LITMIR.BIZ

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how broody I was when they were both pregnant. I couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy, particularly when Sarah had had her second baby. Although I knew she’d had problems with sickness and things, she made it look so easy. Sarah seemed to be able to conceive at the drop of a hat, it didn’t seem fair. I couldn’t bear to let Sarah know how jealous I was, so I pretended to be nonchalant about having children. I’d been making out for ages that my career came first.

      To be honest, that was true for a while. When I first met Matt, babies didn’t come into the picture. We were just so happy to be together, and I kept pinching myself that after kissing all those toads, I’d finally found my handsome prince. I didn’t want to spoil it with the patter of tiny feet. I assumed, you see, that Matt would be like all the other guys, and run at the first mention of babies. And having finally lost weight after years of dieting, I wasn’t too keen to put it all back on again. There was always the nagging doubt that Matt would only fancy me slim. I should have known better of course: he was the one who brought the subject of babies up, and when I mentioned my weight, he just laughed me to scorn and said he’d love me however fat I got.

      Today, for the first time in a long time, I felt the same dizzying intoxication that I’d felt when we’d started to plan our family. A crack of light was shining in the dark – it wasn’t much, but it was something to hold on to.

      ‘You seem very happy today,’ Mel our receptionist said as I sailed jauntily past her, whistling. I never ever whistle.

      ‘Well, spring is in the air, and all that jazz,’ I said, which is uncharacteristically chatty of me. Usually I barely say anything to Mel or anyone else at work unless I have to. It’s the only way I can keep a tight lid on the things threatening to explode out of my head.

      I breezed to my desk and sat down and started ploughing through my invoice tray. I love my work in credit control. It’s not to everyone’s taste, but I enjoy the balancing act of chasing down debtors and holding off creditors, thereby ensuring that no one ever owes us money, but we invariably owe other people money.

      I was so engrossed in my work, I tuned out the sound of my mobile ringing in my handbag for a minute. I don’t often get personal phone calls at work. Matt’s generally the only person to ring me during the day.

      I rooted around in my bag and eventually found the phone, which had inevitably wormed its way to the bottom of my bag. As I picked it up, the phone went dead. Typical. I flicked onto missed calls. It wasn’t a number I recognized. I rang it back.

      ‘Hi,’ I said tentatively, ‘I think you just called me?’

      ‘Beth?’ I was shocked to hear Caz’s voice. I hadn’t seen her since Doris’s hen weekend, over a fortnight earlier. I didn’t even know she had my number. ‘I hope you don’t mind, I cadged your number off Doris.’

      Caz sounded different. Uncertain. Awkward. Most un-Cazlike.

      ‘Only, I was wondering – if you’d – well, would you mind meeting up for a drink sometime?’

      I was stunned. OK, we’d had a nice time when we were away, but still. I hadn’t spent any time alone with Caz for at least five years. Why would she suddenly want to talk to me now?

      ‘Look, I’ll understand if you say no,’ Caz continued. ‘It’s just that it was so nice meeting you again in Paris. I’d like to catch up properly if you’d like.’

      She sounded so tentative and unsure, something crumbled inside me. I had a sudden flashback to the way she was at primary school, just when we’d all started to be friends. Caz was always angry and spoiling for a fight, but we grew to realize that that aggression hid a vulnerability that wasn’t on public display. But now she’d been defensive with us all for so long, I’d forgotten how vulnerable she was underneath.

      I took a deep breath.

      ‘Of course, that would be great,’ I said. ‘When are you free?’

      

      ‘This feels…odd,’ Caz said as she faced me over a glass of spritzer in a bar in Soho. Caz always went drinking in Soho, I remembered. I never did. If I drank anywhere it was in a pub round the corner from work in Camden High Street before taking the Northern Line home. I rarely ventured into the West End these days.

      ‘You’re not drinking?’ Caz said, glancing significantly at my orange juice.

      ‘I always leave my car at the station,’ I fibbed. There was never anywhere to park at the station, but I was relying on Caz’s ignorance about life in the suburbs for her not to have guessed that. I was hazarding a guess that Caz still lived as close to town as she could. She always was a bright-lights, big-city kind of girl, unlike stay-at-home small-town me. Last I’d heard, she had a flat Islington way, which always seemed glamorous to me.

      ‘So, how are things?’ Caz said. ‘I mean, I know we chatted that weekend, but it wasn’t like we did much one to one stuff. Tell me about yourself.’

      ‘Not much to tell,’ I said. ‘I like my job. Matt and I are happy. We live a quiet life. You know me. Never one for a wild time.’

      ‘Matt well?’

      ‘He’s great.’ I felt myself relax as I got onto my favourite topic, the general wonderfulness of my gorgeous husband, and my extraordinary luck in catching him. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s kind and he’s witty and he’s caring’ – and he’s never once made me feel bad about not getting pregnant – ‘I don’t know what I’d do without him. He’s my best friend and husband and lover all rolled into one.’ I paused. ‘Sorry, I do go on about him. Pathetic really. But I still feel like a love-struck teenager.’

      ‘No, I think it’s great,’ said Caz. ‘I’ve made such a mess with all that stuff. I’m glad one of us has had a happy ending.’

      ‘Two of us,’ I said. ‘You couldn’t get more loved up than Daz and Dorrie.’

      ‘I’m so glad,’ said Caz. ‘I can’t think why it’s taken them so long to get hitched. I’d have had Dorrie down for becoming Mrs Maitland years ago.’

      ‘She hasn’t said much about it, but I think it was because of her dad,’ I said. ‘She always wanted him to walk her down the aisle, and when he couldn’t, I don’t think she could bear it. Then when he died she went into a bit of a decline really. She seemed very low and her mum is worse. We were all really worried about her for a while. I think the only thing that pulled her out of it has been Woody.’

      ‘I feel so bad about Dorrie’s dad,’ said Caz. ‘I wish I’d known how bad it was. It’s not just my relationships with men that I’ve cocked up. I’ve made a mess of everything.’

      She looked incredibly sad and I felt an unusual feeling of pity for her. I can’t remember ever feeling that about Caz before: frustration, fury, anger, yes. Pity? No. Caz wasn’t someone you pitied.

      ‘It’s never too late to make amends,’ I said, leaning over and touching her hand. ‘I mean, we’ve met up, and Dorrie did invite you to her hen weekend. You know what she’s like. I’m sure she doesn’t hold it against you.’

      ‘That’s another reason I called, actually,’ said Caz. ‘I had an ulterior motive. I felt terrible hearing Doris say she didn’t want any bridesmaids. Things didn’t work out the way we planned when we were kids, and I’m sure she’d still love them to.’

      ‘Knowing Doris, I’m sure you’re right,’ I agreed. I had felt Doris had been pretty sad about the bridesmaid thing from the minute she’d announced her engagement.

      ‘So, how do you fancy trying to sort it out?’ Caz leaned forward, eyes shining. ‘I mean, I know there’s the slight difficulty of Sarah to contend with – I mean she hates me, right?’

      ‘Well,’ I said, ‘hate’s a pretty strong word, but yup, you could say you’re not her favourite person.’

      ‘But, how about we try to sort

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