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Geeta was on the verge of laughing hysterically. Any second now.

Five something in the morning, the sky brightening from orange on the horizon through bands of blue. With Nicola Albright.

Oh my god, what was she doing?

She shuffled out of Nicola’s shiny Mercedes, parked in a narrow Victorian side street in East Oxford, and shuddered on a discombobulated high of adrenaline. She was not used to the weird time. A fight-or-flight mechanism possibly kicked in too – Nicola had a habit of triggering that.

But here they were, going to the May Day celebrations together. What on earth made Nicola suggest it?

“Let’s get a spot by the Botanic Gardens,” Nicola said, throwing a visitor’s permit onto the dashboard and flicking her key fob, so the car beeped loudly in the quiet side street.

And they were walking up Iffley Road, the Victorian terraces a grander four storeys high. Actually, they were striding, because Nicola didn’t seem to go anywhere without purpose.

“Do you ever amble?” Geeta laughed at her own breathlessness.

“What do you mean?”

Nicola peered at her from the corner of her eyes with a curl on her lips, which had a feline quality to it.

“It’s a leisurely May morning,” Geeta took a breath, “and we’re headed into town as if late for a world summit.”

Nicola’s eyes narrowed in a wider smile, the laughter lines around them only accentuating their cleverness. Many thoughts sparkled in those blues.

“Sorry,” Nicola said.

Oh. An apology. Not expecting that.

“It’s a habit.” Nicola shrugged, the movement nonchalantly assured. “I’m always busy. Pupils to guide. Clients to see. But I’ll relax today.”

Did Nicola know how to do that?

The pace slowed. But no, Nicola never ambled. This was just slower striding.

“OK.” Geeta laughed.

They reached The Plain roundabout and headed towards the High Street, which was temporarily closed to traffic. People streamed across the long balustraded bridge, with trees and parkland either side, all heading towards the stone tower of Magdalen College chapel. It glowed in the early sun, the low rays not reaching the street yet, and the chill of morning thrilled on Geeta’s cheeks and turned her breath cloudy.

“What time is it?” she said, patting her jeans pockets for her phone.

Nicola lifted her hand. “Nearly six. We’ll catch them.”

The sleeve of Nicola’s long camel coat slipped down as she glanced at her wrist.

“Oh, I like your watch,” Geeta said, reaching out, by habit, to touch Nicola’s arm.

It’s how she reacted to people. She’d always been a physical person, at ease comforting others, or responding with a hug. Even more so as she got older. And, yes, she’d learned to refrain with those who didn’t like to be touched, but Nicola didn’t seem to mind.

“Thank you,” Nicola said with that self-assured smile.

The large analogue piece and tan leather strap complemented Nicola’s outfit. Geeta let her hand drop and looked Nicola up and down, and not for the first time that morning. She was aware of this.

She took in this different version of Nicola. Not in a smart dress for summer, or designer trouser suit for work, but a classic, casual Nicola today. She’d chosen wide, cream, tailored trousers, a silky shirt and long wool coat, which she left open so that it trailed in her wake, that forceful arrogance ever present.

Geeta smiled, because Nicola had a touch of lesbian today, in a mid-century film star kind of way. She didn’t say that. Nicola would not appreciate it.

But it suited her.

She didn’t say that either.

“The watch is a reissue of a classic 50s design,” Nicola said, while staring ahead.

The tall woman shaded her eyes as they crossed Magdalen Bridge, a sunbeam shooting across a gap in the trees and lighting up her face. Nicola looked particularly striking today, with her hair flowing back in waves from her sculpted face and the high cheekbones and defined jaw, chin tipped up to ensure she peered down on everyone.

“What?” Nicola said, glancing at her.

“I'm admiring your clothes and watch,” Geeta said. “I like the whole outfit.”

“Thank you,” Nicola replied. “I like yours. You wear more trendy clothes than me.”

Was that a compliment ? First, inviting Geeta to spend time together. And now there were compliments?

Geeta crossed her arms in mock disbelief. “Do you mean my stylish pyjamas while putting out the bin?”

“They’re very nice pyjamas.” Nicola smiled that feline smile, as if she toyed with everyone.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I absolutely do. This,” Nicola gestured to Geeta’s whole body, and Geeta felt the attention. “It suits you. I couldn’t carry off casual.”

Oh. That’s what she meant.

“So, people like you don’t do casual?” Geeta glared at Nicola with lazy disdain. “But I should?”

“I'd look ridiculous, like a politician claiming they were down to earth and ate fish and chips. I live in suits and barrister robes, and look out of place when I wear jeans.”

“Whereas I...?” Geeta raised her eyebrows in challenge.

“You are multidimensional and inhabit many roles. While also shining through as yourself the whole time,” Nicola said matter of fact.

“...”

Wow. She didn't expect that.

When Geeta didn't respond, Nicola fluidly continued with, “From an exceptional salwar kameez, to comfortable jeans with your children, or a smart blazer in the Bentley office, to trendy casual now. You inhabit many spheres of life with ease and confidence.”

And that hit Geeta unexpectedly too. She wasn't often seen as many things, one of the reasons she found herself in this situation in life. But Nicola saw many facets, apparently.

“I’m surprised,” Geeta admitted. Honestly, she was still reeling from anything positive from Nicola. “Thank you,” she said though.

Compliments and invitations to days out – not what she expected of Nicola Albright. But they were kind of arguing. Bickering while complimenting each other. So, still on familiar ground.

“OK,” she nodded, “OK...”

Nicola smiled, again, eyes engaged without a flicker of doubt. Very much the barrister. Very much in control.

Nicola’s arrogance annoyed Geeta sometimes, but she was experienced enough to know it worked in different ways, and the frisson of excitement that Nicola brought into a room was based in that arrogance too. She had a flirtatious edge. Definitely a charisma. She’d seen Nicola use it with everyone. It was simultaneously annoying and admirable and also, gah she had to admit it, worked on her too.

“Shall we shuffle closer?” Nicola said.

And Nicola bloody Albright took her arm.

The crowd stretched solid across the road by the college and chapel tower. They squeezed through increasingly smaller spaces, the crowd parting for Nicola with her let-me-through attitude.

“Here's good,” Nicola said, and they turned towards the tower in expectation.

This was exciting. Geeta grinned. And yes, she knew she didn’t get out much. But she really needed to because she fed on the energy from social events.

The crowd grew from both directions, people arriving in their hundreds.

Young students came from all-night May Eve balls, in tuxedos and evening dresses, ties unknotted and blazers thrown around partners’ shoulders. Faces smiled, goofy from alcohol and the novelty of the day. Some dressed expensively, carrying themselves as if born to this. Others wore rented gear, giddy with disbelief that they were here, in Oxford, in black tie. She sometimes forgot how special it was, after calling the city home for three decades.

Others, from both town and gown, dressed in warm coats and hats and looked puffy faced, as if they’d stumbled out this morning like Geeta. A few arrived decorated in greenery, with flowers threaded through long hair or around top hats, ready for pagan celebration and ‘dancing in the May’.

“I think we’re close enough to hear now,” Nicola said.

They stood near the bridge by the Botanic Garden railings, the tower looming above them on the other side of the road, and the short distance thick with people.

“When do they–” Geeta started.

But the tower bells answered her. They rang deep into the early morning air, the six hour-strikes loud in the absence of traffic.

The crowd fell silent, movement ceased, and everyone gazed up at the tall square tower. Geeta couldn't see anyone over the short wall at the top with its eight turrets. She was about to whisper if the choir was there, when ethereal voices caressed the air.

It transported her. Not to a specific church; she’d never been that often. Not to her grammar school hall in Birmingham, where she’d sung hymns by rote. But there was something about hymns that tapped deep inside. Never Christian, and not religious since her teens, the mournful key was conducive to a pleasing melancholy of her own. The crowd would be a mix of many religions, but everyone was captivated by the voices carrying from the choir, a rich blend of high and low registers in the early morning. She closed her eyes, open to being moved for herself.

“Beautiful,” she murmured.

“Isn't it,” Nicola said quietly, closer and warmer than Geeta expected. She opened her eyes to find Nicola gazing at her, a surprisingly soft expression on her face.

