Page 134 of Falling for You

I smile to myself. Mum is the only person who would share my reaction. One of utter disgust. Really, I should have called her and put her on loudspeaker as soon as Tanya suggested the ball, just so I had some reinforcement.

‘Yeah,’ I sigh. ‘For Tanya’s work.’

‘A Halloween ball?’ Mum says wonderingly, and I can tell that she’s trying to find the silver lining to spin. ‘That could be fun?’

I push my fingers through my hair. ‘Well, it’s more of a masquerade ball. Like, it is a Halloween theme, but I think people are more likely to be wearing fancy dresses and suits.’

‘Well, that’s not Halloween at all!’

‘I know.’

‘It would be such a shame if you didn’t get to wear your costume,’ Mum says, putting her bolognese to the side and looking straight down the camera earnestly.

I shrug, feeling like a teenager.

‘Why don’t you come home and spend Halloween with us?’ she says, her eyes lighting up. ‘Dad’s talking about doing something creative with popping candy and balloons or something.’

I smile. ‘No, it’s okay. I’m sure it’ll be fun.’

I can’t run home to my parents just so I can dress up in the outfit I want. A ball is far more sophisticated and ‘cool’ than a house party. Penny and Tanya are really excited.

I’m thirty-two. I guess it’s just time for me to grow up a bit.

Or, you know, find a way to wear the bat costume anyway.

‘Argh! I hate this stupid, bloody oven!’

I peer up from my notebook at Penny, who is bentover double and peering into the little glass square door of the oven, her face gradually turning a deeper shade of red.

The kitchen is the oldest room in the house. It’s still that weird shade of brown that was fashionable in the sixties, and has an oven so white and prominent that it looks like a toy one you’d buy in Aldi. It has four gas rings, three of which don’t work, and a temperamental oven which only has two options: scalding hot or ice-cold.

Which – as a woman who wrestles with an aggressive period every thirty days – I can relate to.

When we first moved in, we wrote a strongly worded email to the landlord. Or Tanya did. Penny and I stomped around the house cursing wildly as Tanya tapped out a neat, well-composed message that wasn’t going to get us kicked onto the streets the moment she hit ‘send’. The landlord sent us a brief, non-committal reply and we soon realised that – from his skyline penthouse in Dubai – he really couldn’t care less. He’s actually like the bad boyfriend that we’ve all just grown to accept. We expect so little of him that when he does show any kindness or humanity, we practically build a shrine to him in the hallway and praise him like Jesus Christ.

Last Christmas he sent us a little plastic Christmas tree that sang carols and danced, and we all lost our minds. One night we got so drunk on mulled wine that I caught myself almost crying with gratitude over it. I had a strong word with myself the next morning.

Thou shall not get drunk and cry over terrible landlords with tacky, dancing Christmas trees.

‘What’s it doing?’ I ask, looking up from my notebook.

I’ve been making a list of all my finances for the month. I know. I’m super organised. With the business being busy this month, I’m constantly running to the Camden fabric shop to stock up on supplies, paying for postage and thread and whatever else I need. So, every now and then I need to make sure I am actuallymakingmoney from it all. If I was a baroness with lots of money, then I’d spend my life making these costumes and give them out for free, but unfortunately, I’m not quite there yet. I don’t think E.ON Energy would appreciate a custom-made witch costume instead of the £58 I owe each month for our electricity bill.

‘It’s what it’snotdoing,’ Penny mutters, still glaring at the oven door. ‘It’s ruining my bread.’

I look back down at my notebook. It was only a matter of time until Penny, the scientist, decided to tackle sourdough.

‘Something smells good!’ Tanya says happily, bouncing into the kitchen. I swallow a smile as Penny snaps up to standing, a look of anguish painted on her face.

‘The oven is screwed!’ she wails. ‘It’s ruining my bread! I’ve spentweeksworking on that dough.’

Tanya’s face falls. ‘Oh no, are you okay? I’m sure it’ll still taste great.’

I smile to myself. I quite enjoy sitting back and watching Tanya fall into her role of mother around Penny. Penny and I act more like sisters – we bicker about what to watch on TV and laugh at stupid jokes that make absolutely no sense – butTanya is the one we go to when we need help. She seems to always know how to fix everything.

Penny slumps onto the plastic dining table opposite me as Tanya flicks the kettle on.

‘I was coming in to say I have some good news,’ she grins. ‘I’ve had some more information about the ball.’ She plucks three mugs out of the cupboard, correctly assuming that we all want a cup of tea.