Page 18 of Ask Another Day

9th March 2007

19 Days Before the Party

Holly fiddled with the phone line, twisting it around her finger as she waited for Sloane to answer. She’d waited, as instructed, until 8:15pm to make this phone call. Sloane didn’t like it if she phoned any earlier than that. Holly’s day had been a frustrating one, and she needed to offload to her friend. For months she’d been toying with the idea of doing an Open University professional certificate in management. Finally, she’d worked up the courage to apply, and she’d been rewarded with an offer through the post this morning. Her elation at reading each word had soured when she’d seen the £1300 fee. She didn’t have that amount of money saved up, and although she knew her parents would find the money for her, she didn’t want to ask. It would come at a too high a personal cost to them. At this stage of her life, she should be able to sort things like this herself. In an attempt to do just that, she’d spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone about a grant, but when she’d finally got through to speak to someone, they’d dispassionately explained she didn’t meet the criteria. The words had sounded so perfunctory, like they hadn’t crushed her hope like a crumpled, discarded can of coke.

‘Sloane speaking,’ her friend’s cold voice broke through Holly’s self pitying fog.

‘Hi Sloane, it’s me,’ Holly breathed out, still reeling from the rejection from the grant team, even though she finished that call hours ago.

‘Who?’ her sharp tone bit back through the receiver.

‘Holly…’ she said tentatively, her delicate emotions not prepared for the harsh tone.

‘Oh, sorry. I forgot you were calling today.’

Her flippant disregard cut Holly sharply, but she didn’t react. It was obviously another one of Sloane’s difficult days and Holly knew better than to respond in a way to fuel the fire. Their friendship was a tricky game at times, but Holly was an expert in the unspoken rules - even as the game had evolved over the last three years into a stress inducing battlefield.

‘Sorry. I can call back tomorrow,’ she offered, more than happy to do so - she wasn’t sure if her fragile nerves could cope with this version of her friend tonight.

‘Well you’ve called now. What do you want?’

‘Not much. Just missed you. And as it’s getting close to my birthday, I thought we could discuss outfits?’

She rushed out her reason, lying under the pressure of Sloane’s curt question. Holly had wanted to despair about not having the money for the Open University course. But she’d changed tact as soon as she’d heard the frosty layer that ran along their phone connection.

‘I’ve got about 15 minutes before I’ve got to meet Seb, but we can have a quick chat about outfits, I guess.’

Holly swallowed away the envy that had leapt to life with her throwaway mention of Seb. She was desperate to ask how he was, but she couldn’t cope with another mocking lecture from her best friend. Those words from last week still clung to every fibre of her being. He’s so out of your league. She knew Sloane was right, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less to hear it.

And just like that, it was too much to be chatting on the phone with Sloane. She couldn’t play this game anymore. Not tonight. Not now she knew Sloane was about to see him. She knew, with a crushing clarity, if she showed any interest in that piece of information, Sloane would pounce on it. So she took the coward’s way out.

‘One sec, Mum!’ she called loudly, replying to an imagined summons, ‘So sorry Sloane, Mum needs me downstairs. Have fun with Seb.’ She had desperately wanted to add, Say hi from me, but with a monumental effort, she resisted.

‘Oh. OK. Bye.’ The line went dead.

‘What was all that about?’ her mum asked from the doorway catching Holly off guard. Still holding the receiver in one hand, she swallowed the slight scream that had threatened. Slapping her free hand to her chest, she worked to calm her racing heart.

‘Couldn’t face Sloane’s mood tonight,’ she explained when her nerves allowed.

‘She is so very lucky to have you as a friend, Holly.’

Holly scoffed at her mum’s words.

‘I mean it, Holly. Not many people would put up with her mood swings.’

‘You’re right - I’m Yorkshire’s version of Mother Teresa. Maybe I should consider becoming a nun?’ Holly mimicked praying solemnly.

Her mum laughed, before stepping into her room and enveloping her in a hug. ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ she teased, and then her tone changed into one Holly knew only too well when she added, ‘Want to discuss outfits with me instead?’

‘Or me?’ her dad called from the landing.

‘She wants to look nice, Mike.’

‘Oi. I’ll have you know many a woman has asked my advice on their outfits. I always give right good feedback.’

‘You say they look nice. Every. Single. Time,’ her mum scoffed.

‘I’m no idiot. I tell them what they want to hear.’ He shrugged, before wandering off downstairs to the pub muttering something about women, that Holly couldn’t quite make out.