint friendship. But still, she picked me.

‘Only one way to find out, and if she asks us to leave instead then we’ll do it. But I don’t think we can let her go through this without at least trying to reach out or something,’ I say, as Daniel sits patiently at my feet waiting for his lunch. I give his head a little rub and I swear he smiles back at me.

‘Same,’ Niamh says. ‘And I also really want to pay my respects to Kitty. She was the best.’ There’s a wobble in Niamh’s voice and I get it. This isn’t just about Laura, it’s about this wonderful, vivacious and generous woman who welcomed us into her home day after day for years.

‘She really was,’ I say, my own voice wobbling. I must not cry. I must hold it in. I must be a good Generation Xer and bury my pain. It’s what Kurt Cobain would’ve wanted.

‘I suppose Simon will be there,’ she says, her voice quiet.

‘You’re probably right. No show without Punch and all that.’ Maybe I shouldn’t be so caustic. Simon, aka the former Mr Me, is best friend to Aidan, the current Mr Laura. He is also absolutely the kind of person who loves a bit of drama and will no doubt be thriving in the role of dutiful best friend of the husband of the grieving daughter. Some would say the link is too tenuous to see him put himself front and centre of the grieving process – but that’s not the kind of thing that worries Simon. He likes to be seen and to have attention drawn his way. If he could crawl into the coffin beside poor Kitty, there’s a chance he would.

Niamh grimaces. ‘You don’t think he’ll sing at the funeral Mass, do you?’

My ex thinks he missed out on a glorious career as a boyband singer and will happily tell everyone he was offered a place in Boyzone but turned it down ‘because Ronan Keating is a gobshite’.

Neither is true but having told that story once while exceptionally drunk, Simon was so enamoured by the reaction to it that he has doubled down on it ever since, gilding this particularly noxious lily over the years with extra details. I’d hazard a guess he has told the story so often he’s come to believe it himself.

‘God, I hope not,’ I tell Niamh. ‘It will be tragic enough as it is without having to listen to him trying to hit the high notes.’

She laughs. It goes unsaid, as it does every time we talk about Simon, that to this day she doesn’t understand how I ever found him appealing enough to marry and pro-create with. But that’s the thing about Simon Cooke – he’s a bit of a dick, but he’s mostly harmless and he can be very charming when he wants to be. I was also just young, stupid and incredibly naïve.

‘God forbid!’ Niamh says. ‘Kitty deserves better than that.’

And Niamh is right. Kitty does deserve so much better than Simon singing her to her eternal rest. This is not an occasion where he should be able to make it all about him.

‘He must’ve known she was sick,’ I say, as it dawns on me that it’s something he and Aidan were likely to have discussed. ‘I wish he’d mentioned it to me. You know? Given me the chance to see her before…’

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. ‘Love, if there is one thing time has taught us about Simon it’s that he doesn’t think of how things will affect anyone but him. I’m not one to defend him but he doesn’t think the way normal people think.’

‘I know,’ I sigh, because I do know. All too well. I take a breath. ‘But this isn’t about him, or my feelings. We’ll be there for Laura,’ I say, the time capsule catching my eye as I speak. ‘Oh, I’ve something else to tell you too,’ I say but Niamh has already started talking over me.

‘Oh, shit, sorry. Okay.’ She mumbles. ‘Becks, I have to go. I’m supposed to be meeting the head of department and I totally bloody forgot. I swear I’m losing it these days. I’ll text you about this evening. Love you. Bye,’ she says and with that she is gone and I’m left staring at the time capsule wondering if I should open it or not. I give a sigh that comes right from the depths of my soul and Daniel whines before pawing at me. ‘Oh, I’m okay, dote,’ I reassure him, crouching down to give him a nice big cuddle, but he doesn’t respond with his usual enthusiasm for tummy scritches. No, he pushes away with his paw and lets out a low, rather grumpy grumble. I know it well.

‘Okay,’ I say, creaking my way back up to standing. ‘Keep your fur on. It’s almost ready. Let’s get you some food and then I suppose I’d better get on with some work to distract myself.’

I leave the time capsule on the worktop, untouched for now. I’ve decided I’m not emotionally ready to examine its contents just yet.

5

FRIENDS REUNITED

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