***

There she was. Geeta smiling again, her features relaxed. That’s how she should be – elated and enjoying everything about life, or with a sparkle in her eye and quipping back at Nicola. The world wasn’t right when Geeta was troubled.

Silly really, since Nicola was often the one to trouble her.

Geeta always had a generous smile for others like Olivia, Charlotte, Daniel, on and on. But today she, Nicola, saw it. She could have gazed content at Geeta, forever, because that smile soothed down to her bones, like a drop of mellow elixir that eased every tense moment between them.

Geeta’s features flickered in question. And Nicola didn’t want to answer.

Nicola was spared when the choir shifted into a faster tempo, and the crowd shuffled. Then peels of bells rang out across the city and everyone laughed at the sudden change. Some covered their ears, others clapped and everyone smiled.

“Are you religious?” Geeta asked, while clapping.

“I spent hours at church every week as a girl,” Nicola projected over the crowd and bells. "But not in the slightest.”

Geeta’s eyebrows lifted in question, but Nicola waited for the bells and residual ringing to stop.

“Choir practice,” she said. “I joined a choir in Oxford too.” She nodded towards the tower and chapel. “Though I never sang May morning.”

“Was this your college?”

“Yes. I met Daniel here. We got married in the chapel soon after graduating in fact.”

“Oh wow. I didn't know.”

Geeta frowned, as if she stopped a question, because there were so many about the end of a marriage.

Then they both whipped round their heads to a shriek and loud splash in water. Leaning on the stone balustrade, Geeta ahead of her, they peered towards the river. A student in a tuxedo swam soaking towards a raft of punts downstream. Another clung to the outside of the bridge and hurled themselves into the water to a big cheer from the crowds who peered over.

“Oh my god,” Geeta cried out. “Why do they do that?” She clutched hands to head.

Nicola laughed at the students carrying on the May Day tradition and at Geeta. “The river’s full this year, they’ll be fine.”

Geeta whipped round her head and glared at her.

“What?” Nicola said.

“I know you think I’m an overprotective mother.” Geeta pointed a finger.

“I didn’t say that.”

Geeta shot her a look that said everything about their past interactions had meant that. Then, said, “I do appreciate how exciting it must be. But, oh my god, their poor parents if they could see them.” Geeta breathed in sharp and shuddered.

“Are you wincing on their behalf?” Nicola chuckled. “Always the mum?”

“Yes!” Geeta threw her hands up. “Every year I read someone gets injured.”

Nicola peered over the barrier again. Someone in full ball gown was lining up next. They threw themselves into the air, dress ballooning, to another huge splash and cheer from the crowd.

“Oh, I can’t look.” Geeta covered her eyes.

Nicola pinched back a smile, wondering if she should reveal this. “Let me show you something,” she said, unable to resist.

Geeta peeped through her fingers. “What?”

Nicola leant her bum on the balustrade and snuggled alongside Geeta. She took out a phone from her coat pocket and swiped at the screen, wondering at this urge to both impress and horrify Geeta.

“Here,” she said, flashing the screen to Geeta. “My friend from college sent this recently.”

She tipped the photo towards Geeta. The black-and-white picture showed a young woman soaked in an evening gown, thigh deep in water, eyes closed and running fingers over long, wet hair. The quality was fuzzy from a newspaper.

“Oh,” Geeta grumbled. She crossed her arms, although amusement twitched at her lips. “ You jumped in as a student.”

“I did indeed.”

It was just as satisfying as she hoped.

Geeta rolled her eyes. “Of course you made the Cherwell student newspaper.” She tapped at Nicola’s phone. “Because I bet a King’s Counsel Barrister was high profile even as a student.”

“Not the university newspaper,” Nicola said plainly. “ The Times .”

Geeta opened her mouth. Then closed it. She crossed her arms tighter and glared at Nicola. “You made The Times ? The national newspaper?”

“I made The Times .” Nicola beamed.

Annoying Geeta had never been so delightful.

“Do you ever do things by halves, Nicola?” Geeta asked, tilting her head.

“Of course not.”

She didn't even pretend to hesitate and consider.

Geeta’s jaw dropped open and stayed there.

“Why bother?” Nicola shrugged. “Either you do something, or you don’t.”

