Shari Low - My Best Friend’s Life

‘He says I can’t just walk out–something about a one-month notice period, blah, blah, blah. He sounds really pissed off. Apparently Sascha has gone off with herpes and Tilly has been barricaded in a hotel by the News of the World because she’s doing a kiss-and-tell on some MP this week, so they’ve got no one to cover for me. He says I’ll lose my holiday pay and my salary and, oh, I don’t know, a bloody kidney if I’m not at the desk tomorrow. So much for turning over a new leaf.’

Roxy looked at her watch. ‘The new, penis-avoiding me lasted for a whole eight hours…’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘…and now Felix will know where to find me and he’ll come begging me to take him back.’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘…And I tell you, if he pitches up with a bunch of petunias I’ll shove them up his…What?’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Do what?’

‘Cover your shift at the Seismic. Sam’s the guy I met at your birthday party, right? The one who helped me fill the vol-au-vents?’

Roxy groaned. ‘Still can’t believe you brought vol-au-vents to my party. Thank God Gordon Ramsay couldn’t make it or you’d have had his stroke on your conscience.’

‘Can we just focus on Sam? He was nice. Your type actually–how come you didn’t go for him instead of the dickhead?’

Roxy’s lip pouted even further than usual. ‘Thought about it, he fits all the criteria, but the man works in a brothel–could you imagine the dinner-party conversation? “Hi, I’m Jeremy, I’m in hedge funds, and you?” “I’m Sam–vaginas.”’

Ginny shrieked with laughter, but Roxy barely rose from her morose state. ‘Anyway, Sam, party, so?’

‘Well, he was nice. Vaginas aside, obviously. Said if I ever decided to move into the city I should check in with him to see if there were any vacancies. Of course, I was wearing your clothes, your jewellery and your shoes at the time, so he probably thought I was Miss Cosmopolitan Girl about Town. Anyway, if it’s only for a month, surely he wouldn’t mind?’

‘But even if it was okay with Sam, what about your job? Where will you live? You can’t commute, the hours are too irregular.’

‘I’ll move into your place.’

‘And I would live…?’

‘Here.’

‘You’re kidding me.’

Ginny’s inspiration was gathering speed. Suddenly this seemed like the best idea she’d ever had. Spontaneous? She could be spontaneous. Her enthusiasm bubbled. Spontaneous was her middle name. Actually, it was Violet, after her mother, but that wasn’t the point.

‘I’m not. Come on, Roxy–it totally works! That gives you a month to sort out what you’re going to do with your life and heal that devastated soul. Should be ample time. You can live here and you can take my job in the library. You said it yourself, it’s the best place to research your future options.’

‘But they’d never let me.’

‘Course they would. Hold on, I’ll ask the manager.’ Ginny opened her bedroom door.

‘Muuuuum, is it okay if Roxy takes my place at the library for a few days?’

‘Course it is, dear. Now, hurry up, or I’ll have to microwave your hoisin sauce.’

‘That’s settled then. Come on, you know what to do there, you covered my holidays.’

‘That was in 1998!’

‘Trust me, nothing’s changed. What shift are you supposed to be on tomorrow?’

‘Er, noon till eight,’ replied Roxy tentatively. She had a horrible feeling that for the first time in her life she was being outmanoeuvred. The library. One month. God, she could smell the boredom.

But then, she couldn’t face London again. She needed a break. She needed to be away from the Seismic, away from memories of Felix, away from the constant pressure to be nice to grown men who paid for women half their age to attach probes to their testicles.

‘Okay, I’ll do it. On one condition…’

‘Name it,’ said Ginny.

‘I’m changing that duvet. If I’m going to sleep with Westlife, then I want them to have working parts.’

Summary:

Ginny shows little or no interest in PE, Drama, Art or Music. Her only focus in the arts is in the field of literature, where Ginny shows a voracious appetite for all genres.

This was reflected in her achievement of second place in the county short-story competition with her splendid entry, ‘The Day My Cousin Stole My Bike’.

Ginny should be encouraged, however, to broaden her interests to encompass other disciplines and areas.

Personal Skills:

Ginny’s behaviour and conduct within the school this year has, as always, been exemplary. She has achieved a 100 per cent attendance record and a perfect punctuality score.

She is articulate, pleasant, diligent and always keen to help others.

She works well under direction, but is equally capable of using her own initiative.

Ginny has a keen analytical mind and excels in her ability to absorb and process information.

Ginny has now assumed her new role in the school library, where she is responsible for the efficient management of the record systems and the inventory. She is handling this position with efficiency and enthusiasm.

Challenges/Development Needs:

Ginny continues to lack confidence and finds it difficult to assert herself, especially in the presence of authority or stronger characters. As a consequence of this, she can occasionally be easily led–as witnessed by the smoking incident earlier in the year.

Shyness also continues to be a challenge, and this often prevents Ginny from participating in class or group discussions or projects.

It is hoped that as Ginny matures her confidence will improve, allowing her interpersonal skills to develop to the same level as her intellectual abilities.

Signed:

Ginny. Day One, Sunday, 9 p.m .

It was hard to tell what was thumping louder: the wheels of the train, Ginny’s heart or the adrenaline that was making her toes tingle. Actually, the latter two may have been caused by the fact that she was wearing Roxy’s Gina boots and they were a size and a half too small. But bugger it, she was done with playing it safe, being sensible and pitching camp in her comfort zone–now, for war, hostage situations, life and fabulous footwear, she was adopting the motto of the fearless: Who Dares Wins.

As long as the blisters didn’t turn septic and kill her first.

And anyway, she was hardly going to start her windswept glamorous month in the UK’s metropolis in a pair of Hush Puppies that she had fished from the Shoerite sale bin.

She spotted the middle-aged woman in the beige padded mac sitting across from her, eyeing up her faux leopardskin trolley-case: flashy, trashy, and guaranteed to make Jackie Collins weak at the knees with lust. She’d had to prise Roxy’s fingers off it one by one. It was one thing taking her job, her flat and her life, but apparently her luggage was connected to her soul by an invisible umbilical cord and could only be freed by two hours of persuasion, vast amounts of grovelling and the promise of a blood donation should Roxy ever require it.

This furry suitcase on wheels was the personification of the new Ginny: bold, outrageous, completely out of character with its environment. Her stomach flipped with a surge of excitement, an emotion that up until that afternoon she’d thought twenty-seven years in Farnham Hills had knocked out of her. Ten miles from Chipping Sodbury, almost two hours west of London by train, population 3,453, Farnham Hills should have an official disclaimer at the village gates.