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‘Did you make this?’ asked Alex, poking at a shallot with his fork.
‘Why, do you like it?’ Carrie smiled hopefully. He had eaten most of it so she assumed it had passed muster.
‘Can I suggest less salt and perhaps a touch more pepper? It tastes a bit like a ready-meal.’
Carrie’s shoulders sagged. When had she ever served him a ready-meal?
In that second, she made up her mind. She knew exactly what was going on her wish list. And while she was at it, she changed her mind about that last thought, too. It was never too late to change.
Carrie jerked her chair back from the dining table and whisked his plate off him. ‘Certainly.’
‘I hadn’t quite finished,’ said Alex, open-mouthed.
‘You can’t possibly eat that,’ said Carrie. ‘With all that salt.’
She carried the plates into the kitchen. She heard Alex sighing as he shuffled placemats, replacing them in the drawer, the silver cruets clinking as he put them on the sideboard.
She tried so hard to impress him with her food, but it was pointless. She could never meet Cavendish Hall standards. She’d have to do it some other way. The problem was that he loved her like an old jumper, something you don’t have to think about, shapeless, comfortable and always there at the back of the wardrobe. But deep down she wanted to dazzle him, like a daring dress, covered in sequins, impossible to ignore.
She wanted him to be proud of her, but most of all she wanted to be proud of herself.
As it was, dinner was ruined, she’d completely lost her appetite and her chest pounded with resentment. She stood on the pedal and flipped up the lid of the bin. Carrie’s face glazed over as she shovelled forkful after forkful of food into her mouth.
Chapter 4
Sarah opened the door, looking pink-cheeked and vaguely surprised to see them. A cute chubby baby in Tigger-striped pyjamas sat on her hip. His fingers, Jo noticed, were down the neck of his mum’s top.
‘Sorry for the change of plan, hope you don’t mind not going to the pub?’ said Sarah, standing back to let them in.
The tiny hallway struggled to cope with the added burden of visitors and Jo stifled a giggle as she and Carrie ended up wedged between the wall and the staircase, both hurrying to get out of the cold.
‘Of course not!’ said Jo, not really meaning it.
She held out two bottles of wine, a red and a white, and hoped Sarah wouldn’t be stingy with them. She could murder a drink tonight and had been banking on the ambience of the pub to help her relax. Did women even drink while they were breastfeeding? God knows. It wouldn’t stop Jo either way.
Carrie bit her lip. ‘I should have brought wine, sorry,’ she said. ‘But these are for you.’ She handed Sarah a posy of tulips.
‘How pretty!’ Sarah held them at arm’s length away from the baby’s inquisitive fingers.
Carrie waved a hand. ‘Just a few flowers from the garden, nothing special. And these to nibble on.’ She held up a huge bag of crisps and shrugged. ‘I didn’t have much dinner, so …’
Sarah made a couple of trips to the kitchen, still carrying Zac, while Jo and Carrie tried to find space on the rack for their coats.
‘Pretty cottage,’ said Jo. If you like that sort of thing. She was more into open plan and clean lines herself.
‘Bijou, I think is the estate agent’s term,’ said Sarah. ‘Even the bath is miniature. Good job I’m small.’
‘No good for me, then!’ said Carrie, elbowing Jo in the ribs.
‘I didn’t mean …’ Sarah floundered.
‘Nor me; my head’s not far off the ceiling,’ said Jo quickly, reaching her hand up to touch a wooden beam.
‘Er. Come on through.’ Sarah led the way into the living room and stopped abruptly. ‘Gosh! Pigsty alert! Two seconds, just needs a quick tidy. I got in late and there’s never enough time. Um, could someone …?’ She held out the baby.
Me, me, me. Jo’s breath caught in her throat and by the time she had recovered, Carrie had already stepped forward.
‘Would you mind using the hand-sanitizer first?’ Sarah nodded towards the kitchen, where a giant bottle of yellow liquid sat on the counter top. Surely she was kidding? Jo watched in amazement as Carrie, looking bemused, scurried to the kitchen to disinfect herself.
‘You probably think I’m one of those totally neurotic mothers,’ Sarah laughed.
