‘He could have killed me!’ I complain to Cricket the next day, when we meet up in a cafe near her house. I’ve come to help replenish her little library with books as it’s almost emptied out, such has been its success, and we’re having a coffee before we start work.
‘Didn’t he see you?’
‘No, he was too busy staring at some young girl. It’s like I was invisible.’
‘It’s our superpower!’ she beams. ‘A reward for getting older.’
‘I’m not sure it’s much of a superpower,’ I grumble. ‘OK, yes, I admit it’s a relief not to be on the receiving end of that kind of unwanted male attention any more . . . I mean, seriously, who wants some idiot in a white van yelling at you out of his window?’ I grimace at the memory. ‘But that’s a lot different from being given a polite compliment, or being offered a seat on the tube—’
I break off as a waiter brings our coffees over to our table, then lower my voice. ‘Or being smiled at by the cute waiter who gives me my flat white.’ He puts down my cup without even looking in my direction and disappears. ‘See. He didn’t even notice I existed.’ I pull a face. What’s that saying about being careful what you wish for?
‘Johnny noticed you.’
‘Apparently Johnny notices anything with a pulse.’ I rip open two sugar packets and stir them into my coffee in an act of rebellion. I don’t quite know why I’m in such a bad mood.
Cricket studies me, her expression thoughtful. ‘I used to turn heads, you know. I would walk into a bar and men would crane their necks. I had legs up to here and I wasn’t afraid to show them.’
Thing is, it’s impossible to remain in a bad mood when you’re with Cricket.
I break into a smile. ‘I know, I’ve seen the photos. The one of you in that cocktail dress at the Savoy . . .’ I raise my eyebrows and pretend to fan myself. ‘Seriously hot.’
She laughs, her eyes dancing at the memory as she cradles her latte. ‘Back then I had a different kind of superpower.’ She takes a sip of coffee, then replaces her cup neatly in its saucer. ‘It’s called youth.’
Shrieks of laughter come from the corner and we both glance over to see a crowd of twenty-something girls, all on their phones, a tangle of long hair and long legs.
‘You know, you never think you’re going to get old. I still feel like that twenty-five-year-old girl inside.’ She stops watching them and turns back to me. ‘Sometimes I even forget until I look in the mirror.’
‘But you still look amazing,’ I protest, looking across at Cricket, who is wearing a large piece of costume jewellery as a choker and her trademark red lipstick.
‘Oh Nell, you darling girl, you are sweet, but I don’t look amazing. I don’t want to look amazing. I just want to look good for my age.’ Her face creases into a smile. ‘You know, when I was an actress there was so much pressure on how I looked. Of course, talent is important, but as a director once told me, no one wants a wrinkled leading lady.’
‘What a bastard! I hope you gave him what for.’
‘I did more than that; I married him.’ She laughs delightedly at my expression.
‘That was Monty?’
‘It was indeed, and I made him eat his words for over thirty years. He ended up writing some very good parts for older women. “But no one wants a wrinkled leading lady,” I would forever tease, and he would always reply, “Oh, but I do, my darling, I do.”’
Abruptly her eyes fill with tears. She sniffs sharply, shaking her head. ‘Silly old goose,’ she mutters.
Reaching across the table, I place my hand on hers. ‘Silly old goose.’
Our eyes meet. We share a smile.
‘I’ll let you into a secret, Nell.’ She leans in and motions for me to come closer. ‘It turns out being invisible is just how you imagined it was going to be when you were a child,’ she confides. ‘It’s nothing to fear, just the opposite – it’s wonderful. It gives you an incredible freedom to do what you want, wear what you want, say what you want – well, most of the time.’ Pulling a sheepish expression, she leans back in her seat. ‘And nobody gives a damn.’
‘Are you sure it’s not you that doesn’t give a damn?’
‘Both.’ She laughs, taking another sip of coffee. ‘When I was much younger I used to be so concerned about how I looked, what people thought, how I was perceived. I used to worry all the time about trying to fit in.’ She shakes her head. ‘What a huge waste of time that was.’
‘But you met Monty, it’s different. I’m still single.’
She nods. ‘It’s true, I was very lucky. And I understand we all want to be visible in some respects . . . to be seen . . . to be acknowledged. It doesn’t matter what age you are . . . especially if you are looking to meet someone.’
Putting down her cup, she fiddles with her wedding band thoughtfully.
‘I don’t have Monty now, and as a widow I felt very invisible. And then you knocked on my door.’
We both smile at the memory.
‘I’m not saying this to be trite or to make you feel better, but believe me when I say this: the people who matter will see you, no matter what.’
She looks at me and I know she sees me, just like I see her. Maybe that’s our real superpower.
‘Now then, I wanted to ask you something.’
I sit back and drink my coffee. It’s getting cold.
‘It’s about Monty.’
‘More books? Clothes?’
‘It’s his ashes, actually.’
‘Oh, Cricket—’ I begin apologizing, but she quickly silences me, telling me not to be silly.
‘I’ve decided where I want to scatter them and I wondered if you would join me. It’s a place that was very special to him; he took me there soon after we first met.’
A story Cricket once told me of Monty taking her to Hampstead Heath for a picnic comes flooding back.
‘Of course. I’d be honoured.’
‘I rather hoped you were going to say that.’ Reaching underneath the table, she pulls something out of her handbag. ‘So I took the initiative and booked two tickets.’
‘Tickets?’ I look at her in surprise. ‘Aren’t we going to Hampstead Heath?’
‘Good Lord, no, whatever gave you that idea?’ She hands me a British Airways ticket. ‘We’re going to Spain.’
I’m grateful for: