The Last Letter from Your Lover

whose dream she’s meant to be living.
    ‘Happy birthday, you old tart!’ Corinne and Nicky are waiting in the coffee shop, waving and patting a seat as she rushes in, bag flying. ‘Come on, come on! You’re sooo late. We’re meant to be at work by now.’
    ‘Sorry. I got a bit held up coming out.’
    They glance at each other and she can tell they suspect she’s been with John. She decides not to tell them that she was actually waiting for the post. She’d wanted to see if he had sent her something. Now she feels foolish for making herself twenty minutes late for her friends.
    ‘How does it feel to be ancient?’ Nicky has cut her hair. It’s still blonde, but now short and choppy. She looks cherubic. ‘I got you a skinny latte. I’m assuming you’re going to need to watch your weight from now on.’
    ‘Thirty-two is hardly ancient. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.’
    ‘I’m dreading it,’ says Corinne. ‘Somehow thirty-one sounds like you might only just be past thirty, still almost technically in your twenties. Thirty-two sounds ominously close to thirty-five.’
    ‘And thirty-five is obviously just a short step to forty.’ Nicky checks her hair in the mirror behind the banquette.
    ‘And a happy birthday to you too,’ Ellie says.
    ‘Aw! We’ll still love you when you’re wrinkly and alone and in flesh-coloured big knickers.’ They place two bags on the table. ‘Here are your presents. And, no, you can’t exchange either of them.’
    They have chosen perfectly, as only friends of many years’ standing can. Corinne has bought her cashmere socks in dove grey, so soft that it’s all Ellie can do not to put them on there and then. Nicky has given her a voucher for a prohibitively expensive beauty salon. ‘It’s for an anti-ageing facial,’ she says wickedly. ‘It was that or Botox.’
    ‘And we know how you feel about injections.’
    She’s filled with love, with gratitude for her friends. There have been many evenings in which they’ve said they’re each other’s new family, their fear that the others will find mates first and leave them single and alone. Nicky has a new man who, unusually, seems promising. He’s solvent, kind and has her on her toes just enough to keep her interested. Nicky has spent ten years running away from men who behave well towards her. Corinne has just ended a relationship of a year. He was nice, she says, but they had become like brother and sister, ‘and I’d expected marriage and a couple of kids before that happened.’
    They don’t talk seriously of the dread that they may have missed the boat their aunts and mothers are so fond of mentioning. They don’t mention that most of their male friends are now in relationships with women a good five to ten years younger than themselves. They make jokes about growing old disgracefully. They line up gay friends who promise to have children with them ‘in ten years’ time’ if they’re both single, while neither party believes that could possibly be so.
    ‘What did he get you?’
    ‘Who?’ Ellie says innocently.
    ‘Mr Paperback Writer. Or was what he gave you the reason you were late?’
    ‘She already got her injection.’ Corinne cackles.
    ‘You’re both disgusting.’ She sips her coffee, which is lukewarm. ‘I – I haven’t seen him yet.’
    ‘But he is taking you out?’ Nicky says.
    ‘I think so,’ she replies. She’s suddenly furious with them for looking at her like that, for seeing through it already. She’s furious with herself for not having thought up an excuse for him. She’s furious with him for needing one.
    ‘Have you heard from him at all, El?’
    ‘No. But it is only eight thirty— Oh, Christ, I’m meant to be at a Features meeting at ten and I haven’t got a single good idea.’
    ‘Well, sod him.’ Nicky leans over and hugs her. ‘We’ll buy you a little birthday cake, won’t we, Corinne? Stay there and I’ll get one of those muffins with icing. We’ll have an early birthday tea.’
    It’s then that she hears the muffled tone of her mobile phone. She flips it open.
    Happy Birthday gorgeous. Present to come later. X
    ‘Him?’ says Corinne.
    ‘Yes.’ She grins. ‘My present’s coming later.’
    ‘Like him.’ Nicky snorts, back at the table with the iced muffin. ‘Where’s he taking you?’
    ‘Um . . . it doesn’t say.’
    ‘Show me.’ Nicky snatches it. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
    ‘Nicky . . .’