My Best Friend’s Life - Shari Low

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years later they were still together and happy. If you overlooked the whole ‘bored rigid, fleeing to London’ thing.

      She’d miss him. She really would. He was one of the good guys–he’d never cheated, betrayed her, let her down or told her that her arse was massive. Actually, since he’d developed his love of science into a degree in anatomy and a career as a personal trainer to Farnham Hills’s rich and bored housewives, he could probably nip the fat-arse thing in the bud anyway.

      But the firm bottom line was that he was a nice guy. And the six-pack stomach wasn’t exactly a hindrance to his desirability either. But lately…Well, sometimes nice just wasn’t enough. He worked such long hours maintaining the inner thighs of the village that they’d settled into a mind-numbing routine. He’d work all day, then pop over to her house every second night around nine. They’d watch TV, fall asleep on the sofa, and then he’d let himself out when he woke up. At weekends, they’d really live it up and order in a takeaway or nip down to the local pub for a few drinks. Just a few. After all, it would border on criminal to deprive the wedding fund of its weekly income.

      The wedding. Or, to give it its official title, ‘Her Mother’s Reason for Living’. They’d been planning it for so long that at least a dozen of the original guests would only be attending with the help of Derek Acorah.

      Every single iota of her being wanted to marry Darren Jenkins–except the ones that watched Sex and the City, realised that there was a big world out there and recoiled at the very thought of only having sex with one bloke for the rest of her life.

      What was she, a Fifties throwback? How many women would go through the whole of their lives and only have intimate relations with one male organ?

      It was obscene. Prehistoric. Pathetic. Her gravestone would read, ‘Here lies Ginny Wallis–woman of morals, traditional values, and the most unadventurous vagina in the free world.’

      The passing of the 10.45 p.m. to Bath caused a thunderous noise that snapped her from her discontented musings.

      She blew her hair off her face and gave herself a swift reality check. She loved Darren. She was going to marry him. This little adventure was not, repeat NOT, some veiled excuse for infidelity and wanton sexual exploits. It was just a bit of fun. A little injection of high-grade joie de vivre to snap her out of the mind-numbingly predictable torpor that she’d slipped into over recent years. One month of new routines, new faces, new sights and new experiences.

      As the train pulled into Paddington Station, the bubbles of adrenaline started thumping through her veins again. She pulled up the handle on the leopardskin trolley case, swung her scarf around her neck and applied some lip-gloss. Roxy’s lip-gloss. She’d found it in the pocket of Roxy’s Zara swing coat, which she’d adopted a few hours before.

      Ginny Wallis, visiting London on a one-month sanity visa, wore lip-gloss.

      Oh yes, her pucker was going to teach her lady bits a thing or two about adventure.

      As she stepped off the train and pulled the trolley behind her, a familiar figure caught her eye. Weird. She was sure that woman had got off the train a few stops back.

      Curiosity forced her to crane her neck around. Yep, it was definitely…upside-down. The world was upside-down. She’d been in London for approximately thirty seconds and she’d fallen at the first hurdle. Literally. She winced as she took in the damage to her sprawled limbs. Her thighs, knees and ankles were fine but–whoa–her footwear was terminal. Shit, Roxy would kill her.

      Ginny’s next thought wasn’t one she had ever imagined would run through her brain.

      So exactly how many shifts would she have to work in a brothel to buy a new pair of Gina boots?

       Summary:

      Roxanne shows a keen interest in all areas of the expressive arts. She is currently a member of the netball team, the hockey team and the athletics team and is especially committed to her roles in the Lower School Mixed Volleyball Team and the Lower School Mixed Swimming Team. It was regrettable that Roxanne’s positions in the latter two teams came under threat due to the breach of school rules that was brought to your attention last month. This has, as advised, been noted on her school record, and she will in future be supervised when travelling to outside events with male members of any sporting squad.

      She continues to excel in Drama and will play the role of Mary Magdalene in the forthcoming production of Jesus Christ Superstar.

       Personal Skills:

      Roxanne continues to be a challenge in areas of discipline, structure and responsiveness to authority. Her attendance score was 72 per cent this year, although that is expected to improve after our joint discussions with the amusement arcade and village café. She is, as agreed, now barred from both within school hours.

      She is often resistant to direction and is easily distracted when charged with using her own initiative. She is prone to rambunctious behaviour and often displays a tendency to manipulate her peers and defy school rules and regulations.

      However, it should be noted that, as her superior grades demonstrate, Roxanne is capable of achievement, especially in the subjects that she enjoys. It is perhaps unfortunate that she achieves these grades without any discernible effort or endeavour. Needless to say, should Roxanne apply herself to her schoolwork, it is the opinion of the teaching staff that she would excel in all subjects.

      

       Challenges/Development Needs:

      As discussed during our frequent contact this year, Roxanne must improve her general conduct and commitment within the school. She continues to flout authority, often initiating forbidden activities–as witnessed by the smoking incident earlier in the year. Her behaviour must improve if she wishes to remain at Farnham Hills High School.

      

      Signed:

      Roxy. Day One, Sunday, 11 p.m.

      Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

      Roxy stared at the ceiling as the hands ticked round on Ginny’s alarm clock. Her anxiety levels rose with every sound. It was bloody ridiculous–I mean, who even had ticking bloody clocks these days? Hadn’t Ginny realised that Europe now imported almost the whole of the national export quota of LCD tat from China? Well, at least now Roxy knew what to buy her for Christmas.

      Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

      Urgh! She put her head under the pillow. After a few seconds she realised that this caused a slight problem with the respiratory functions necessary for maintaining life. She stuffed the alarm clock under the pillow instead. Finally, silence! She heard a creaking coming from further down the hall and her eyes widened. She bloody knew it! Her mother was sneaking into Auntie Violet’s room for some naked duvet wrestling. She should have known when her mother joined Weight Watchers that she was up to no good. Why was the thought of middle-aged parents having sex so hard to deal with? Still, she supposed she should be grateful–her mother and Auntie Vi having a tickle she could just about cope with, but the mental image of her mother being rogered over the sofa by some burly, hairy bloke would traumatise her for life.

      Her ears strained as she craned to hear the Marks & Spencer’s thermal slippers padding along the Axminster.

      Nope, it was too much–there were some times in life that oblivion was the preferred option. She needed a diversion and fast. She pulled the clock back out from under the pillow.

      Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

      This

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