The Age of Misadventure. Judy Leigh

contact take the selfie.

      Bonnie doesn’t call me. I text her three times on Sunday night and by midnight I’m so worried, I ring. She answers me with a faint voice. She’s in bed with a migraine.

      On Monday, I leave her alone and decide she should have time to herself. She can call me if she needs me. For all I know, she’s in Sri Lanka on a second honeymoon.

      On Tuesday, my feet don’t touch the ground. Amanda and I are busy all day and we spend lunchtime advertising for a new beauty therapist. Now Jade is away so often, we need help and business is good enough to try out a new pair of hands.

      I rush to Nan’s at lunch to put her groceries away and during the afternoon, I move from client to client. Diane Morris, now Diane Morris-Kandeh, arrives at 3 p.m. for a facial and spends an hour chattering about her husband, twenty-five-year-old Lamin who by all accounts is descended from a Mandinka warrior. He’s especially warlike in the bedroom. I roll my eyes because hers are closed, make my voice light and coo, ‘Lovely.’

      Amanda and I are still busy at five o’clock. Jade texts me that she’ll jump in a taxi at the station when she arrives back from Brighton just before midnight. She has a client first thing tomorrow, at 7.30. I check my email and we have two applicants already for the therapist’s job: seventeen-year-old Lexi and twenty-three-year-old Ella-Louise, both claiming to have experience in treatments I’ve never even heard of. The younger one has apparently invented new nail-art designs and Ella-Louise has qualifications in intimate waxing for men, so I decide to interview them both on Thursday morning.

      My last client of the day, Mrs Gaffney, whose first name is really Daphne, arrives for her pedicure at five fifteen. She’s seventy-seven and sprightlier than I am at the moment, given my thumping headache. She entertains me with a catalogue of raunchy tales about her first three husbands, so I always enjoy those sessions. She seldom talks about the fourth, who died last year, except to say, ‘He was the love of my life, God rest him.’

      We finish just after six o’clock and Amanda stares out of the window. Beyond the frame, all is grey – the sky is dishwater dark outside, and then a splattering of rain hits the glass and she shudders.

      ‘Rhys’s working the late shift. It looks horrible out there. Am I up for a twenty-minute walk home in a freezing downpour through the park?’

      I take the hint. ‘Stop for a cheeky glass of wine, a bite to eat. I’ll get you a taxi home later. We’ve worked hard today.’

      She sits at the kitchen table and smiles. I uncork a bottle of Merlot and it splashes into two large glasses with a familiar glug. I’ll make beans on toast. The company will be nice.

      Half an hour later, the Merlot bottle is half empty. Or half full. Amanda’s chatting about the coming summer and a holiday in the sun.

      ‘When we first met, Rhys and I spent July on the Algarve in a villa. We had a pool outside, rolling hills, no neighbours. He used to stroll around naked all day in the sunshine …’

      I wrinkle my nose. ‘Sounds like a fire hazard to me.’

      She misunderstands my cynicism.

      ‘Oh, definitely. I believe in keeping our relationship hot. I mean, I didn’t choose a firefighter for nothing. Sometimes I even get him to keep his yellow helmet on.’

      I’m ready to join her in spluttering laughter, but her face is serious. I giggle anyway.

      ‘Rhys and I have everything we want, though. This year, I’ve asked him if we can spend money on experiences. I need a holiday. I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii.’

      I imagine the beaches, the surf, the cocktails, the garlands; lei placed round my neck by a welcoming islander with a huge smile.

      ‘I’ll have to get the calendar out and look at holidays. It’ll be easy if we can appoint one of these new applicants.’

      ‘I hope we find someone.’ Amanda wrinkles her nose.

      ‘We’ll interview on Thursday. I’ve invited Lexi and Ella-Louise.’

      ‘We have plenty of work for at least one of them.’ Amanda scrapes her fork on the plate. ‘We both work far too hard.’

      I agree and reward us both with a top-up from the wine bottle.

      ‘In fact, Georgie, you need a holiday, too.’

      I think of Bonnie and wonder again if she’s at the airport with Adie.

      I nod. ‘It’s been a while.’

      ‘When did you last have a break?’

      I think about it.

      ‘I went to Paris eighteen months ago for a weekend. And before that I went to Palma for ten days. That was ages ago, though.’

      She folds her arms across her chest. ‘By yourself?’

      I nod. ‘I don’t mind travelling alone. It’s always an experience. I talk to people and I go to places where it’s safe, and there’s either a lot of sightseeing, or shopping, or a nice beach or a pool.’

      ‘What about a man?’

      ‘Oh, you can get one of those anywhere. You don’t have to go abroad.’

      She giggles, humouring me. ‘No, really, Georgie, when did you last have a proper relationship?’

      I trot out an easy answer. ‘I’m too busy.’ Then I stop to think. ‘No, I’m not interested in men and they’re not interested in me. Not the nice ones. There was the sleazy man with the clipped beard at Demi’s wedding. That’s the sort of man who tries to chat me up – the unpleasant ones. You can smell the desperation – they’ll sidle up to anything in a skirt. I don’t get many offers nowadays but I’m not at all worried.’

      She leans forwards and pats my hand. ‘You’re still young, Georgie. You look good.’

      I shake my head. ‘No, that’s all over with now.’

      ‘What is – love?’

      ‘I’m too independent, too old for love and all that nonsense. Men. Sex. The hassle. Having to compromise. Do what they want to do, go where they want. “Yes, dear – whatever you say, dear.” Sharing a bed with a snoring, sweaty bloke with a beer gut. Having to lend him money for the next bet or wondering if I’ll find frilly knickers in the back of his car that belong to the woman he’s seeing behind my back.’

      ‘You’re cynical.’

      ‘Not at all.’

      ‘Terry must’ve really hurt you.’

      ‘I’m well over him. He did me a favour. I’d rather have this place and the business, to be honest.’

      ‘But what about the company? Someone to cuddle up to? Someone to love who loves you back?’

      ‘I’m happy as I am. Besides, I’m past all that.’

      ‘Is it dating that bothers you, Georgie? I mean, after all these years, do you think you’d still be able to get excited about going out with a man?’

      ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I’ve had two dates since Terry, both disasters. It put me off completely. What would be the point? I’m too set in my ways. And anyway, men only want a younger, prettier version after a few years …’

      ‘You mean like Rabbity Alison?’

      I push the memory away, finish my wine and grin at her. ‘Okay. It’s big decision time.’ Amanda looks hopeful: she thinks I might agree to start dating. Instead, I offer her a mischievous grin. ‘Should we open another bottle or have a coffee?’

      She glances up at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s nearly nine. Coffee, please. I’d better get off soon.’

      I pick up the empty plates. The prospect of a bit of quiet, even an early night tucked up with the hot-water bottle,