Jo remained silent.
‘Noooo!’ said Carrie, taking hold of Zac with lemon-scented hands.
‘Thanks. Sorry. I’m normally very organized,’ said Sarah, scooping up a plethora of brightly coloured toys and balancing them on an already full wicker basket. ‘Not easy with a cottage this size and a husband whose idea of tidying is just to hide stuff.’
She stood motionless for a moment as if she had forgotten what she was supposed to be doing. Jo, Carrie and Zac hovered in the doorway.
‘Come in, come in,’ Sarah said at last, waving them towards the sofa. ‘Oops!’ She darted forward to retrieve a nappy – thankfully an unused one – just as Jo was about to sit down. ‘Right. Drinks. I’ve got tea, coffee, wine or … just wine, I think?’
Jo sat down gingerly, wondering what else was lurking under the sofa cushions. She watched as Carrie buried her nose in the soft crease of little Zac’s neck. It was all she could do not to grab him from her.
‘Wine. Definitely,’ she replied. She would be needing a good couple of glasses if she was to get through this ‘wish list’ thing.
‘And crisps,’ said Carrie.
‘And then we can all relax,’ said Jo.
She looked at Sarah, who was leaping round the room like a demented salmon. Hopefully.
An hour later, Zac was fast asleep in his cot and the second bottle of wine was open. A couple of candles, some pretty fairy lights and the flicker of flames from the log burner provided the only light in the room and Jo felt very mellow. They were all a bit giggly and amazingly comfortable in each other’s company and probably past the point at which common sense would prevail. Although Jo had drunk the most, she seemed the most sober, and lay with her feet stretched out across Carrie’s lap.
‘So who’s going to go first, then?’ said Jo, cocking an eyebrow. ‘With this bucket list?’
‘You,’ chorused the other two.
‘And let’s call it a wish list,’ said Carrie. The firelight gave her dark features an exotic glow and Jo saw a glimpse of her natural beauty. ‘That sounds far more aspirational. It’s not as if any of us are on our last legs.’
‘Legless more like,’ snorted Sarah, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor like a floppy pixie.
‘You’ve only had one,’ Jo laughed.
Strangely, she was really enjoying herself so far. Even Sarah was quite good company now she’d calmed down after that weird hand-sanitizer routine. What the hell had all that been about?
In truth, she wasn’t really one for having girlfriends. Being with men was much less complicated and girlie chats had never been her thing. So far they had talked about themselves, learning about each other’s lives. It was surprisingly therapeutic.
She felt a twinge of guilt for not trying hard enough to make Abi come along. But she had been adamant that she wasn’t ready to socialize just yet. The poor girl had spent an hour on the phone to her sister in Australia earlier this evening, while Jo watched Toy Story with Tom. Abi’s sister had just had a baby and had been too pregnant to fly over for the funeral. Jo had left Abi looking into flights to Australia online and hoped she would book something. Getting away for a while could help her take her mind off Fréd. Tom would start school in September; this would be their last chance for an extended visit.
But there was a part of Jo that was glad Abi hadn’t come. They had been friends since they were eighteen and Jo would do anything for her. But right now, with Gold’s on the brink of collapse, she needed someone to lean on, to confide in, and it didn’t seem right moaning to Abi; she had enough problems of her own.
A wish list. Where to start? A night with David Beckham? Bigger boobs? How about getting the Duchess of Cambridge to wear Gold’s shoes? Get real, Jo, she chastised herself mentally. As willing as her new friends were, they didn’t possess magic wands.
‘Go on, I’m poised!’ Sarah prodded her with the end of her pen.
‘And nothing to do with the vicar, please. Something you might regret not doing,’ added Carrie, brushing a piece of crisp from her chest.
‘Who says I won’t regret not doing the vicar?’ Jo laughed at Carrie’s worried face. ‘OK, here goes.’
She stopped. There was something she wanted to do. But was she really up for that sort of challenge? They were watching her; Sarah, pen in hand, chewing on her lip, Carrie, hand hovering over the crisp bowl. Oh what the hell! It wasn’t as if any of this wish list stuff was actually going to happen. Just say it.
‘I wish I could go right to the top of the Empire State Building.’
