Page 19 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

True to form, Josie arrives late. Her shirt untucked, handbag swinging from her forearm, her fringe scattered at all different angles.

‘Oh my gosh, hello. Hi.’ She plonks down on the chair opposite me. ‘I can’t believe how late I am.’ Checking her phone, she baulks. ‘Twenty minutes, horrendous, I’m so sorry. There was a bit of drama at home and I lost track of time.’

We’ve met at our favourite coffee shop four blocks down from her house – a suburban corner café, rattan seating, wooden white tables, overgrown fronds and potted palms in corners, windows stretched floor to ceiling, staff wearing crisp white aprons, cream-coloured cushions on seats.

Josie’s sporting a new haircut – chopped below the ears, darkened strawberry colour, shorter fringe – and I’m so floored by it, I do nothing but stare.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her stray from the long, flowing waves and I’m caught off guard.

That ethereal look is gone and now she looks, well, ordinary.

Conventional, I guess. The crown has toppled off her head and she is now like every other person on the street.

Reminds me of my own hair change, six weeks before I left Dave.

Dyed it all white then realised the relationship couldn’t be salvaged, so changed it back to ash blonde.

‘Your hair,’ I say, dumbfounded.

‘Oh right , you haven’t seen it.’ She reaches up and fingers the ends. ‘I needed a change.’

‘One hell of a change.’

‘You like it, right?’ she asks, nervous.

It takes a moment to get used to it. After so many years looking like Galadriel, she now resembles D.W. from Arthur . ‘Of course.’

Her hair delays discussion about the text, but not for long. Josie, plagued with guilt, sits forward in her chair, places her handbag on the ground at her feet, then grabs my hand and squeezes it.

‘Charlie, I’m sorry. So sorry. I’m a horrible person. An awful friend. It’s unforgiveable. I think I was shocked when you and Dave split and just assumed you wouldn’t be coming to that party. And I don’t know why I said what I said, but I’ve spent weeks kicking myself for it.’

Her apology seems genuine, which is a shame because I’d planned on yelling at her and making her feel all sorts of uncomfortable. And I didn’t realise how much frustration I harboured until she just said all those things. I can feel my body unwind.

‘You could’ve called,’ I say. ‘To apologise.’

‘I know, I know. And I should’ve. But I was furious with myself. I felt sick. And I couldn’t face you. I was embarrassed.’

‘But you’re here now?’

‘Yes, I am.’ She pats my hand. I wait, but she has nothing to add. ‘I’ve missed everyone.’ My voice is quiet and it wavers, because I’m trying not to tear up. I didn’t even plan to say it.

‘Oh god, Charlie.’ She pulls me into a hug. ‘I’m going to message them all after this. Tell them off. We’ve been horrible, haven’t we? Real arses.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘It’s not.’

‘Okay, it’s not.’

She is satisfied and sits back in her chair.

Over the past few years, Josie and I have spent hours here. It’s like our second home, somewhere just for us. She runs a hand through her new hair, and I can tell she’s still getting used to it. ‘Gosh, there’s so much change happening at the moment.’

And I remember, now, what she said. About drama. About losing track of time. ‘Is everything okay? At home?’

‘Oh, yes, all fine.’ She exhales with an intensity I’m not sure I’ve heard before.

‘The twins are being tiny brats, but what else is new?’ Her reddened cheeks are returning to their natural colour but the skin under her eyes looks sunken.

She rubs her eyes. ‘Emile’s teacher told us he’s struggling with his spelling, so I’ve been getting up with him every morning to help him with the workbook.

And obviously he hates it, so it’s this whole palaver.

When I was seven, I swear it was “hat” or “cat” but the boy’s got words like “dance” and “rinse”.

And he can’t work out if something has an S or a C and so he just guesses.

And when he gets it wrong, he starts crying and it’s this whole thing.

’ She waves her hands about, then leans in close, whispering.

‘And of course Shaun’s no use. Doesn’t help unless I ask him to—’

A staff member appears to our left. ‘ Oh ,’ Josie says, perking up. ‘Marvellous. I’ll have an oat latte.’ She turns towards me, hand extended.

‘Flat white, please. Regular.’ The staff member scoots off.

‘What were we talking about?’ Josie asks. ‘Oh, the kids. Boring. Let’s not. How are you ?’ She pokes my leg. ‘These pants are cute. They new?’

‘They are, actually.’ I run my hands around the pinched waist.

I’ve had coffee with Josie enough times to know how easily she flitters between topics.

