Page 39 of Did My Love Life Shrink in the Wash?
And now you’re here, standing right in front of me.
‘You know each other?’ Kimmie says, clearly confused. I know, it wouldn’t seem we match in terms of our potential social circles.
‘Yeah, we went to the same school,’ I reply.
‘King Charlie’s,’ she mutters. Yasmin looks down her nose at me slightly. Man, it’s like we’re still sixteen. You don’t have to imagine how much being told in your teens that your beauty supersedes that of your peers, shapes your ego and transforms you into a queen bitch. She’s still on that pedestal, looking me up and down. Well, only down, as she feels about a foot taller than me.
‘You had a baby?’ she mutters.
‘You’re still a model,’ I retort.
I’m not sure what else there is to say to her. Did you go to the school reunion? I did. They served wine out of a box. Could I have my best biro back? This is something to tell the sisters at least; how all my worlds have collided in one day. I just feel glad that I am wearing support knickers.
‘So you give Joe to Yasmin and you just watch from here, is that OK?’ says Zahra.
I nod. I’m not going to demand I be in this video too. I don’t have the footwear or the dance moves. But this feels bizarre to hand over my most precious thing to someone I didn’t really rate at school. I guess this is what we signed up for though. I hand Joe over and Yasmin cradles him in her arms. He looks up at her and gurgles. I won’t lie, this makes me slightly resentful, but I didn’t give him any warning of our history. Standing back, I watch as they carry Joe to set, strip him down to his nappy and swathe him in white. Like baby Jesus? Oh dear God, there’s also a lioness over there. I literally thought that was real. It isn’t. Obviously. But please don’t put my son on the back of the stuffed lioness. I really want to get my phone out, but I signed an NDA when I came in here. They’ve put a giant crown on Special K now and the dancers take position. The sound gets turned up and Joe sits in Yasmin’s arms. I panic for a moment at the dry ice, thinking it’s smoke. I wave at my son. I’m sure he would wave back if he could. Then a bass kicks in. Except I’m standing right in front of the speaker so I jump and scream in fright. The whole set turn to look at me.
‘Stop the music. Who are you?’ asks a director in a baseball cap. Those are some piercing glares.
‘No one, sorry. I’m no one…’ I reply. ‘I’ll just…’ I point a finger to the left of me as I sidestep awkwardly away, disappearing into the shadows, clutching a slightly damp muslin.
Track Nine
‘The Less I Know the Better’ – Tame Impala (2015)
‘No fucking way.’
‘It’s exactly what I thought. Look her up on Insta immediately,’ I tell Lucy on the phone.
‘Where are you?’
‘We’ve finished but there’s some strange wrap-party thing. I’m waiting on Will and breastfeeding Joe in a corridor, it’s all glamour.’
I didn’t want to feed Joe in the bright lights and noise of the studio or get my boobs out in front of all the skinny model types so I escaped into the quiet of a corridor and perched myself on some stairs. It’s not glamorous but it means Joe has a chance to breathe and drink without distraction. He now has a mouth full of breast and looks up at me.That’s Aunty Lucy, isn’t it? Tell her I say hi. Naturally, Lucy was the first person I thought to call when my baby got handed back to me by the one and only Yasmin King. Lucy and I are of close enough age that she would know exactly who I meant.
‘Seriously, I can jump in an Uber and be there in like half an hour. I’ll pretend to be Joe’s agent or something. This is too good.’
‘Stay. Away.’ I can’t imagine what adding Lucy to this party would bring.
‘That bloody school casting its web again. I once met someone on the Metro in Paris who went there.’
We both sigh deeply. Us Callaghans all passed through the doors of King Charles Girls’ Grammar School. They were tolerable days; five Callaghan girls meant we were renowned throughout the corridors, more for our multiplicity than anything else. But we had each other – we never got bullied, we always had someone to run to if we forgot our lunch money. A few of us broke the mould: Ems was Miss Brainiac so won the awards, and was the only Callaghan to be head girl. Lucy was our resident rebel. The skirt was short, the tights had holes in them like cheese. I was the run of the mill, slap bang in the middle, Beth Callaghan. I went to school, I got Bs to match my name and I played the clarinet. Badly. The most rebellious I ever got was to wear a bit of eyeliner and some Doc Martens. University, independence and maturity changed things later on. But school was never a place I shone. I kept my head down and just never dared to look up.
‘Found her,’ says Lucy. ‘Urgh, Yasmin has got a whole Insta influencer thing going on. She’s Ayurvedic.’
‘What is that? Like an allergy to something?’ I ask.
‘No, you donkey. It’s yoga, Hindi, veggie bollocks. She also only wears ethical clothes, hand-sewn and eco-friendly too,’ she says, mocking it with her tones.
‘So no supermarket brand three for a tenner T-shirts in sight?’
This makes Lucy snort with laughter.
‘She also has a sideline in organic hand creams. I know those hand creams. I bought them for Meg. She told me it was like rubbing jizz into her hands,’ she continues. ‘She has a quarter of a million followers. Her boyfriend is in some indie rock group. There’s a dog that looks like a giant rat too. B, it’s literally posey pose pose, deep filter action, sponsored posts of her in a bikini telling us how ethical it is but it’s got a five-hundred-pound price tag.’
‘You can buy a bikini for five hundred quid?’
‘Sis, for that money I want it hand-sewn by monks and it has to swimforme.’
