Katey Lovell - The Singalong Society for Singletons

‘And how do you suggest we do that, oh wise one?’ asks Hope, her voice acerbic.

‘A club, an informal choir. Make Friday nights a musical spectacular and sing ourselves silly! Think how good it feels to shout and laugh and forget about all the crappy stuff.’ I beam, convinced it’s a winning idea. ‘We should make it a weekly event, a celebration of the weekend and being happy on our own rather than out in the meat market that doubles as town on a Friday night. It’s got to be better than having your bum pinched by some drunken chancer out on the pull, and if it raises our spirits too then it’s a bonus, surely? What do you reckon? Isn’t it the best idea ever?’

I wait for their response, fully expecting them to throw back a string of reasons why it’s a terrible idea. The pause is excruciating.

‘Oh, go on then,’ says Issy finally, knocking back the last of her wine. ‘But no more people. The last thing I want is a house full of strangers on a Friday night.’

‘And no more Frozen ,’ Hope adds emphatically.

‘Okay,’ I agree, knowing this is as much enthusiasm as my sister’s likely to muster. ‘But can I ask Connie if she fancies it too? Four people isn’t too many and she could do with a boost. She’s hating her job and she’s fed up with being hit on by sleazeballs every time she goes out. This could be exactly what she needs.’

I grin and a small squeak of excitement slips out despite myself. I’m so looking forward to this. I haven’t been part of a club since I left the Brownies.

‘The Singalong Society for Singletons,’ I say wistfully. ‘To moving on and letting go!’

Friday 16 thSeptember

*The Lion King – Connie’s choice*

‘Are you sure we’ll have enough food to go round?’ Hope asks. She looks doubtful, which is ridiculous seeing as the table is laden – correction, overloaded – with snacks.

Seriously, there’s all sorts of goodies spread out on it, from breadsticks to sausage rolls to the black forest gateau centrepiece (my idea – apparently they’re due a resurgence, according to the supermarket magazine I shoved in my trolley on a whim last weekend). There are also four blue-and-white-striped cereal bowls overflowing with a variety of crisps and savoury snacks, three bottles of wine, the remnants of a bottle of Jack Daniels, a six-pack of Diet Coke and the token punnet of raspberries Connie insisted made an appearance if she was going to come. She’s always been a health freak, although she goes wild on a Friday night and allows herself a small amount of carbs. How we’ve been friends for twenty years is beyond me. Junk food is too good to go without, in my opinion.

‘Are you joking? There’s tons. It’s only us three and Connie, we’re not feeding an army returning from battle,’ Issy replies. ‘And we’re only five minutes from the supermarket if we need anything else. It’s not like we live in the back of beyond.’

‘You don’t think I should just nip out and get…’

‘No,’ I answer. I ensure I’m using my school voice, firm and decisive. ‘We’ve got plenty. There’s pizza in the oven too, remember, and there’s that tub of chocolates from the end of term on top of the kitchen cabinet if we want anything sweet later on.’

‘Ooh, I forgot about those,’ Issy says, licking her lips with anticipation. ‘Bagsy me the coffee creams.’

‘I don’t think anyone’ll be fighting you for those,’ Hope replies, pushing forward onto her tiptoes to try and reach the metal container from on top of the kitchen cupboards. Issy had insisted they be put well out of the way to avoid temptation after the three of us had broken the seal and eaten a generous handful each during the culmination of Frozen last Friday. ‘But I’m taking the toffee fingers out and putting them to one side. They’re my favourites.’

She nudges the tin down from the ledge, her fingertips edging the container forwards until it tips and she has to quickly readjust her arms to stop it falling to the floor with a clatter. She looks puzzled as she shakes the tub. ‘I’m sure there were more left than this,’ she says, peeling back the lid to reveal a very sorry-looking layer of multi-coloured wrappers that barely cover the silvery bottom of the tin. ‘Own up, who’s been secretly raiding the choccies?’

Issy looks guilty and when she speaks her voice is unusually soft and meek.

‘It was me. I couldn’t help it. There wasn’t anything else sweet in the house and I had rotten period pains. So I took them upstairs, got back into bed and ate them. I only meant to have a few, but it was last Saturday when I had that phone call from Penny. It scared me to death when she said she’d been bleeding – I couldn’t get the thought that she might lose the baby out of my head. I needed something to cheer me up and a ridiculous amount of chocolate and the box set of Friends was my only hope.’

‘You should have told me you were struggling,’ I say. I’m trying to sound light, but it takes a whole lot of effort not to sound miffed. ‘We’re supposed to support each other. You could’ve come to me.’

‘I couldn’t,’ Issy explains, twisting her silver ring around her finger. ‘I wasn’t up for talking about it and I’d have only felt guilty if you’d seen me pigging out. All I needed was a wallow and a sugar kick – you know how it is sometimes. Look, I’ll go and get another box of chocolates now if you want. If we mix them in with what’s left it’ll be fine.’

‘It’s not about the chocolate!’ My nerve endings are tingling, and not in a good way. ‘If you’d told me what was the matter, I could have done something. I could have helped . There was no need for you to be cooped up alone in your room all day when I was here, willing to listen.’

Issy smiles sadly and it breaks my heart. ‘But what could you have done, Mon? Nothing. All I needed was a duvet day and to stuff my face. I had a sleep, had a cry and then pulled myself back together. It was no big deal.’

‘I could have listened,’ I insist. ‘Even if that’s all I could have done, I could have listened.’

‘But I didn’t want to talk,’ Issy answers patiently. She speaks slowly and deliberately, as though explaining something to a small child. Maybe the teacher in her is coming out too, it’s obviously a quirk of the trade. ‘It was too raw. It’s nothing personal against you, but it was easier for me to hide away and cry it out. I needed to get my own head around it, that’s all. Anyway, everything’s fine with Penny now. It was just a scare.’

A wave of sadness floods through my body, as though my blood’s running cold in my veins. There’s nothing Issy wants more than to find the love of her life and start a family, and the news that her little sister is having a baby had hit her hard. That Issy hasn’t got a partner at the moment is irrelevant, the maternal instincts are still chewing away at her. The constant pressure from the glossy magazines she greedily devours doesn’t help either, what with their never-ending reminders of ticking body clocks and staged photos of celebrities parading their precious new arrivals around the flawlessly landscaped garden of their luxury mansions. I can only imagine how hard Issy finds it having such a desperate longing within her but being unable to do anything about it. It seems terribly unfair.

When Penny announced she was pregnant it had come as a shock to everyone. She’s only seventeen, and a young seventeen at that. There had been no talk of a boyfriend, no late nights, no tell-tale signs of illicit secret liaisons. She’s doing well at college and keeping on top of her studies – everything had been pootling along the same as it always had.