I’ve just read that bitch in the Post slagging you off again. Silly cow. She’s just jealous because you’re young and beautiful and she’s a forty-something has-been.’
‘Oh right. I haven’t seen it,’ Poppy lied. Meena always got cross with Poppy for letting Hannah get to her.
‘Good. Don’t. It’ll just upset you. So how are things?’
‘Well, Clara’s had a bit of diarrhoea but—’
‘Too. Much. Information.’ Meena was very sweet to Clara when she saw her, pulling faces and tickling her, but like most childless people she had simply no inkling of the gigantic space a child took up in your life. Poppy didn’t blame her, not so long ago she’d been equally clueless. ‘So what have you been up to?’
‘Oh, the usual. Shopping.’
‘In Westbourne Grove?’ Meena perked up.
‘No, Tesco’s, you muppet.’
‘Poppy! I don’t get it. You’ve married a rich man, why don’t you spend more time flexing his plastic?’
‘You know I don’t like shopping much. It’s boring.’ Plus, the joy of wandering around boutiques, flicking through racks of clothes and fingering fabrics, was somewhat diminished when your daughter had a habit of lifting up the changing-room curtain just as you’d thrown your bra on the ground, or dashing off into the shop when you were wearing nothing but knickers and tights. But Poppy wasn’t going to go into that. In any case, Meena was moving on.
‘Listen, you’ve got to help me. Dan’s texted.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Dan was a banker from Goldman’s or Salamon’s – Poppy forgot which – who Meena occasionally slept with. ‘What did he say?’
“‘R U around Saturday nite?” What do you think? Do you think that’s good?’
‘Of course it’s good.’ Poppy never quite understood the arcane rituals surrounding Meena’s love life. Because her only proper boyfriend had been Luke, she’d missed out on the rite of passage that was flirting in bars, one-night stands, waiting for texts, studying his page on Bebo, all the things that dominated her friend’s existence. Poppy tried to give useful advice, but she felt often as if she were trying to translate that day’s Financial Times into Mandarin, so limited was her vocabulary in the language of emoticons and poking.
She knew Meena thought she had the perfect life, but often Poppy felt a little jealous of her friend who had nothing more to worry about than whether to wear the red or the green top to Boujis on Friday or alter her Facebook status to ‘in a relationship’, while Poppy – who’d thought Luke would free her from all cares – found herself hassling the landlord to send someone round to mend the dishwasher. Sometimes when she looked in the mirror, she was surprised at the fresh, unlined face that stared back at her, so staid and careworn did she feel inside.
‘I don’t know,’ Meena was musing, ‘I think he thinks I’m easy. He always gets in touch, just like that out of the blue. It’s not respectful. I think I’m going to ignore it.’
‘But you like him, don’t you?’
‘Mummmee. Whassat?’
‘Just a minute, darling. I…’
‘Mummeee!’
Poppy shrieked. Clara was holding out a clear plastic bag containing a fresh dog turd.
‘No! No! Put that down. Dirty! Dirty! Dirty!’
Clara burst into tears as her mother threw the offending object into the road. Help! Poppy was sure dog shit had some bug in it that made you blind.
‘Clara, don’t touch your eyes, don’t touch your eyes.’ She picked her up. ‘Come on. We have to get home quickly and wash your hands. Meena, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.’
‘What about the school reunion?’
‘Oh…’ They’d been invited to a reunion at Brettenden in a month’s time and were still debating about whether to go or not. Meena was pro, Poppy had been anti. But right this second, she was more concerned with saving her daughter’s eyesight. ‘Say yes, if you like. I’ll talk to you later.’
They marched up the road, Poppy
‘Oh right. I haven’t seen it,’ Poppy lied. Meena always got cross with Poppy for letting Hannah get to her.
‘Good. Don’t. It’ll just upset you. So how are things?’
‘Well, Clara’s had a bit of diarrhoea but—’
‘Too. Much. Information.’ Meena was very sweet to Clara when she saw her, pulling faces and tickling her, but like most childless people she had simply no inkling of the gigantic space a child took up in your life. Poppy didn’t blame her, not so long ago she’d been equally clueless. ‘So what have you been up to?’
‘Oh, the usual. Shopping.’
‘In Westbourne Grove?’ Meena perked up.
‘No, Tesco’s, you muppet.’
‘Poppy! I don’t get it. You’ve married a rich man, why don’t you spend more time flexing his plastic?’
‘You know I don’t like shopping much. It’s boring.’ Plus, the joy of wandering around boutiques, flicking through racks of clothes and fingering fabrics, was somewhat diminished when your daughter had a habit of lifting up the changing-room curtain just as you’d thrown your bra on the ground, or dashing off into the shop when you were wearing nothing but knickers and tights. But Poppy wasn’t going to go into that. In any case, Meena was moving on.
‘Listen, you’ve got to help me. Dan’s texted.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Dan was a banker from Goldman’s or Salamon’s – Poppy forgot which – who Meena occasionally slept with. ‘What did he say?’
“‘R U around Saturday nite?” What do you think? Do you think that’s good?’
‘Of course it’s good.’ Poppy never quite understood the arcane rituals surrounding Meena’s love life. Because her only proper boyfriend had been Luke, she’d missed out on the rite of passage that was flirting in bars, one-night stands, waiting for texts, studying his page on Bebo, all the things that dominated her friend’s existence. Poppy tried to give useful advice, but she felt often as if she were trying to translate that day’s Financial Times into Mandarin, so limited was her vocabulary in the language of emoticons and poking.
She knew Meena thought she had the perfect life, but often Poppy felt a little jealous of her friend who had nothing more to worry about than whether to wear the red or the green top to Boujis on Friday or alter her Facebook status to ‘in a relationship’, while Poppy – who’d thought Luke would free her from all cares – found herself hassling the landlord to send someone round to mend the dishwasher. Sometimes when she looked in the mirror, she was surprised at the fresh, unlined face that stared back at her, so staid and careworn did she feel inside.
‘I don’t know,’ Meena was musing, ‘I think he thinks I’m easy. He always gets in touch, just like that out of the blue. It’s not respectful. I think I’m going to ignore it.’
‘But you like him, don’t you?’
‘Mummmee. Whassat?’
‘Just a minute, darling. I…’
‘Mummeee!’
Poppy shrieked. Clara was holding out a clear plastic bag containing a fresh dog turd.
‘No! No! Put that down. Dirty! Dirty! Dirty!’
Clara burst into tears as her mother threw the offending object into the road. Help! Poppy was sure dog shit had some bug in it that made you blind.
‘Clara, don’t touch your eyes, don’t touch your eyes.’ She picked her up. ‘Come on. We have to get home quickly and wash your hands. Meena, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.’
‘What about the school reunion?’
‘Oh…’ They’d been invited to a reunion at Brettenden in a month’s time and were still debating about whether to go or not. Meena was pro, Poppy had been anti. But right this second, she was more concerned with saving her daughter’s eyesight. ‘Say yes, if you like. I’ll talk to you later.’
They marched up the road, Poppy
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