“Wow,” Geeta drawled. “To have such clear direction and be unfettered by doubt. How wonderful that must be,” she mocked.

“Well, once I’ve decided on a course,” Nicola started, “I don’t see the point in changing without good reason.”

“No kind of doubt?” Geeta’s chin jutted. "No faffing? No human frailty of any sort?”

“No.” Nicola grinned.

You make a decision. You encounter problems. You pivot and deal with it. And not much tripped Nicola. One significant exception being this woman, who’d had her stumbling for years.

Geeta laughed and relaxed her mocking performance. “So, why on earth did you throw yourself in?”

“For a boy. It sounds silly, but I wanted to catch his attention.” She put the phone back in her coat pocket. “This boy, man I suppose, was rich, good looking, tall and charming. And I wanted him.”

“Daniel?”

Nicola nodded. “There were several girls thinking of making the jump. He’d dated one, on and off. The other girls were indecisive and squealing.” She waved her hand to dismiss them, much like she’d done in the past. “I saw him watching then lose interest. So, I shouted ‘I’ll do it’, threw my hands in the air and jumped in.”

“And that got his attention?”

“He ran round the side, leapt down to the punts and stretched out to help me from the river. Not that I needed it.”

And the keen look on his face. Exhilaration and desire. She had him.

“And that was it?” Geeta said, eyes wide with incredulity. “You started dating?”

“Yes.”

Why wouldn’t he. Back then, she thought the world should bend to her whim.

“Do you...” Geeta started, frustration and irritation bound in the high pitch. “Do you ever not get what you want? I mean, when you put your mind to it? Do you ever fail?”

Nicola opened her mouth to answer.

But Geeta stopped her with a hand. “Oh, this is infuriating. Because I already knew the answer.”

“I have some significant failures,” Nicola answered. She dropped her bravado for once, because she was more interested in being honest with Geeta. “I have some major omissions.”

Because life with Daniel wasn’t how she’d imagined. Or kids. Nothing like she planned.

Geeta waited silently.

“I know you liked Daniel,” Nicola continued. “He was very charming. Still is I imagine for others. He wasn’t always reliable though, and that made things difficult over the years.”

A husband who let her down. A daughter closed off to her.

Her eldest child, Bryony, was so like her, that even in snatched time together they understood one another, always on the same wavelength and catching up easily. Bryony saw the advantage in Nicola’s priorities, and followed in her footsteps to Magdalen, Oxford, and became engaged to a high-flying husband.

Compared with quiet, stumbling Charlotte, who seemed determined to do the opposite of Nicola’s advice. Cluelessly, except so often it seemed wilful. And it had wound Nicola up, and she’d handled it insensitively, and lost Charlotte’s love.

And Bryony, with husband and two kids, did live hundreds of miles away in Scotland, which said something too.

“I missed out on some key things,” Nicola said, letting her gaze falter for a moment.

Was this another reason she’d craved Oxford so much – the place she’d last had choices and potential, before life closed them down and threw spanners in the works. It’s why people looked back fondly on their university years wasn't it. Because after dealing and pivoting, ever onwards for decades, she wasn’t where she planned after all.

Geeta gazed at her, curiosity flickering in those kind eyes. She must have known Nicola meant family.

“Is this what we’re doing then?” Geeta said, tilting her head.

“What?”

“That despite all our differences, and opposite paths through motherhood, we find ourselves in the same boat?”

Nicola lifted her chin to query her.

“I mean, is this why we’re hanging out?” Geeta asked. “Both divorced. Kids distant. Living with regrets.” A naughty smile dawned on Geeta’s face and she added, “Is this a case of: my enemy in the same boat is...my friend?”

“Hmm,” Nicola mulled it over. “Maybe,” she said, with a shrug.

“Maybe,” Geeta imitated Nicola’s nonchalance. “OK then.” Geeta turned on her heel. “Let’s try being friends.”

Nicola launched off the balustrade with her bottom and fell into step with Geeta, a smile and glance shared by both.

So, friends then.

“Do you think we’re being a bit hasty,” she said. “Should we try being friendly enemies first?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” And Geeta rolled her eyes.