Page 7

TWO

Suzie

There’s a bartender in front of me looking at my chest curiously. I know why and I think I might be spending a lot of time explaining this T-shirt today.

He looks at me a little sadly, not quite knowing what to think. We’re allowed to like who we like musically but to him it’s clear I don’t seem to be in their usual fan demographic unless I’m being deeply ironic. ‘Are you a big reggae fan then?’

‘Oh no…I’m with that group over there,’ I say, pointing to my cousins in the corner of this airport pub, all in similar T-shirts. ‘One of them is turning forty. She be forty.’

He pauses. ‘So I guess you’ll be drinking a lot of red, red wine then,’ he replies, chuckling under his breath, and I smile back.

Well, at least one person got it but, as Lucy complained before, this is the last time we put Emma in charge of T-shirts because we’re just walking around this airport like a group of adult fangirls.

Looking over, it also seems that Lucy has torn her T-shirt in a bizarre Hulk style to make it as brief and revealing as possible, flashing a little too much perhaps.

I’m wondering now if this might get us thrown out and denied an overpriced fried breakfast and a pint, but ‘Pete’ with his jolly paunch and greying sideburns seems good humoured about it all. He follows my gaze. ‘She with you?’

‘She is,’ I say, grimacing but with a smidgen of pride.

‘Sister?’

‘Cousin. That whole table there,’ I say, pointing to the corner.

‘The five of them are all sisters and I’m the little cousin on the end.

’ I am what they’ve always called the honorary sister.

I’ve tagged along to every birthday, Boxing Day buffet, wedding and christening – a frequent flyer in their family history.

He glances over smiling. ‘Who’s the birthday girl?’

‘That’s Meg, the eldest cousin. The one with the sunglasses, napping against the wall.

’ Looking wildly enthusiastic about the trip.

Emma is beside her with her sensible mum bob holding a folder of travel documents.

Then you have Beth (teacher; paddling pool gifter; Converse wearer) and Grace (accountant; seasoned traveller; wore flip flops to get through security quicker), both of them laughing wildly at something on their phones.

And then there is Lucy, in bits of a T-shirt, denim cutoffs and Crocs (with charms) – I’ve never seen anyone more ready for a holiday.

‘They look like…’

‘Trouble?’ I say, as he pours my final drink.

‘God, no. That hen do over there is trouble. The one in the leg warmers and the wig has been on tequila since four thirty. We’re taking bets on whether she’ll actually get on the flight.

’ I turn to said hen do. It’s an eighties theme, the alcohol is rainbow coloured and the veils are cheap and possibly a little flammable.

‘What I meant to say is that they all look like they’re having fun.

I’m guessing it’s just you girls? No families, kids? ’

I’m growing particularly fond of Pete here with his barman telepathy. I nod .

‘Destination?’

‘Palma, Mallorca.’

‘Classy and very pleasant this time of year. Well, I wish you a lovely time,’ he says, handing me the card machine.

I glance at the screen as I tap my phone to pay.

How much? Yet there is something about an airport pub, serving us alcohol in the wee hours of the morning and a mediocre fry-up that is just part of the pre-holiday experience.

You could be angry about it but instead, there is a frisson of excitement simmering away that an airplane is in the vicinity, an escape is coming. Just take my money.

‘That’s very kind, thank you, Pete…’ I say, balancing the tray of drinks and carrying it precariously over to the table where all my cousins sit. The sun hasn’t even come up and some of us are already having alcohol. Lucy claps and cheers my arrival.

‘Gin and tonic for our birthday girl,’ I say, handing out the drinks, watching as Meg rejoins us from her nap. ‘OJ for Emma, bottle of Becks for Beth, white wine for Grace and vodka Red Bull for Lucy…’

‘Absolute legend, Suze,’ Lucy tells me.

‘Well, least I could do was get the first round in – food is on order too.’

Grace puts her hands to the air silently to know bacon will soothe our tired souls too. ‘Then can I propose a toast?’ she says. ‘Here’s to Meg coming of age. Life, love and laughter.’

‘That sounded like a shit sign someone would hang in their kitchen,’ Beth jokes.

‘Oh, do piss off. It’s five thirty in the bloody morning.’

‘Here’s to Smeggy being the first of us to become officially old,’ Lucy intervenes, taking a large sip of her drink.

Grace laughs under her breath. A bit of my pint shoots up my nose.

Meg glares over at her, parentally. ‘Seriously, there are children on that table? ’

Lucy looks over at said table. ‘One of them is a baby. They won’t care.’

