Love...Maybe: The Must-Have Eshort Collection

‘You’re joking!’ I blurt out. ‘How in God’s name do you manage without Facebook?’

Now the pair of them are looking at me, puzzled.

‘Face … what?’ they say in unison.

I change the subject and we go back to the far more welcome topic of talking about boys and effective ways to get rid of stubborn zits.

Thank God I never got round to mentioning Twitter.

*

Best thing of all is that I even get to play God with everyone else’s life too. I meet up with Amanda first in MacDonald’s for a coffee (can you believe there’s nowhere else for us to hang out on a Saturday afternoon? When I mentioned Starbucks, she just looked back at me totally bewildered.) The place is noisy and packed with kids tearing about, high as kites on Happy Meals and when I ask for a decaf soy latte, I won’t repeat where the stressed looking girl behind the till told me to shove it.

‘Anyway, there’s something important that I really have to tell you,’ I bossily tell Amanda, as we clamber onto plastic seats and clear away the disgusting mess the last family left behind.

‘What’s that?’ she asks, sitting back and lighting up a fag.

‘Well, it’s about the place you’ve been offered at RADA.’

‘Yeah?’

‘The thing is, I think you should most definitely take it. No, don’t just take it Amanda, grab it with both hands. Trust me, you’ll be so glad you did in later life. You could end up like Judi Dench, or even Helen Mirren!’ I add, quoting 2015 Amanda back to her.

‘Yeah, but I also have an offer in on this new soap opera that’s starting up. Now I know it’s just a few week’s work to start with, but the money is bloody phenomenal! I could wipe my student debt off in no time if I accept it. Whereas if I go to RADA, I’ve no guarantee of a job at the end of it, do I? Plus I’d have to waitress in London to keep myself going. And at the end of it all, I could come out of it like one of those tosspot actor wankers who are so far up themselves that they call everyone ‘lovie’ and ‘dearie,’ and come out with insincere crap like, ‘I love your work’ and ‘channel your inner pain.’

‘Amanda, you have to trust me. If you turn down RADA and go with the soap opera, it will end up being the biggest regret of your life.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Trust me, I just do.’

Later that night, I even get to wave my magic wand over Sophie’s life too. She phones my house – oh the shock of actually having to use a landline in our narrow hallway at home with both parents earwigging in. Anyway, Sophie asks me over for a pizza, as she’s babysitting her two bratty younger sisters, who are aged nine and ten going on thirty-nine and forty respectively.

‘Guess what?’ she tells me excitedly as we rip into a giant box of tomato and pepperoni pizza, with a giant tub of Häagan-Dazs to follow. Yet another thing I can’t believe about somehow being twenty-one again; I get to eat what I like, and somehow manage not to gain weight. What’s not to love?

‘Tell me,’ I say with my mouth stuffed.

‘Remember I was telling you about Dave Edmond? The DJ I met in Renards the other night?’

My face falls.

‘Well, he called earlier and he asked me out! Tomorrow night. To the movies; he says he’s dying to see Braveheart.’

And now I can’t stop myself.

‘Oh Sophie, that the guy is bad news. Trust me, you should at all costs avoid, avoid, avoid.’

‘But you’ve never even met him! How can you know?’

‘Take it from me. If you end up dating him, it will be the single biggest mistake of your entire life. He may not be an arsewipe now, but just give him ten years and you’ll see exactly what I mean. And you’ll be bloody glad I warned you. The day will come when you’ll thank me for being straight with you.’

‘But Kate,’ Sophie asks, abandoning her half-eaten pizza and looking over at me worriedly. ‘How can you be so certain that Dave’s going to turn into an asshole? You can’t know that for sure.’

‘Believe me, I do. Because I’ve got a crystal ball.’

Next thing though, it’s like a hazy fog drifts back over me and suddenly I start to feel nauseous and weak as water. I’m not even certain what’s happening, all I know is that my head is pounding and when I reach out for Sophie’s hand, suddenly she’s not there anymore.

Then nothing but blackness as a loud whooshing sound fills my ears … and now for some mad reason, I can hear The Black-Eyed Peas singing ‘I Gotta Feeling’ all over again, which … Oh God no … Can only mean one thing.

Yes. I’m lying back on the floor of the tennis club and I’m out of this lovely reverie, back to being forty again. And just in case I needed it, there’s confirmation writ large across the giant birthday banner over the stage that says, ‘Happy Fortieth Kate!’

Except somehow, things still don’t seem quite right. Amanda’s still beside me, but she doesn’t look anything like her usual fabulously glamorous self. And there’s no sign of Sophie either, which is odd …

‘What year is it?’ I mutter croakily. ‘Who’s the prime minister? And how old am I?’

‘You’re concussed and I’m taking you to hospital for a CAT scan,’ Amanda says firmly. ‘Your Mum’s gone to call an ambulance.’

‘Look, I say, somehow managing to haul myself up onto one elbow. ‘I know I sound completely mental and maybe I am, but please, please tell me what’s going on in all our lives. It’s important. I really have to know!’

She looks at me a bit oddly, but caves into the madwoman that I must sound like.

‘Well to be honest sweetie, I was kind of hoping that tonight might be an opportunity to forget about all our troubles. What with poor Sophie in hospital having IVF and everything …’

‘She’s having what? Hang on a minute … Sophie already has four kids, why is she having IVF?’

‘No she doesn’t! Four kids? Are you actually being serious? Kate darling, you simply must remember the reason she’s not here tonight? Because they’d kept her in hospital for tests to try and figure out why she’s still not getting pregnant? You’ve got to remember my love; you only went to see her this morning.’

No, no, no, no, no, no, no …

‘And what about you?’ I ask her urgently. Desperately needing to know just how bad things are. Because there’s something about Amanda that’s not quite right. Her whole accent is completely different and she’s acting all affected and – weird. Calling me darling and my love? That’s so not Amanda.

‘Me ? Oh lovie, that’s a hoot. Because if I don’t land some kind of gainful employment soon, there’s a good chance I’ll end up as a bag lady. I cannot believe I’m going to be forty in a few weeks times and I’m still living in the most dreadful rented flat with a bunch of drama students and cockroaches.’

‘But … You went to RADA, didn’t you?’

‘Of course, darling. And I can count on the fingers of one hand the amount of jobs I’ve had since I graduated. To think, I turned down a perfectly good, well-paid job in a soap opera just to do some prestigious acting course in London? I must need my head looked into and judging by the way you’re yabbering on, I’m not the only one.’

I’m half afraid to ask my next question, but I know that I have to.

‘And what about … James? Me and James?’

She looks at me and I just know by her face that she’s too terrified to answer.

‘Amanda please. I really need to know.’

‘You really can’t remember?’

‘Not a thing.’