What became of us

excuses not to see them she would see them at least once a month. Perhaps she could still take them to Disney-world, she thought, even though she wasn’t going to marry their father after all.
    She stared out of the window, chewing the end of her pen and wondering who was going to be there apart from Ursula, Manon and Leonora. Probably some of the same crowd who always turned up at rites of passage like weddings and fortieth birthday parties. People you thought you were pleased to see and rushed across the room to hug, shouting ‘How are you???!!!’ But after less than half an hour in their company, you understood why you never saw them, even though you only lived half an hour away from each other. It wasn’t because you didn’t like them exactly, just that time was limited and you simply didn’t like them enough to spend an evening of it with them.
    Leonora said that there were people who had written to say that they hadn’t known Penny well, but had nevertheless been devastated by her death and would like to come. Probably the same people who had written to her, Annie thought uncharitably, the first time her series got a BAFTA nomination. Sad people who didn’t have enough drama in their own lives and wanted to have yours by association.
    She wrote down rites of passage , then 40 TH BIRTHDAY.
    In a way it was Penny’s fortieth birthday party. It was even close to the date. The only difference was that Penny wouldn’t be there herself. Penny had had her big birthday party two years earlier and that was the last time that Annie had seen her.
    It had looked much the same as Penny’s wedding. The same yellow and white marquee in the garden of her parents’ Cotswold stone vicarage, the same garden-fete smell of recently cut lawn and prize-winning Victoria sponges, and Penny smiling her wonderfully dimpled smile as all the guests filed past her. But at her wedding Penny had not been in a wheelchair, and this time she was not welcoming the guests but saying goodbye to them.
    At the time, Annie had thought that if she were having a last birthday party, it would be an evening affair with very loud Seventies music, cigarette girls offering free Marlboro, lines of coke, and cocktails so lethal that the morning after you would be happy to die. But that was because she was single, she realized. When you had children, you had to make the party a nice memory for them of you being alive. You had to be selfless for them even when it was your last chance to be selfish.
    It had been a perfect day, if any day like that could be perfect. Penny’s daughters, dressed in pinafores and sunhats had waddled around the skirts of the guests. Penny’s parents, Geraldine and Trevor, put on a remarkable show of courage under pressure, managing to remember little details about every one of Penny’s friends as if they had memorized a list of three facts per person for weeks before.
    ‘Annie, of course. We sometimes watch your programme when we’re in. We do enjoy it. And you’ve just sold your first film script to Hollywood, how exciting... and Penny said you’ve just moved to Notting Hill Gate from Shepherd’s Bush. I’m sure that your mother is proud of you. Penny certainly is… and here’s Ursula, well, George is big for his age, it’s hard to believe he’s only a month or two older than Lily... Penny says you’ve been busy at work. We don’t know how you manage with three boys and a demanding career... Manon, you’ve come a long way from Rome and Penny is so pleased to see you...’
    Penny had even made the perfect fortieth birthday party speech.
    ‘I must be the only woman in the world who pretends she’s forty, two years early, but I didn’t want to miss my own party. Most people die with things left unsaid, but the one good thing about cancer is that you don’t, because you have a little notice, and I think I’ve said everything that I want to say. I’ve been so lucky in my life. I’ve had wonderful parents, friends who made me laugh in good times and supported me in difficult times, a dreamboat of a husband and two beautiful children. I am so sorry that I’m not going to see Saskia and Lily grow up, but I know that you will all look after them, and talk to them about me sometimes, and tell them how much I wanted to be with them and how happy they made me. Thank you.’

    If Annie had made a speech like that, people would have laughed nervously and waited for the neurotic sting that was bound to be