‘Until it’s their first word…’ Emma joins in.

‘Which would be mildly hilarious,’ Lucy turns to me. ‘It’s what we called Meg all the time when we were teenagers,’ Lucy explains.

‘It’s what you called her,’ Emma clarifies. ‘Please stop it with the smegma talk so early in the morning.’

‘Oh, do lighten up, Emma. It’s her fortieth. We’re on holiday.’

‘You may be. But we’re still on British soil. They can ban us from the flight for inappropriate behaviour… clothing,’ Emma informs her, pointing a finger over her cleavage.

‘Inappropriate? There’s a girl over there in a fishnet dress. I can see her pubes poking out the holes.’ Do we all turn around? Of course we do. Christ, it’s like a sea urchin down there.

Lucy looks down at her top. ‘Instead, I look like a desperately sad groupie of a band that peaked in the nineties.’

‘The T-shirt is funny,’ Emma tells her.

‘It’s not. I’ll tell you what’s funny though. I stayed at Em’s last night and saw her pack. How many pairs of knickers did you pack for a five-day holiday? Fifteen.’

The sisters all laugh and I do my best to hold in my giggles.

‘I travel prepared…’

‘For having diarrhoea?’ Lucy retorts.

‘You’re such a cow.’

‘Mooooooo,’ she says loudly, attracting attention from the tables next to us.

Emma takes a deep breath before getting up and walking away.

To where, who knows? But it’s to avoid a fully fledged fight with her sister in this harshly lit terminal building so early in the morning.

I love this familiar banter, and the fact that Emma will eventually come back because what binds these sisters is more than just knicker talk .

‘Are we doing shots yet?’ Lucy asks, unperturbed by her sister’s storming off.

There’s a collective no, but I see the disappointment in her eyes and I put my hand to the air.

‘SUZIE! Yes!’ she says, pointing at me, scuttling off to the bar.

There is a collective eye roll around the table but the truth is, I owe Lucy, big time.

Back when the Pad Thai hit the fan (quite literally), she was the first person I called.

I was floored, distraught and a big seething ball of emotion.

Paul had cheated on me with someone he’d met at the gym.

It was such a cliché and I felt like such a damn fool and had no idea what to do.

Lucy knew. She got on a train to Brighton, she came to find me, she burst through my door and offered to defecate on his clothes.

And she was the one who told me to come back to London.

Come back home, Suzie. London will look after you.

We’ll look after you. I idolised Lucy and her four sisters growing up.

They treated me like a surrogate little sister, and being an only child, they were a force to be reckoned with, strong female energy that was embracing, warming.

They’ve always made me feel part of their gang.

‘You don’t have to do shots with her, you know?’ Beth tells me. ‘She can do that on her own. We can’t carry both of you to the plane.’

‘I could do just the one? Or toss it over my shoulder.’

Beth laughs. If Lucy saved me, then Beth and the others dragged me on their lifeboat. They saw a girl in need and revived her. Everything from temporary digs to financial advice; they were there, and I’ll forever be grateful.

‘Well, this is at least better than my hen where she waited until I passed out and put a fake penis tattoo on my forehead,’ Meg says, plainly, watching Lucy as she flirts with Pete the barman while sneakily putting quite a lot of ketchup sachets in her pockets.

There’s always been a brazen confidence about her that is entertaining but, man, I wish I could bottle it.

Inhale it for all those moments you need to be a touch more badass.

Her sisters watch her and you can see a collective look of pride but also questioning if it’s too late to leave her behind.

‘Thank you again, for letting me be here,’ I tell Meg.

She swats away the compliment. ‘It saves one of us having to bunk in with Luce,’ she winks.

‘You are family. This is where you belong.’ I beam at her kindness.

‘Plus, we need a touch of youth on this trip too. People to remind us how to party. We don’t trust Lucy.

Last time I went out with her, the shots were on fire and I nearly lost my eyebrows. ’

I forget how the Callaghans are in a different stage to life than me – apart from Lucy, they’re all mums and either married, divorced or living with someone.

It feels like they’re light years ahead of me in maturity – a place I wanted to be with Paul.

I hate how he hurdles into my thoughts like that. Fuck Paul.

‘Well, I can definitely do that,’ I tell her. ‘Plus, this is a celebration. Yesterday, I signed my contract,’ I say, pointing at Beth who claps excitedly on my behalf.

‘Work buddies,’ she says, holding her drink to the air.

Grace puts a congratulatory arm around me. Signing that contract felt good, freeing. It means I’m still moving in the right direction, away from Paul, reclaiming my power.