‘New York!’ gasped Carrie. ‘Oh, I’d love to go there too!’
‘Easy peasy,’ said Sarah, writing it down in a very wobbly hand. ‘But didn’t you say you’ve been to New York before on business?’
Jo nodded and pushed herself upright. ‘Every year in September. And every year I look at the Empire State Building from a distance and wonder what it must be like to stand up there and …’ She sighed and shook her head impatiently. ‘The thing is I’m scared witless of heights. I almost didn’t buy my flat because it’s on the first floor. I don’t even like standing at the top of an escalator. I worry I’m going to throw myself down. As if I’ve got no control over my own body. I’ve been known to fall to my knees in a quivering heap. So ridiculous.’
‘I can’t imagine that of you,’ said Carrie, wide-eyed.
‘Oh yeah. It’s entirely possible that I’ll get to the edge and try to jump off.’ She shuddered. ‘Actually, I’ve changed my mind. Let me think of something else.’
‘I’m sure there are safety barriers, Jo,’ giggled Sarah, apparently too tipsy to take Jo’s phobia seriously.
Carrie nodded. ‘I get it. For your wish to come true you have to conquer your fears first. We can help with that, can’t we, Sarah?’
Jo gave them a weak smile. She doubted it; she’d only told them half the story.
A scene from her favourite film – Sleepless in Seattle – flashed into her mind. She had told the truth, well, part of it; she was afraid of heights and she would love to stand at the top of the Empire State Building and look out across Manhattan, from Central Park right down to the Statue of Liberty. But the whole truth, the rest of her wish … to find the man of her dreams waiting for her there, to fall in love, get married, have a family … Well, she kept that to herself.
If life was a stage, to paraphrase Shakespeare, Jo’s role was cast: she was the businesswoman, the one who didn’t do romance, or cook for her man or have children. She had a career. That was just the way it was.
Anyway, the whole thing was futile. There was no way she could ever overcome her fear of heights and climb the Empire State Building, no matter how sincere the other two were with their promise of help. Which was fine, because then she could hold on to the fantasy that if she did make it to the most famous observation deck in the world, her hero might just be there to sweep her off her feet …
‘All right, I’ll do it. Write it down, Sarah.’
All of a sudden she needed a cigarette badly and cursed herself for giving up. She didn’t even have her emergency one in her bag. She made do with a cheese-and-onion crisp and poked Carrie with her toe.
‘You next.’
Carrie had thought about little else for the past forty-eight hours. Jo and Sarah must both expect her to say she wanted to lose weight. She was so fat, it was obvious. But after that last insult about her cooking from Alex, she had to do more than that. She’d stop making jokes about her size and admit how unhappy she was. Scary, though; if she didn’t have food, she would have nothing. Her life revolved around planning the next meal, shopping for it, preparing it and finally serving it to Alex, who invariably had something nit-picky to say.
Both Jo and Sarah had figures Carrie could only dream of; Jo’s long slender legs in her skinny jeans hadn’t got an ounce of fat on them and petite Sarah in her off-the-shoulder jumper and leggings had a far trimmer body than Carrie had ever had, even after having a baby.
Her own stretchy black dress did nothing to hide the rolls of fat on her belly; she was kidding herself that it was flattering. Alex swore blind that he loved her the way she was, but how could he? She couldn’t even bear to look at herself.
So much had happened since she dropped out of uni at twenty. She had been skinny then, before … everything that happened … And more importantly, she had been confident, ambitious and not afraid of anything.
A path stretched out in front of her, leading towards her future. The same path she had been following for the last ten years. It was time. To get a job, to be someone, to do something. She thought back to her wardrobe. If ‘reality’ was grim, it was only Carrie who could change it. She gulped as a sob rose up in her throat.
‘Car-rie?’ Jo waggled her feet on Carrie’s lap to get her attention. ‘Still with us?’
‘Umm.’ Carrie stood up and picked up her handbag. ‘Just need the loo. Upstairs?’
Sarah nodded. ‘It’s the door on the end, next to Zac’s bedroom.’
