Page 22 of The Village Christmas Party

‘Well, I thought it was nothing at first, just a spot but it won’t go away.’ I sigh. ‘I haven’t had spots since I was a teenager, eventhen it was rare that I got one. But it isn’t a spot, it’s a clear bump. I’m sure it’s nothing though.’

Gemma is quiet for a moment before she speaks.

‘Look, I don’t want to frighten you, but you ought to get that checked out,’ she says gently. ‘Moles and lumps shouldn’t just appear out of nowhere.’ She frowns.

‘Yes, I’ve thought about that too. I’ve just been so busy with everything lately. I’ll make sure I get it checked out after Christmas.’

‘You will not.’ She places her beer bottle down firmly on the coffee table. ‘You will make a doctor’s appointment on Monday.’

‘It’s literally just over a week until the new year. Besides, I wouldn’t get any results until after Christmas, so let’s just enjoy the holidays.’

‘Okay, but promise me you will get it checked. I am sure it’s absolutely nothing but, well, you were a bit of a sunbed fanatic when we were young, as I recall,’ she reminds me, as if I hadn’t already thought about that myself.

‘I know.’ I sigh. ‘Okay, I promise I will get it checked, let’s not put a downer on the evening and fire up some more tunes.’

I reassure myself that there is no history of skin cancer in the family and there is probably nothing to worry about.

As I listen to the music, Gemma’s comment makes me think of a holiday to Spain, headphones plugged into my Sony Walkman, soaking up the sun on a beach on the Costa del Sol wearing the lowest factor of sunscreen. I was determined to impress my friends with a tan when I got back, instead of heading to the local sunbed shop, which was essentially a room at the back of a general store. It was called Golden Days, which, thinking about it, would probably have been a more suitable name for an old folks’ home. The shopkeeper would hand us a bottle of lotion and take our money, never restricting our visits. It was big business then, and there was always a queue of girls,desperate for a tan before they donned their glad rags, ready for night out on the town. If anything, I’m surprised I don’t have any more sinister moles.

We chat about the old days as we always do when we play our favourite nineties songs, and as midnight approaches, my eyes feel heavy with tiredness.

‘Time for bed then, is it?’ asks Gemma, who I get the feeling would be happy to sit up all night chatting.

‘Gosh, I think it is, yes, I can’t take the pace anymore.’ I smile as I collect our plates to take to the dishwasher.

‘I wish I could feel sleepy at bedtime, but it takes me hours to get to sleep,’ reveals Gemma.

‘Does it?’ I ask, surprised.

‘Yeah, the minute my head touches the pillow my brain goes into overdrive,’ she admits. ‘It’s so annoying. The other night, I found myself googling Jennifer Aniston films at one in the morning. Why on earth would I do that?’

‘You never said you were having trouble sleeping. Is something bothering you?’ I ask.

‘Not especially. I just don’t like being in the flat on my own sometimes. Only lately, that is. And maybe you having a break-in has made me a bit nervous, even though I didn’t think it had,’ she admits.

Which probably explains why she offered to stay here tonight, and, of course, the other night, thinking about it. It never occurred to me that she might be the one who is feeling anxious.

‘Aw, I’m sure you’re perfectly safe, especially being on the second floor,’ I reassure her. ‘And you have secure entry downstairs. Unless you imagine someone shinning up the drainpipe.’

‘Well, I hadn’t thought of that, but I am now, thanks.’ She widens her eyes at me.

‘That’s hardly likely it, is it? Just keep your windows locked though.’

‘I do anyway.’ She laughs. ‘I don’t like the thought of spiders getting in.’

‘You should put some lavender along your windowsill. That will keep them out apparently.’

We head to bed, and I remind Gemma there is a TV in the guest room, if she can’t quite get to sleep.

‘I’ll probably sleep better with you in the next room,’ she says, and I wrap her in a hug. ‘Although I might just stick it on for the drone in the background as that usually sends me off.’

‘Okay. Night then.’

‘Night, Lauren.’

Despite Gemma’s assurance that everything is okay, I can’t help wondering if I am not the only one with something playing on their mind. I guess I will find out when she is ready to talk. We always do in the end.

TWELVE

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