‘Oh, Carly, you haven’t changed. You’re still a walking disaster.’
I nod my head gleefully. ‘I know,’ I agree. ‘Does that mean you’ll come?’
She thinks about it for all of three seconds. ‘I suppose someone has to keep their eye on you.’
We go to Sarah’s house, pack a suitcase and take it to my mum’s. I call for a Chinese takeaway and open a bottle of wine. I dial Kate’s number in London. If I’m not wrong, Carol and Jess will still be there, nursing their hangovers. Strange, but for me, last night’s going away party already feels like a lifetime ago.
Kate answers almost immediately. ‘Home for Drunks and Strays.’
‘Kate, it’s me. Are the girls still there?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. I’ve had to warn Bruce not to light a match, because with the fumes in here, the house would explode. I’m in the kitchen making the tenth coffee pot of the day.’
‘Put me on loud speaker and tell them to come and listen into this call. I’ve got a surprise for you all.’
There’s a yell, then a pause, before Carol speaks first. ‘This had better be good, Cooper. I risked an aneurysm by getting off the couch.’
‘I’ve got someone who wants to speak to you.’
‘It had better be Richard Gere,’ Jess moans.
I look over at Sarah, who’s holding the cordless phone procured from my mother’s bedroom and grinning from ear to ear. I motion to her to speak.
‘I was just wondering which one of you lot borrowed my black sequinned boob tube about ten years ago. I think it’s time you returned it.’
Another pause. I can almost hear the sound of their brains whirring.
Think of the noise in a stadium when the Scotland football team score a goal, then triple it. That comes close to the bedlam coming from the phone. They’re all talking and screaming at once.
‘STOP!’ I yell. Silence. ‘Now, one at a time. Jess, you go first.’
‘Sarah, this is even better than Richard Gere. Where have you been?’ There’s not a hint of a rebuke in her voice, just sheer joy.
‘In the frozen food aisle at Tesco’s.’ She laughs. ‘It’s a long story, Jess. We’ll catch up next time I see you. God, I’ve missed you lot!’ More tears are flowing.
Kate takes over. ‘I can’t believe it’s you, Sarah. We’ve missed you too, babe. When can you come visit us?’
‘Soon, I hope. But right now, I’m getting ready to go to St Andrews with our crazy friend here.’
I can hear them all simultaneously groan and clasp their hands to their foreheads.
‘Don’t let her get you into trouble, Sarah, there’s every chance she’ll end up in jail this time,’ Carol jokes.
I protest loudly.
Two hours, three bottles of wine and a beef kung po later, we eventually hang up.
When my mum gets the phone bill, she’ll hit the roof – probably with Ivan still attached.
Sarah looks completely different from the woman trudging round the supermarket this morning. Her face is glowing, her eyes are bright, she’s chuckling incessantly and she looks five years younger. She flops out on one sofa, I do the same on the other one.
She raises her glass. ‘To us, my friend. It’s been a great day.’
In two minutes, she’s fast asleep, still smiling.
Next morning, a knock on the door wakes me. I open my eyes and look around, trying to remember where I am. There are posters of monsters and robotic warriors on every wall. Michael’s room. My mother brought Michael’s teenage bedroom from our old house when she moved here. No wonder he never came back.
I stumble to the door and open it just wide enough for me to see who it is, but not to allow them to see that I’m wearing blue pyjamas with Terminator 2 blazoned across the front and woolly socks. I look like an overgrown cartoon character.
‘Er, I have a hire car for a Miss Cooper?’ He looks about fourteen. Surely he’s not old enough to drive? God, I’m getting old.
Covering my pjs with a cardi, I get my driving licence and we complete the paperwork.
When he leaves, I wake Sarah by wafting a cup of Kenco’s finest under her nose. She sits up, then clutches her head and lies back down.
‘My head hurts,’ she whines.
‘That’s because you’re out of practice. Now, get your kit on and let’s go. We’ve got a man to find.’
‘Story of my life,’ she answers.
An hour and two packets of Resolve later, we set off. It’s like a Scottish version of Thelma and Louise. More ‘Morag and Agnes’.
The drive to St Andrews is beautiful. We stop for a coffee and a doughnut at the services beside the Forth Road Bridge and admire the view. I suddenly come over all patriotic. I want to paint my face blue with a white cross in the middle and shag Mel Gibson in a kilt.
We detour to the petrol station for fuel and Pick’n’Mix, but as I pass the newspaper stand, a familiar sight is plastered across the front page of every tabloid. Sarah recognises the astonishment on my face.
‘Carly, what is it?’ She follows my eyeline to the picture on the newspapers. ‘Who are they?’ The photograph is a little grainy. It was obviously taken in the evening by an inexperienced photographer at an unfortunate angle. But there is no mistaking the situation. Or the main characters.
BAD BOY BASIL AND BROTHER-IN-LAW BRAWL
MP DOWN AND KNOCKED OUT
STREET CRIME RISES, BASIL FALLS
‘Sarah, let me introduce you to Jess’s boyfriend, Basil. This was taken at my leaving party.’
She looks at the papers and then slowly back to me. ‘Basil Asquith? The MP?’
I nod.
‘Bloody hell, Carly! What kind of lives have you lot been leading?’
We look at each other for a few seconds before our shoulders begin to shake. Our world is getting more absurd by the minute.
We rush to the payphone to call Jess, but there’s no answer. We try Carol, but no one’s there either. There’s nothing else for it. I call Kate at
