Page 20 of One Day at a Time

Just at that, the alarm on Orla’s phone went off and they all jumped.

Orla reached for the test with a trembling hand. It would be negative. Of course it would… There was no way. She’d done so many already. And the fates that usually took such good care of her, clearly weren’t paying attention to her needs at the moment.

Keep breathing or you’ll faint. And no more bloody crying.

The atmosphere in the room crackled with tension as she flipped it over and they all stared at it for a second, time standing still, until Orla broke the silence with a gasp.

Yvie was the first to speak, though. ‘Well, I guess that means we can rule out PMT.’

JULY

10

SHEENA

‘Where do you want this?’ Chanel asked Sheena, holding up a framed photo of Sheena and Gregor on their wedding day.

Damn, they’d been so young. They should have had nothing more on their minds than learning the key changes and the air grabs in every Westlife number one song, but instead, the bride and groom were on the steps of a registry office, wearing outfits they’d bought with their student loans from Debenhams. It wasn’t even as if their parents had forced them into it as some kind of redemption for getting pregnant three years earlier, because actually the opposite was true. Both sets of parents had encouraged them to split up and go out and explore the world on their own, and that was probably why they’d gone with the rebellious route of getting married. Her mum and dad had quickly accepted it through and they’d come to love Gregor like a son. Now they were circling seventy and had retired to a lovely little cottage in Ayrshire. So far, she’d managed to avoid sharing the news of her separation in their weekly phone calls and she intended to keep it that way until she was settled in her new life.

‘Erm, bottom drawer of the sideboard over there,’ she answered Chanel, while Martha clutched her heart and winced.

‘Oh the pain. I don’t mean for you, but God, look at my legs in that picture. I want to get it blown up and put on the side of every bus stop in the city.’

Sheena glanced back at the photo and saw that she was right. Nineteen-year-old Martha had been in her inappropriate dress phase, so she was wearing sequinned hot pants and a cut-out top that got its inspiration straight from the wardrobe of Destiny’s Child.

Martha was still lamenting her lost youth. ‘That was when stretchy and sequinned was my fabric of choice, as opposed to warm and fleecy. I’m away for a biscuit to comfort-eat myself back to happiness.’

Off she went, leaving Chanel and Sheena to continue unpacking her worldly goods. Sheena was sitting on the floor, placing her jewellery and knick-knacks into one of the four drawers in the bedside chest. She paused, and exhaled as she smiled.

‘You know, there’s just something about this place that makes me happy. And I don’t just mean the fact that it’s all mine and no one else will be dropping their pants on the bathroom floor.’

Chanel was deadpan as ever. ‘I’ll cancel the Chippendales booking for tonight then. That was going to be my house-warming present.’

Sheena laughed until she groaned. ‘Are you wearing Poison perfume?’

Chanel nodded. ‘Well spotted. How did you know?’

‘Because it used to make me feel nauseous and I’ve just realised that it still does. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yep, this place makes my heart happy. I’m forty-four years old and this is the first home that I’ve ever been able to call my own. I love it.’

‘I can see why,’ Martha agreed, coming back into the living room clutching a Wagon Wheel. ‘It’s just… sunny.’

The flat had been the first one that she’d looked at, the day after she’d told Gregor that she was moving out. It was still in the West End, only about ten minutes’ drive from her marital home, but instead of a fourteen hundred square foot three-bedroom, three-bathroom conversion, it was a little one-bedroom garden flat in a curved Victorian terrace, with French doors leading into the private garden from both the open-plan kitchen/lounge and the bedroom. It was just gorgeous, and Sheena felt her heart flutter every time she walked through the door. Best of all, it had been newly furnished, so she hadn’t had to worry about buying sofas or a bed. She’d pitched up with her clothes, her personal belongings, a few things Gregor had put in a box for her (the wedding picture being one of those items) and enough cutlery, crockery and glasses to get her by.

Everything else, she’d left behind.

‘How was Gregor when you said goodbye yesterday?’ Martha asked, opening a suitcase of folded sweaters and beginning to hang them up.

‘He was okay, I think. Sad. We both were. Although, I’m pretty sure he thinks there’s a possibility that I’ll change my mind and beg to come back, and that’s why I’ve walked out with just this stuff. He thinks I’ve lost my perimenopausal mind, and that I’ll come to my senses at any minute.’

Chanel was stacking bras in the top drawer of the old antique armoire in the corner of the room. ‘Is that a possibility?’

Sheena shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Although he did say if I left there was no turning back, but I think that was an idle threat. Who knows? Maybe he’ll discover that he loves single life and this will be the best thing that ever happened for both of us.’

‘Okay, I have more questions, but first…’ Chanel abandoned the bras, and made her way over to the beautiful little burr walnut table that sat in front of a huge cream armchair to the side of the French doors. ‘My house-warming present should be cold by now,’ she said, pulling a bottle of Moet from the ice bucket she’d left on a mirrored tray on top of the table, next to champagne flutes from a set that made up the second part of her Welcome To Your House gift. She poured three glasses of fizz, handed one to Martha, and Sheena reached up for the one that came her way.

Sheena raised her glass. ‘Well, cheers, and thank you both so much for helping me today. I wouldn’t have been able to find a bra or a jumper for the next fortnight if you weren’t here.’

The toast was reciprocated, with a loud, ‘Cheers, Happy new home!’ but when she went to take a sip, the smell of Chanel’s perfume must have been lingering because another wave of nausea made her put the glass down on the wooden floor. She’d get to it later.