Despite the jitterbugs, it was great to see them. If she kept making a big show of things, it’d be no big deal. Same ol’ Dizzy Izzy.
‘Hey hey, girlies!’
As the space between them diminished, Izzy just managed to keep her game face on. Charlotte looked like a proper grown-up now. Blonde, in good shape, and immaculately put together with a splash of … Stepford Wife wasn’t exactly right because Charlotte was too damn sweet, but … hmmm. She’d have to think on that. As usual, Freya was pulling off something mere mortals couldn’t. An asymmetrical pastel-striped skirt, a camouflage tank top sporting a skunk sitting on top of a landmine, and a pair of Converse. As she got closer she clocked a few more crinkles round her eyes, a proper divot between her brows, and just a hint of the softness that came with the passage of time. Like, she could talk. Should she stick with the plan to blame her own eye crinkles on Hawaii or ruin everyone’s weekend with some blunt honesty?
Before she could decide, she was enveloped in one of Charlotte’s trademark hugs. Charlotte held onto her for just slightly longer than most people would; the type of hug that reminded Izzy of the three years Charlotte had been big sister and mother all rolled into one. Izzy breathed her in, her familiar scent filling her nostrils: expensive hair product mixed with Miss Dior.
Izzy took a step back and gave Charlotte a proper wow! look at you scan. Pretty as ever. A tiny bit stressy, but Charlotte had always been a bit gah! whenever there was an event on the horizon.
Freya stood awkwardly to the side, curling one of her purple-dipped curls round her finger. When Izzy opened her arms wide, Freya stepped into them, giving Izzy that astonishingly familiar ‘I hate you but I love you too’ hug that meant she still hadn’t got over the fact she and Monty had done it. Ah well.
Izzy put Freya out of her misery and stepped back. ‘You both looking amazing. Not aged a day.’
They protested and Izzy pretended she hadn’t been lying.
The women were standing in front of a rather impressive selection of wheelbarrows. Every colour of the rainbow, the barrows were bedecked with hand-painted flowers and names. Mabel. Ruth. Esmerelda.
‘Look what we’ve found!’ They parted as one and revealed an Isabelle.
‘Awwww, girlfriends! You shouldn’t have.’ Izzy pressed her mountain of coils back from her face and went to stuff her hands in her back pockets, only to remember she had dressed up for her friends in one of her two maxi-dresses rather than wearing her go-to cargos.
‘Your hair looks nice,’ said Freya.
Izzy lifted her hand self-consciously to the coif. Kind, but no one was fooling anyone. She looked like a train wreck. The years of surfing had kept her fit, but the last couple of years? Ugh … She couldn’t even go there. ‘Where’s Emms?’
‘Not here yet.’ Charlotte’s mouth looked as though it wanted to keep on going and say something else. Oooo-kay …
Eventually Izzy had to fill the silence.
‘I can’t believe I’m not last!’ Izzy was always last. ‘Does that mean I get a prize?’
Freya rolled her eyes in an ‘oh lordy, look who hasn’t changed at all’ way. It was a wonder it had taken this long. Freya had been the least tolerant of her messiness. Her lateness. Her general inability to pin herself down. The fact she’d got a starred first for her degree despite not having appeared to have studied all that much. That had particularly annoyed Freya.
Charlotte, on the other hand, had always treated Izzy as if she were a wonder. Her poet mother. A childhood of flitting from one academic hotspot to the next. Dining with royalty one day and living on beans the next. Your life sounds so romantic. Until this very moment, Izzy hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed her.
A sudden urge swept through her to throw herself at Charlotte’s feet and beg her to make all of the incredibly difficult decisions she still had yet to make. Charlotte would choose well. Charlotte would choose impeccably. Emily was helping the best she could, but she wasn’t exactly well equipped in the sensitivity department. Charlotte was. She would know which tack to take. Which path to follow. Like marrying Oli, for instance. That had panned out well. City lawyer. Country life. Beautiful children. Hiring super-fancy glampsites for her fortieth. From what Emily had relayed, everyone still thought Oli was a bit of a wanker, but on the whole? Charlotte’s life was just as she’d planned. Perfect.
Behind her, she heard the van door slide open. The enormous canine fur-ball that was Bonzer ran between Izzy’s legs, his voluminous puppy fluff tickling her calves as he settled himself in front of her. One ear up. One ear down. Fur the colour of an apricot. And the biggest, brownest eyes in the universe. He’d break the ice. Everyone loved a giant puppy.
‘Izzy?’ Charlotte’s hands fisted, except for her index fingers which were pointing at Bonzer. ‘Ummmm … is this a dog?’
Except maybe Charlotte?
‘We left our dog with a pet sitter,’ Freya said pointedly.
Well, bully for you.
Explaining was always an option. She could pour her heart out. Detail the Amazonian effort it had taken to leave Hawaii, come back to the UK, find a school for Luna, a van, a puppy. But she’d get flustered and leave bits out, fuelling yet more ‘typical Dizzy’ eye-rolls. So she smiled and said nothing.
Charlotte, on the other hand, fell over herself apologizing.
‘I’m so sorry, Izz. I thought I said on the WhatsApp that there were no dogs. Remember? They have some health and safety issues here and Oli’s a tiny bit allergic.’ Charlotte pinched her fingers close together, as if doing so would make the dog evaporate and all of the awkwardness that came from not having seen one another in over a decade would *poof!* disappear.
Izzy flashed Charlotte her apology grin. The one she used to use when Charlotte reminded her she forgot to get tea bags. Or to Freya when she’d neglected to take out the rubbish. Or Emms (plus a fluttering of eyelashes) when she hadn’t strictly finished one of her term papers and maybe, kind of sort of, needed just a leeeetle bit of help. They always moaned at her. They also always forgave her.
Was that why she’d come back? So she could be with people she knew would take her in no matter what? Screwing it all up over a puppy simply wasn’t worth it.
So she smiled, boofed her forehead with the heel of her hand and made a goofy face. ‘Girl, you know what I’m like with fine print! I never exactly got on the WhatsApp thing because of changing phones and countries. Tell me what I gotta do to make it up to you? Sing? Dance? Bake cakes? You probably already did that, didn’t you? I’ll be your birthday slave all weekend.’ She put her hands into prayer position and made sad clown eyes until, finally, they laughed.
‘I’m so sorry, but he can’t stay,’ Charlotte’s eyebrows templed in a way that suggested she understood the pickle Izzy was in, but matters were out of her control. ‘The manager was very insistent. I had to sign a disclaimer.’
‘Really? It’s just … I’m not asking for me, it’s more …’
Everyone turned as the world’s most beautiful child ran up alongside her.
‘Mom?’
Her daughter, Luna, slipped her hand into Izzy’s and looked up at her, those bright blue eyes of hers still a bit of a surprise each time she saw them. A bit like a Siamese cat’s. Sapphire brightness against silky smooth skin. Just a shade or so lighter than her own. Luna was her very own flesh and blood and yet, every time she looked at her afresh … goose-bumps.
Izzy turned to face her friends. How to introduce the daughter she’d never told any of them about except for Emms who was really letting the team down by not being here.
Freya’s jaw had dropped open. Not a cute face. A bit like Edvard Munch’s The Scream.
Subtle.
Charlotte,