Page 9 of When We Were Friends
Emily screwed the piece of paper into a tight ball and tossed it onto the ground. ‘That’s what I think of Hugo.’ For a second, an earnest expression crossed her face and her voice became less harsh. ‘Your son’s better off without him, Morgan. I’m sorry you’re having a tough time but bringing his slimeball dad into your life might make things even worse.’ Emily left.
‘What did you expect?’ Paige asked quietly, before putting her umbrella up. She went to say something else. Tried several times. ‘It’s a lot to get your head around,’ she eventually muttered in a numb tone, folded the paper carefully and put it in her handbag, then walked away without saying another word.
Cheeks slashed by torrents of rain, Morgan stood in a puddle as the best friends she’d ever had hurried off, feeling like a little girl left in the playground all alone. A random maths fact came to mind, the sort that would have made the others laugh affectionately, back in the day. Nine was widely seen as a magic number because if you multiplied any number by it, the sum of the digits of the new figure would always add up to nine. However, for obvious reasons, the girls always believed the number four was the most special, and it was also the only number that has the same number of letters as its value. But now one, plus one, plus one, plus one, didn’t come to four.
It came to nothing. The Secret Gift Society had lost its magic.
5
PAIGE, EMILY, TIFF
Sodden umbrella at her feet, Paige sat in the café at the end of the precinct where a pedestrianised area stretched as far as the eye could see, towards the Tesco and multi-storey car park.
She pushed away her mug of green tea.
Morgan had got pregnant as a teenager. She had a son. ByHugo.
Independent, never-getting-married, never-having-kids Morgan was a mother.
And yet Paige shouldn’t have been so surprised. The week or two before the prom, Paige’s friend had seemed different. She’d looked more tired, lost her bounce, went off the snacks they’d buy from the corner shop near the school. Paige had got a feeling something wasn’t right. Morgan wasn’t one to suffer from exam stress. Then after the prom, she’d put it down to Hugo’s revelations.
After the meeting with the others, in a daze, Paige had walked down into the town that hadn’t changed much in all this time. She passed the shops, needing something that could warm the coldness that had taken hold inside. When she was a teenager, the town’s box-shaped buildings and uninspiring high street shops didn’t seem boring. In fact, she and her friends had loved Dailsworth, a ten-minute walk from school, down Rowan Hill, with Boots for toiletries, River Island for clothes, and the supermarket’s passport picture photo booth. They’d hang out at the café where Paige now sat, although the leather-buttoned booths had gone, along with the simpler menu. Now the counter paraded a row of syrup bottles and toppings. A group of schoolgirls came in and ordered toffee nut lattes. They looked about sixteen and Paige’s heart raced as an image from the past forced its way into her head.
The evening of the prom, Paige rang her dad and sobbed all the way home. He was supposed to be bringing her friends back too, for the sleepover, but Paige cried even harder when he suggested looking for them. So he rang their parents, explained that the four girls had fallen out, said he’d drop off their overnight bags tomorrow. Paige had sat on the sofa in her mother’s arms. She didn’t pry, or try to get Paige to talk, she simply held her tight. Her mum had always been good like that.
In the early hours, Paige lay in bed, staring at the three overnight bags on her carpet. Emily’s was partly open and Paige squinted. A knitted mortar board stuck out. She couldn’t help zipping the bag open to take a look. Four of them lay on Emily’s pyjamas. One had a knitted lipstick sewn on top – Tiff loved experimenting with make-up. The next had a big daisy on it, Paige’s favourite flower; she loved making daisy chains. A pen sat on the third – Morgan’s head was always in a puzzle book – and on the fourth was a knitted cat. Emily dreamt of owning one; her mum wouldn’t allow pets.
Paige had taken the little daisy mortar board to bed, carefully putting it back in Emily’s bag the next morning.
As if it had happened yesterday, not in a different decade, Paige’s hand shook as she lifted her green tea. After a sip, she texted Felix, told him she’d be late back. But another drink later, Paige still couldn’t face returning. Felix had his work trip coming up and was so excited, she didn’t want to dampen his spirits. She’d done that enough in recent months. How sensible the two of them had thought it was, not to get married until they were financially rock solid, with a mortgage, decent cars, money for holidays abroad. Yet part of her envied Morgan, thrown into pregnancy at the deep end before responsibilities held her back.
Tiff had undergone such a transformation and for different reasons, Emily too, whose soft heart seemed to have turned to rock, like liquid sugar burned to bitter caramel. As for Morgan, a sense of ill-ease had crept over Paige ever since her old friend had talked about the society re-forming. Paige couldn’t explain her hunch that there was more to all this than Morgan simply wanting to find her son’s father.
Morgan, Emily, Tiff. For a fleeting second, her spirits lifted. Paige had lost count of the times, in the past, that she’d wanted to phone them to share good or bad news. She pulled Morgan’s phone number out of her handbag and went to add it to her list of contacts. Paige had something monumental to tell her old friend. She could do it. But then a toddler walked past the café’s window wearing a princess costume. Paige pushed the piece of paper into her pocket, paid for her drink and hurried in the direction of the train station. A man called from behind her, something about a forgotten umbrella. Memories flooded back about how the four of them used to giggle if one of their umbrellas ever turned inside out, in the wind. They’d grab each other’s hands, pretending they were about to take off into the air, like Mary Poppins. However, Paige ignored the man’s voice. Nothing would make her go back again.
