No Longer Safe(13)

‘Because they’re exciting, I suppose,’ she’d told me. ‘You never know what they’re going to do next. They’re mysterious, intriguing. Women want to work out how they tick; they see dangerous men as a challenge.’

Mark invariably wore black back then; most of his t-shirts featured skull and crossbones or logos of indie bands he’d seen at Glastonbury. He’d been a talented drummer (his studies had suffered), and he’d lapped up the kudos of being in a band. Musicians were allowed to be glum, irritable and leave their dirty dishes about the place. I was pleased to see he’d ditched his trademark black eyeliner and his t-shirt was maroon, instead of black, and had an Armani label, with the logo of a US department store printed across the front. He still had three holes in one earlobe, sporting two studs and a silver scorpion.

Jodie Farringday had always been gorgeous; five foot ten, with thick frothy dark hair tied up into a ponytail and striking supermodel looks. Her legs were twice the length of mine and her typical facial expression was built around a plump pout; her lips enviably claret-red without the need for lipstick. She looked exactly as I remembered her – complete with kitten heels encrusted with snow – she hadn’t changed a bit.

I felt a pang of inadequacy. I wasn’t dressed and hadn’t even brushed my hair. I was acutely aware of the bruise that now resembled a plum stuck to the side of my forehead. I hadn’t had the chance to dab a blob of make-up over it.

‘We’ve had a staggeringly awful journey,’ Jodie moaned. ‘We got here so late last night, we had to stay in Fort William.’ She shrugged off her leather jacket in my direction. I caught it and hung it up. She did a double take as she saw the bruise on my temple. ‘Why did you choose this godforsaken place?’

Jodie had been that odd mix of super-confident on the outside and insecure on the inside. She’d been obsessed with fashion and self-grooming, always washing her hair and making appointments at the tanning centre. She never went anywhere without a glossy magazine and even in company, she used to plonk one on the table to browse through in coffee shops, the pub, restaurants.

Mark did a circuit of the sitting room and emerged looking forlorn. ‘There’s no bloody telly! How am I going to survive without Strictly...?’

‘He’s not joking,’ snorted Jodie.

Karen threw her eyes up in mock offence and took Jodie and Mark each by the hand. ‘I’m making you both a bacon butty,’ she declared, dragging them into the kitchen.

Karen turned to me as I lingered in the hall. ‘It’ll be fun, Alice. Come on – you’ll see.’



I hurried upstairs to change and we settled in the sitting room with hot drinks and bacon sandwiches. Jodie had Melanie on her knee, but didn’t seem to know what to do with her. The child didn’t look too pleased to be there, either. She started whinging and flapping her hands in Jodie’s face. Jodie couldn’t wait to hand her back.

‘She’s a bit overwhelmed with all the new faces,’ said Karen, picking her up and cooing.

‘Does she have to have that mask on all the time?’ asked Jodie, appalled.

‘The doctors want me to wean her off it gradually, but she needs it most of the time, for now.’

Melanie still wasn’t happy. Karen tipped a pile of toys onto the floor and tried to interest her in something. ‘Look – how about we play with the shiny ball? Or the jolly truck?’ Melanie reached out instead for the little playhouse Karen had made out of a large cardboard box.

It must have taken her ages to put together, to paint the brickwork blue on the outside, cut the four-pane window in the side and ruche the paisley curtains with string. There was a soft blanket and toys inside, so Melanie could explore her own little space. Karen set up the oxygen tank outside the box and lifted Melanie into the middle.

I played peek-a-boo at the window with her for a while before Karen insisted I stop to have a bacon sandwich. I took half a slice to join in, but I wasn’t hungry. I was still in shock from this intrusion and still had a headache. Why hadn’t Karen said anything? Why hadn’t she warned me? Then, it suddenly clicked: she hadn’t mentioned it because she must have known there was a chance I wouldn’t have come if I’d known Jodie and Mark would be here. She wanted all of us – her own select reunion  .

Karen got to her feet, poised for an announcement. ‘I know it’s not Christmas – but Santa got his dates mixed up this year and came early.’ I looked on in horror as she produced immaculately wrapped gifts for everyone. There was a CD for Mark, a fitness DVD for Jodie and for me a thick book on photography. I felt terrible – I hadn’t thought to bring any Christmas presents, not even for the baby.