When I was
writing my scenes between two longstanding friends in The Divorce Domino, it occurred to me that sometimes it’s not just
the spouse you lose when marriages breakdown. Even old mates, ones you’ve known
for years, can fall by the wayside because your circumstances change. Which led
me to thinking about the pluses and minuses of people who met you before you’d made
any decisions to affect the rest of your life.
On the upside, they
knew you when bleach was just something you put on your hair, which makes flapping
about with the feather duster now seem a bit too little, too late. And given
that they’ve seen you in full-on, out-on-the-town gear - an old nightie, your
granddad’s cardigan and a pair of monkey boots – they’re not going to throw
their hands up in horror because it’s lunchtime and you’re still in your
pyjamas.
They can keep up
with the conversation conveyor belt without the need for an ‘I am now moving on
to a different topic’ sign because they know your first dog was called Minnie
(dreadful breath), their photo album is witness to your teenage penchant for
sequins and glitter, they helped you dye your hair pink and blue when you were
pretending to like The Clash rather than The Nolans. You don’t need to explain
family quirks…they know your parents.
And find it hard to break the habit of calling them Mr/Mrs (+ surname) when
they meet them…very Chopper bikes and Arctic Roll. Unlike my kids’ friends who call
me by my first name and treat me like a waitress in TGI Friday’s.
Undeniably, it’s
very relaxing to bandy about names from the past without having to pause in the
narrative to explain who fits where. You can hook the name of an old boyfriend
out of the ether and on cue, they’ll do a face like they’ve just gulped milk
that has gone off - ‘Not the bloke who cut his toenails on the kitchen table?’ ‘The
one who ran the market stall and kept coming home with bruised apricots?’ All
of which makes it easier to admit to old friends you’ve made mistakes in any
area of life because, let’s face it, they’ve spent evenings in the company of
the worst ones.
But here’s the
rub. They knew you before you airbrushed yourself. Their view of you remains
rooted in the growing up years when you saw each other on a daily basis at
school or college. In my book, one of the characters wants to set up her own
business, yet finds it easier to tell her new friends about her ambitions. Why?
Because her best friend has her pigeonholed as a lady who lunches, doesn’t like
getting her hands dirty, incapable of hard graft. Old friends find it hard to
separate who we were from who we are. And sometimes don’t like it when we try
to change.
Going on a diet?
Scepticism greets the announcement because they’ve seen the failure of Cabbage
Soup, Grapefruit, Blood Type, South Beach…Want your children to go to private
school/tutor/orthodontist? Prepare to be reminded of the hours you spent
selling the Socialist Worker. And if
you ever dare to say you don’t drink much, brace yourself for the night of the
Pernod Black/Brandy and Babycham/Tequila slammer story.
I had one friend
come to stay who brought a car load of food with her, right down to the olive
oil. ‘But you can’t cook.’ True, I couldn’t cook – two decades ago. Survived
the whole of university on cheese and pickle sandwiches and muesli. It was a
wonder I didn’t get scurvy. But I have a
family. Who need to eat. But to her, I’ll always be that person ‘who doesn’t
know how to cook’.
So while I love
and cherish my longstanding friends, I applaud the ones who met me as my
tidier, more domesticated self and who don’t laugh until wine comes out of their
noses when I tell them that the highlight of my year is getting a new pantry…
