Have a wardrobe clear-out
“It’s so hard.” Suze sighed. “Every time I look at this stuff I think about her. Those bloody yoga pants. She practically lived in them. Look at the state of them. I can’t bear it.”
“I know,” Annie said gently. She didn’t have the same attachment to Polly’s things, the years of knowing her. But all the same it hurt enough, looking at the shoes that would never hold her dancing feet again, the hats that would never go on her funny crazy head. What hurt the most was how normal all this stuff was. She’d known Polly as a rainbow, a comet firing up the sky, but these things—overstretched bras and bally jumpers and reading glasses on her bedside cabinet—these belonged to a woman who’d been exceptionally ordinary. In the same way that everyone was exceptional and ordinary all at the same time. “We better get this done before Tom gets back.” They were in the old house, packing up the things Polly had left when she fled. By tactful agreement, Tom had taken Fleur out to buy a spiralizer.
“Coo-ee.” Milly came in, knocking softly on the open door. “I managed to get a sitter, after all. Don’t mind, do you?”
“’Course not!” Suze reached out to hug her friend, and for a tiny second Annie felt left out, awkwardly holding a knitted purple hat, and then Milly extended her arms again. “Annie, darling, how are you?” As if she was one of them. A friend. Two more friends.
Annie hugged back, smelling Milly’s perfume, something rare and hand-mixed no doubt. She’d lost weight, and felt angular under her Breton top. “Oh, I’m all right. Trying to get by.”
“Done anything about that lovely doctor you were willed?” Milly asked innocently, opening a drawer.
“Oh! Well, no. He’s gone. Also I don’t think you can really tell people what to do in wills like that.”
There was a brief silence, during which Annie saw the other two exchange a look. “I’ve decided I’m going back to work,” said Milly. “Seb will just have to reduce his working hours. Or pay for a nanny.”
“And I’ve broken up with Henry,” said Suze. “You know…” She made a gesture around her chin, indicating a big bushy heard. “P was definitely right about that. He said me crying every day was ‘really harshing his mellow.’”
Milly started to giggle. “Oh, dear, does he think it’s 1997? Good riddance, darling.”
“I know. Though, at first, I was really mad with her, to be honest—how dare she, bossing us all around like that? First she cut us off, when she got her diagnosis, and we hardly heard from her for months, and then suddenly she was best mates with you, Annie, and it was all one hundred happy days and living life to the full.”
“And now she’s gone,” finished Milly. “And we can’t be mad at her or laugh with her or tell her to get over herself anymore. It’s all just…stopped.”
Annie had never thought what it was like for them, losing their friend. She’d only seen them as sleek, stylish women who had their lives together. “Are you…are you really crying every day?” she asked shyly.
Suze nodded. “Oh, yes. In the shower usually.”
“Me, too,” said Milly. “Only time I get to myself. Although I’ve broken down during Peppa Pig a few times, too.”
“It’s the hospital that does it for me,” Annie confided. “When I visit my mum. She can come out soon, though, luckily.”
“Any help you need with settling her, you just tell us,” said Suze. “Milly and I could move mountains, P always said. And we’ll need a third musketeer now, you know.”
Annie stared down at the tan loafer in her hands until her eyes stopped burning. “Cucumber slices,” she said when she could speak again. “We all just need more cucumber slices. That’s all.”