How often she’ll moan about her husband, tell me her kids are exhausting her, and that her mother-in-law is once again meddling in their family life.

And then where I bought my outfit, how my mother is enjoying retirement, how my sister manages to keep up with four kids when she’s struggling so much with two, and how I’m finding my job at the radio station.

All in the space of ninety minutes, often less.

‘How’s work?’

Josie is a mediator. Has been doing it for as long as I’ve known her.

She waves off the question with a flick of her hand.

‘Oh, same old.’ Then she toys with the question a little further, lets it sit.

Her body tilts to the side while she muses.

‘Actually, the company’s been struggling a little.

There have been a few layoffs, but I’ve been reassured I’m safe. Been there the longest, after all.’

‘Oh, shit.’

‘Sounds worse than it is.’ She brushes her hair behind her ear, runs a hand down her linen pants. They’re thin and seem like they might tear with the slightest pull. ‘Mediation is just taking a bit of a dive at the moment, it seems.’

‘People trying to solve their own problems?’

Josie shrugs. ‘Or just not solving them at all. It’ll pass though; it always does. There are so many psychos out there. And they all work office jobs, for some reason.’

Then, she segues to her new assistant. Early twenties.

Gen Z and insufferable. ‘Just no awareness. No understanding of hard work. Been out of uni for, like, one minute and wants an outrageous salary she hasn’t earned.

I’m really harsh with her, if I’m being honest. But it’s necessary!

Sorry. If I could flush her head down the toilet, it’d be so satisfying.

She’ll say something sassy and I just think, If it meant I wouldn’t get fired, I’d totally haze you . ’

After a moment, she continues. ‘The entire time she’s been alive is how long I’ve been in the workforce. Respect your elders, you know? The older I get, the more I turn into a Karen. And it’s completely inevitable. I. Am. A. Karen.’

Our coffees arrive and she drinks almost half the cup at once. Closes her eyes and sighs, like she’d been craving it all morning.

‘So, tell me everything,’ she says, perking up. ‘How are you? I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Must be so hard, what you’ve been going through.’

‘It’s getting easier.’

She nods profusely. ‘Of course, of course. It’ll take time, I’m sure of it. Separating after that long? I couldn’t imagine.’

‘For the best though.’

‘So, no regrets then?’ she asks, watching me with a keen eye.

‘No.’

‘That’s great. Really great.’ Her face falls, and I think she was expecting more – a bigger download, perhaps. ‘Must be difficult. I feel for you, going through this.’ She places a hand to her chest.

I’m wondering if this coffee date is just an opportunity for Josie to relay how sorry she feels for me. It’s not nice, to be constantly reminded. I want to be distracted. I want to talk about something else.

When she realises I’ve divulged as much I’m going to, she changes the subject. ‘Diego mentioned he saw you.’

Ha, knew it. They’ve definitely got a new group chat without me.

‘Did he tell you he ran away from me?’

Josie is prepared for this, placing a hand to her chest again. ‘Poor thing was so unwell.’

Of course he was. A likely story. ‘Convenient.’

She sips her coffee, shifting uncomfortably. And then her phone pings and she glances quickly at the incoming text message. Lets out an almighty groan. ‘Shaun, honestly. I leave the house for ten minutes and he’s asking me something about the twins. He can’t function without me, I swear.’

There’s silence while she taps out a text to him. And then she speaks. ‘The kids are at that horrendous age where they’re being crude with us. Sometimes when they catch me on a bad day, I wonder if I’m capable of murder.’ Then she laughs, waving it off. ‘Kidding, obviously.’

‘Obviously.’

‘And I know I’ve said this before, but Shaun is a complete sucker. They walk all over him.’

I fidget with the edges of my blouse, run my hands over my thighs, clear my throat.

There’s something about our conversation I can’t quite place.

Something off about all of this. Josie’s always been one to moan about Shaun and the kids, but I don’t remember feeling this agitated by it.

And I can’t place what the issue is. Is it that after three months of my own personal hell, I’m not interested in hearing about hers?

But I push it down. Ignore the sick feeling. Because I’ve got Genevieve and Bruce in the back of my mind making me fear that this is too good to be true. You never see their friends again . I want to prove them wrong.

‘And how is Shaun?’ I ask.

‘Oh, he’s fine. The usual,’ she says, finishing her coffee. ‘He’s started cycling with the kids on weekends, to lose a bit of weight. Did you notice at the party? He’s a bit heavier at the moment. Built like an unemployed alcoholic uncle, is how Mum put it.’ She laughs.

Thinking back, I’m not sure I noticed any weight gain at all, no.