* * *
After an untidy search, Emily found her car keys behind a cushion on the sofa. She gripped them tightly, on a mission. She had to get back to Dailsworth High as soon as possible. It was Saturday night. She’d collapsed onto the floor, back leant against an armchair. Smudge eyed her as he strode in and settled on her knee. Disco-like lights cheerfully lit up the room, but they came from a police car zooming past her small, terraced house, siren on. Getting on the property ladder had meant compromising on location, you wouldn’t walk through Crouchden alone after dark. Yet it had been a safe haven all those years ago, after nursing college, when Emily found she could afford to rent a flat here, twenty miles away from Dailsworth – twenty miles away from her childhood home, from memories of her mother.
She hadn’t knocked back a drop of alcohol since the shot of Dutch courage she’d swallowed before this morning’s meeting with the other three at their old high school. For the first time in months, she wasn’t drinking wine all evening to the point of passing out. She told Smudge all about it: Morgan had a child, a boy – by Hugo. It still didn’t compute. Morgan had always been the sensible one – she didn’t date, never had a romantic interest – yet Hugo’s jubilant revelations had disproved this. Being a single parent must have been hard enough, let alone from such a young age.
Paige had changed the least and was still her old, poised self, but Emily had honestly found it difficult to even recognise Tiff. Back in the day, she’d felt sorry for her friend; now and then, Tiff’s mum would hint that her daughter should go on a diet. She’d give her melon for breakfast, salad for lunch, hence the secret binge of sweets on the way back home. A twinge of sadness reverberated across Emily’s chest. Mothers could really screw you over. For Emily, despite the challenges, it would have been a blessing to only have ever had one parent.
She ran her finger over a line of fudge crumbs on the carpet. Morgan was making a huge mistake trying to track Hugo down. All of Emily’s relationships had fallen apart during her twenties – until she met her husband, paramedic Lewis, who gave her trust in people again after everything with her mum shattered her confidence. Well, ex-husband now, she supposed. He’d moved out three months ago, not long after Halloween. They’d both worked a strenuous shift, as was always the way on 31 October, due to knife injuries whilst cutting pumpkins, people tripping over their costumes, allergic reactions to face paints, and drunken parties. Their argument had scared her more than any ghost because she was forced to admit, for the first time, that her marriage was in serious trouble. The signs had been there for about six months previous: the arguments, the accusations of not understanding each other. Their sex life had fizzled out. Lewis spent more and more time with mates from work whilst she’d escape into Netflix’s latest offering.
Emily picked a large crumb of fudge off the carpet and put it in her mouth. Gently, she lifted Smudge up and reassured him she wouldn’t be long.
Thirty minutes later, she parked up outside Dailsworth High School. The gates were locked. She walked to the far-right corner of the front of the school’s grounds. The oak tree still stood there, with that low branch at the front that meant you could easily climb over the railings. The girls would use this way in if a meeting was ever called at the weekend. Heaving herself up, Emily gripped onto the bark. She swung a leg over and fell to the ground on the other side, giving a yelp. Back in the day, the others would have laughed, having made sure first that she wasn’t hurt. As Emily limped across the field, mud splashed up her grey joggers. On reaching the hidden door to the disused basement, by the tree, she took out her phone and switched on the torch app.
For fifteen minutes, she scoured the ground. It had to be there. Ten minutes later, she still hadn’t found it amongst the soil and grass. About to leave, Emily kicked a nearby patch of nettles. They parted to reveal a small ball of white paper, perfectly dry. Fumbling, she unrolled it. Morgan’s mobile phone number. Hugo might really mess Olly up. Some people should never have children – she knew that better than anyone. Morgan’s son was an innocent party in all this. He deserved to be protected from worse heartache, the kind that had ruined Emily’s life. Carefully, she pocketed the piece of paper, rehearsing in her head what she’d say to Morgan.
* * *
Walking down Wilmslow High Street, Tiff stole a look in a shop window. Still slim. Thank God. Time hadn’t turned back permanently to the dumpy girl with mousy curls who the popular girls laughed at and the boys ignored. Since last weekend’s visit to her old high school, painful comments from other pupils had flooded back, mostly from Jasmine’s clique who used to tease her, until they didn’t.You’re dumpy, clumsy, you’ll never lose your virginity. Over the years, Tiff had fantasised about going to one of the reunions, with her flat stomach and thighs that no longer rubbed together. That would shut them up. Not that she had ever broken down in front of the bullies. Tiff Anderson was happy with the way she looked, shewas, and everyone else could do one.
Tiff sauntered into the bar, all gilt and shaded glass, each table lit by a flickering, white candle, an elegant ambiance typical of Wilmslow. It was early evening and most seats were full, but then it was Friday. She found her reservation and ordered a glass of prosecco. Two young women, in front of cocktails, stared at her from the corner of the room. They looked at each other, then tapped on their phones. Tiff gave them ten seconds. Five passed and they came over.
‘Are you…?’
