What became of us

added, as if she had to say it out loud to make it true, ‘But this weekend, I’ve decided that I want to exist.’
    ‘Hoorah!’ Annie cheered.
    ‘I’m probably going to need some help,’ Manon said, a little nervously.
    ‘You know where I am.’
    As long as she didn’t want to sleep in her spare room again, Annie thought.
    ‘I think it’s time I did all that career stuff, don’t you?’ Manon asked in a self-mocking tone as if she were tired of talking about herself so seriously.
    ‘It’s more fashionable to give it up now,’ Annie warned.
    ‘I’ve never been very fashionable.’
    Annie looked at her companion’s plain black dress, and then at her own ponyskin mules, cargo pants and cotton twinset. She was a fashion victim and Manon was effortlessly stylish. The acid floes of jealousy that had frozen temporarily as they talked, began to melt into her thoughts again.
    ‘Downshifting,’ she said.
    ‘I don’t think I’ve got much further down to shift,’ said Manon.
    ‘So what are you going to write?’ Annie asked, trying to persevere with their new friendship.
    ‘What should I write?’ Manon asked her as they stopped at a pedestrian crossing.
    ‘Well, if you want to make money you have to write about a single thirty-something who can’t get laid. That’s what sells. In fact those books sell so many that they create their own audience. All the single thirty-somethings are now so busy reading books about single thirty-somethings who can’t get laid, that they haven’t got time to go and get laid... but there again, it’s all going to change soon.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Demographics,’ said Annie knowledgeably. ‘I read this article. Apparently there is soon going to be a surplus of single thirty-something men who can’t get laid, and not just because all the women prefer a good book, so maybe you should anticipate the trend and write a novel about a love-lorn lad with a slight weight problem.’
    ‘I think I’m probably better at writing about people who do get laid,’ Manon said.
    ‘Yes, you are, aren’t you?’ Annie let the clutch up a little hastily and stalled.
    ‘Now, tell me,’ she put on a silly voice as she started the engine again, ‘is your work at all autobiographical?’
    Then Manon really laughed so that the air in the car reverberated with good humour.
    ‘Jesus H. Christ!’ said Annie, ‘everyone thought I was the tart and you were the serene ice maiden, and look what became of us!’

    Ian was standing outside the Randolph. He smiled broadly as he caught sight of the car. Annie couldn’t help smiling in response.
    ‘This is where we go our separate ways,’ she told Manon, indicating right at the lights at the end of St Giles.
    ‘I thought it would be him,’ Manon said. ‘He looks nice.’
    ‘All I’m doing is giving him a lift back into town,’ Annie said, blushing. ‘Actually, he’s giving me a lift because I’m letting him drive. You know, boys and fast cars...’
    ‘Hmm.’
    ‘Hmm, what? He’s happily married to Chloe Colefax and he’s a provincial doctor,’ Annie said, as if that settled the matter.
    ‘Chloe Colefax?’
    ‘Read zoology, rowed for the college, was the token scientist on the University Challenge team but didn’t answer a single question. Oh you’re hopeless! She was the one who used to tie her blouses in a knot round her waist to make her tits look bigger.’
    ‘Oh her,’ said Manon.
    ‘Anyway, he’s not really my type, is he? Too nice. Marks and Spencer polo shirt, probably owns a pair of sandals.’ She looked sideways at Manon’s expression.
    ‘He likes you,’ Manon said.
    ‘No, he doesn’t. Well, not like that. Does he? Why do you say that?’
    The car behind beeped. Infuriatingly the lights had changed to green.
    ‘I saw him looking at you at the dinner,’ Manon said, ‘and you were riding bicycles at dawn.’
    ‘That was just to keep ourselves awake,’ Annie said, drawing up just past him without indicating.
    The man in the car behind wound down his window and shouted something nasty at her.
    ‘One of these days you’ll probably read in the paper that I’ve been the victim of a road rage murder,’ Annie said melodramatically.
    Manon laughed.
    ‘Thanks for the lift,’ she said.
    Suddenly Annie wished that she would just get out of the car and disappear. She didn’t want to have to introduce her to Ian.
    ‘Look, call me if you need any help with an agent,’ she said.
    ‘Thank you,’ Manon