Carrie excused herself and made her way up the tiny winding staircase. At the top she faced three doors. Brightly coloured wooden letters spelt out Zac’s name on the middle one. Carrie aimed for the open doorway and poked her head inside. It was Sarah and Dave’s room. A chair in the corner was piled high with clothes, bunting in a vintage print hung across the curtain pole and a patchwork quilt covered the double bed. It looked tiny compared with her own king-sized version. There was something more intimate about a smaller bed, though, she thought wistfully. She crept out and headed towards the remaining door.
The bathroom was tiny, bottles of shampoo and shower gel competing for space with about two hundred bath toys. Carrie used the loo quickly and washed her hands. She didn’t have much time before they would wonder what she was up to. If she was going to go through with this mad wish, she needed to do one more thing first. She took a bag of crisps from her handbag and ate them in large handfuls.
Looking in on Zac would buy her another minute, she could finish her crisps off in there. She gently turned the door handle to the baby’s room and went inside.
Zac was lying on his back with his arms up in surrender. Carrie’s throat contracted. He looked angelic; he was such a sweet little thing.
What would she have wanted, boy or girl, she wondered as she tipped the crisp crumbs straight into her mouth. She sighed; there was no point dwelling on what might have been. She stowed the empty packet in her bag and licked her fingers. As she turned to leave, she noticed a red glow in the corner of the room and froze. Dammit! The baby monitor! How loud had her crunching and rustling been?
With a lump in her throat, she tiptoed silently from the room and went to join the others.
‘Here she is,’ said Jo, topping up their glasses. ‘We’re expecting something deep and meaningful now, after keeping us in suspense for the last five minutes.’
‘Was there any sound from Zac?’ asked Sarah with a frown. ‘We just heard the oddest crackling noise through the baby monitor.’
Oh crumbs, they’d heard her! Now she had gone bright red. Talking of crumbs … Carrie brushed a hand over her face. ‘Sorry, that might have been me. I just peeped into his room. He’s fast asleep.’
She picked up her wine glass and took a large sip. Please let’s change the subject. Jo and Sarah exchanged glances but nothing was said.
Carrie managed a shaky laugh. ‘So my wish: I want to wear a bikini. In public. This summer.’
/> Her heart thumped as a few seconds of heavy silence hung between them until Jo clapped her hands.
‘Whoo-hoo! Go Carrie!’ Jo waved her arm in a circle above her head.
‘Why does that need to go on the wish list? You can just do that, can’t you? Mind you, you’re a braver woman than me,’ said Sarah, her pen still poised. ‘My bikini days are well and truly behind me.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Jo. ‘You’re as dainty as a doll.’
‘Seriously, under this jumper is a stomach like a deflated balloon. I’m a martyr to stretch m— Carrie, are you OK?’
Carrie looked from Sarah to Jo, her throat tight with emotion, and wondered whether either of them had ever felt taken for granted, worthless, invisible. Probably not.
‘Sorry,’ she said, pressing fingers under her eyelids to ward off tears. ‘Ignore me, it’s just the wine.’
Sarah put down her pen and patted Carrie’s knee. ‘You can choose another wish if you like. Look. I haven’t written anything down yet.’
Alex had offered to give her anything she wished for. She only had to ask. But this was something she had to do for herself. She wondered whether Jo or Sarah would ever get it.
‘It’s not just about wearing a bikini,’ said Carrie carefully. ‘It’s about being the sort of person who would wear one.’
Jo and Sarah exchanged looks. Sarah squeezed herself on the other end of the sofa and Jo put a comforting arm round Carrie’s shoulders.
‘I look at you two and I realize I’m just wasting my life. You’re both so successful. You’ve achieved loads already. People look up to you. I thought that being a homemaker would be so rewarding, that the “Ladies who Lunch” lifestyle would be fantastic. But it’s not. It’s boring and it makes you fat.’
Carrie looked at her friends’ faces, trying to work out whether their expressions were of concern or horror.
‘You’re not fat, Carrie. You’re just big-boned, you – ouch!’
Sarah rubbed her arm where Jo had just pinched her. She turned back to Carrie and frowned. ‘I don’t mean to pry but why don’t you work, Carrie? You’re the same age as me, no children …’