Shari Low - My Best Friend’s Life

No, self-delusion combined with the determination to appear elusive was a much better option. Let him play his little games, and when indeed he did come to beg her for forgiveness he’d realise that she’d moved on, got over him, washed that dick right out of her hair. She felt a wave of resolve return. She was destined to plan a new life, to rewrite her destiny and to spend a few weeks just taking time to find herself.

‘Roxy!’

And apparently herself was to be found eating Shreddies at her mother’s kitchen table. She pulled open Ginny’s wardrobe. She used the term loosely. This cupboard was so dilapidated that she just knew whoever had built it had had loads of unidentified bits left over at the end and had chucked them instead of investigating where they’d gone wrong. One door hung off its hinge, one leg had been replaced by a pile of books, and there were just bare screws where the knobs should be.

So, what to wear to work? As Ginny had borrowed her boots, the only footwear she had with her was a pair of Louboutin peep-toe platforms that she’d shoved in her overnight bag. She flicked through the rail:

–Jeans, from a supermarket–she’d rather take her own life.

–Three gypsy skirts, assorted colours–only useful if she needed an emergency tent while camping, a hobby up there on her enjoyment list somewhere between basket-weaving and piercing her clitoris with a stapler.

–Two cheap denim miniskirts–definitely handy, if she planned on taking up residence in a trailer in a Southern US state.

–Three pairs of black trousers of unidentifiable make or fabric. One of those would have to do. She felt the fabric–pure new wool. Kidding. They were of such high-grade polyester that if she went within twenty yards of any type of incendiary device there was a good chance she’d spontaneously combust.

She pulled a sweater from Ginny’s drawer, then immediately tossed it to one side when she realised it had butterflies on it. Dear God. This couldn’t get any worse. She pulled out another sweater and inspected it: pink wool with embroidered red reindeers. Reindeers. In October.

She turned back to the wardrobe and dragged a white blouse from the furthest end of the rail. It was probably Gin’s old school shirt, but since it was that or the reindeers, it was going on. She’d leave the top couple of buttons open so that her Agent Provocateur slate-grey silk bra peeped out, giving the whole outfit a small but significant edge of style. She pulled her hair back and gripped it in a tortoiseshell clasp. There was no point even looking for a decent pair of straighteners–she knew without even asking that Ginny thought GHD was a violent offence that carried a mandatory two-year sentence.

She plodded down to join Rosie O’Donnell and Martina Navratilova. God, she couldn’t even look them in the eye. She knew she was being ridiculous–the chances of middle-aged-woman on middle-aged-woman action even registering on her mother’s radar were about as high as Vera having a part-time job as a stripper. Shit, that reminded her. She’d forgotten to phone Jude to let him know Ginny was coming. No matter, she knew he wouldn’t mind. He was such a sweetheart. Kind, generous, self-deprecating and built like an Adonis–just a shame that he was such a serial shagger, she wouldn’t touch his privates without the protection of antibacterial spray and a pair of marigolds.

She wandered into the kitchen. ‘Morning, Mum. Morning, Auntie Violet,’ she grumbled as she pulled out a chair and sat down.

‘Morning, darling,’ said her mother, Vera, kissing her on her head. ‘Oh, it’s so lovely to have you here, dear. Just like the old days.’

Roxy tried valiantly to muster a smile as she attempted to masticate soggy Shreddies. The welcome mat at the kitchen door would have tasted better. Urgh, she missed her lightly toasted bagel with organic marmalade.

She sighed as her mother and aunt bustled off to attend to the rest of their morning routine.

As soon as they’d left the room she picked up the phone. Ginny answered on the first ring.

‘Your life is officially crap,’ Roxy announced.

‘And this is a newsflash to you?’ Ginny laughed. ‘Anyway, it’s not crap. There are loads of nice things about my life.’

‘Name three without hesitation.’

‘Darren, my mother and…erm…’

‘Sorry, time’s up! And anyway, the joy of having two people you love is outweighed by the fact that you possess a butterfly jumper. Have I taught you nothing?’

‘You know, you are so shallow, Roxy. One butterfly jumper doesn’t make me a bad person…’

‘No, but the reindeer one proves you’re a fucking lunatic.’

Ginny shrieked with laughter. ‘Don’t let my mother hear you swearing–before you know it she’ll have the rosary beads out and Father Murphy will be making house calls.’

‘Jesus, shoot me now,’ Roxy muttered.

‘Not sure that Jesus actually takes requests. Anyway, why aren’t you on your way to work?’

‘Just going. What are you doing?’

‘Oh, I’m still in bed. Jude just brought me an orange juice and a warm bagel. With marmalade.’

‘I’ve never liked you.’

‘Oh, sword through my heart. Now get to work. And remember to keep all my records up to date–it took me months to devise that system and get it up and running.’

‘Ginny, you really need to get a life. And I don’t mean mine. Anyway, how’d Mr Motivator take the news of your thirty-day desertion?’

‘Fine.’

‘Honestly?’

‘Yeah, fine.’

‘You haven’t told him yet, have you?’

‘Not exactly. Okay, not at all. He got cut off last night and I’ve not been able to reach him since. So I was thinking, since we’re doing this role-reversal thing and I’ve spent my entire life delivering messages of doom for you, maybe you could break the news. Gently. He’s doing a Bums & Tums class in the back room of the library for the Young Catholic Mothers this morning at nine thirty. But please, please, Roxy, promise that you’ll say you begged me to help you. I don’t want him to be pissed off before I’ve had a chance to explain it properly to him.’

Roxy groaned. ‘Ginny, it might have escaped your notice, but your boyfriend isn’t exactly my biggest fan. He’s never liked me since I tried to set you up with Jason Morrison in fourth-year PE. You’d have been much better off with him–he’s made it to the first team at Millwall.’

‘Yep, and the Sunday Mirror had two pages of photographs of him snorting coke off some female’s nipples at a dogging site last weekend.’

‘Well, no one’s perfect. Okay, I’ll break the news gently. Anyway, better go before my mother grounds me for late time-keeping. Oh, and if I die today, tell the doctors it was polyester poisoning–it’ll save them doing a post mortem.’

She hung up as her mother hurried back into the room. ‘Come on, dear, if I don’t open up the community centre then the Perky Pensioners committee will be loitering on the pavement and those mobile oxygen tanks are such an obstruction to passers-by.’

Roxy somehow resisted the urge to stab herself to death with her Shreddies spoon.

‘Okay, you go warm up the car and I’ll just get my bag.’

‘Car? Oh, no, dear, Violet’s got me on a diet and exercise plan and I think it’s starting to work–I’ve lost two pounds this month! Although that might be something to do with starting the change . Anyway, we walk to work. Look, I’ve got my pedometer–10,000 steps a day–got to keep the bones strong and the muscles flexible.’

Roxy’s life flashed before her. Or, rather, the life of her £650 Louboutin shoes. She felt like she’d just been told a family member was on life support and unlikely to make it.