Page 29 of Christmas Every Day
‘Eh?’ Sarah blinked. Jamie stood up, opposite Ashley. ‘I told you why I picked that book, Ashley. I don’t have to defend it. If we can put up with tripe about women and their wheels we can cope with Madelaine Smith.’
‘Tripe?’ Lucille slammed her wine glass onto the table, sloshing the recently topped-up contents onto the cloth. Florence poked her head out and barked.
‘Hillary will never reply to my invitation if we don’t do her book.’ Ashley brushed a tear from one eye. ‘Every month I ask and you always shout me down.’
‘That’s because it isn’t your turn!’ Frances shouted. ‘And when are you going to take the hint, woman? She’s never coming to the club! Are you dim-witted as well as unbalanced?’
‘Frances!’ Ellen shouted back. ‘Behave!’ Florence barked a couple more times in defence of her mistress.
Lucille smirked. ‘And, seriously, it’s women like Hillary West and her fans, teeming about the place in flouncy skirts and oversized jewellery, clogging up the roads on their bicycles and cutting their own hair – it’s these women who keep the gender pay gap at 20 per cent. How can you possibly earn the same as a man when you’re steeping your brain in this emotional vomit?’
‘Emotional vomit?’Ashley squealed. And then she picked up her Coke glass and tossed the contents in Lucille’s face.
Lucille gasped, shook her head like a wet dog, stood up and returned the gesture. Ashley ignored the drips running down her cheek and grabbed the nearest glass to hers, which was empty. As was every glass on the table, except for mine, which I hastily picked up. She swiped the crisp bowl a second before Kiko managed to grab it, and launched it at her adversary.
‘If you’ve messed up this sixty-quid haircut I’ll kill you!’ Lucille screamed, as everyone not involved in the fight grabbed the remaining contents of the tabletop and backed away.
‘Well, perhaps you should try cutting your hair yourself!’ Ashley replied.
Ellen and Jamie scooted round and placed a hand on each woman’s arm. ‘Enough,’ Ellen said. ‘That isenough. We can’t end every month covered in wine.’
‘Not when I’m clearing it up, we can’t,’ Sarah muttered.
‘Too much energy!’ Frances pointed her stick at first Lucille, then Ashley. ‘Bored and restless children misbehave, and get irritable, rude and silly. The pair of you are bored witless. You need to stop talking about other people’s stories and start living your own. And that goes for all of you!’ She glared at the rest of us. ‘Except for Ellen, who has finally emerged from the swamp of pre-school parenting and is now making something of herself.’
‘I’m not bored!’ Lucille protested. ‘I have a very high-powered and pressurised job, where I’m highly valued and—’
‘A boring job!’ Frances retorted. ‘No fun and no point, just money going round and round and round. If you’re not bored and dissatisfied with your boring life then why are you such a bitch?’
‘Frances!’ everyone but Lucille said.
‘Well,’ she muttered back. ‘It’s for her own good I’m saying it. And Ashley’s. Why is she so obsessed with this author, who clearly doesn’t give a hoot, if she’s not bored with her own life?’
At Ellen’s request, Sarah put the kettle on while the rest of us cleaned up the mess. Once reconvened with hot drinks and caramel shortbread, Ellen asked for our attention.
‘Frances has a point about living our own stories instead of just discussing other people’s made-up ones. So, I’ve a proposal. Seeing as things aren’t working very well at the moment, why don’t we try something different for this year? Instead of discussing books, we’ll start bringing our own stories. Not made-up ones, not a writing group, but the stories of our lives. It took me twelve years to start seeing my dream become a reality. I can’t wait to tell you what it’s like studying midwifery. But it’s crazy hard, trying to remember how to write an essay and keep up with all these eighteen-year-olds. I could use some encouragement. Why don’t we all set ourselves a goal – something exciting and challenging – and over the year we can share how it’s going? We can set a target to finish our goals by the Christmas party.’
We sat there for a moment, thinking about that.
‘I like it,’ Frances said. ‘Sometimes at eighty-four you need an excuse to get up and at ’em in the morning. To beat the aches and the wobbles and the tiredness and still have a go at life.’
‘I’m not sure…’ Ashley picked at a loose thread on her cardigan. ‘I can’t think of a goal.’
‘I say we go for it,’ Sarah said. ‘We could call it the Get Yourself a Life Worth Telling Stories About by Christmas Book Club Challenge.’
‘The Christmas Book Club Challenge, for short,’ Jamie added.
‘Well, let’s give it a month and see how it goes,’ Ellen said. ‘And if it can avoid wine being spilled. Or blood. Votes?’
Everyone voted yes, we could give it a go.
And I’d say this: the Christmas Book Club Challenge was anything but boring.
11
Before going home, Sarah asked if I fancied another girls’ night the following Friday. ‘Sean’s supposed to be having Edison for the evening.’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘Although I’ve not told Edison yet. Last time he “forgot” to turn up. Apparently I should have reminded him. We’d only sorted it that afternoon.’
‘I sometimes think Adam would forget he had kids if I didn’t remind him,’ Kiko said. ‘And he lives in the same house as them.’
