Page 27 of The Three of Us
‘I don’t suppose they do it in my size,’ Fran says with a sigh. ‘All the fashionable stuff seems to stop at a sixteen, if it even goes that far. Do you know, there’s one place in town that calls a size twelve extra large!’
We make sympathetic noises, but she does have a point. There are plenty of women who weigh in at the heavier end of the scales but still want to look good.
‘You could always have a go at making your own clothes,’ Suze says, a bit unhelpfully as she knows as well as I do that Fran is no needlewoman. She tried to knit a bobble hat once and it came out with so many holes it could have doubled up as a tea cosy, with the handle and the spout free to stick out just about anywhere they needed to.
Fran shakes her head and turns her attention to the bag of crisps she has just bought at the bar, ripping it open and offering it round before diving in.
‘So, how are the driving lessons going?’ Suze is digging for something to laugh at and I’m not going to be the one to give it to her.
‘Very well, according to Syd. I’ve only been out three times but I haven’t hit anything yet – well, not since the infamous three-point turn in lesson one. And I did what he called a textbook reverse around the corner the other night. And I’m working on the Highway Code. It’s not quite as riveting as reading the latest Milly Johnson, not much in the way of plot, but I’m persevering. Road signs, stopping distances and all that. You can test me if you like!’
‘Okay, what’s that sign that looks like a pair of 48 double H cups lying down in the road?’ Suze has the light back in her eyes now, and has switched back to naughty mode.
‘You mean Fran when she’s had one too many vodkas?’
Fran bashes me on the arm in indignation, but she’s laughing along with us, and I know she doesn’t mind. She makes enough jokes about her own size, after all. ‘I’m only a 42E, I’ll have you know,’ she says, as if to prove my point. ‘And I can never have too many vodkas!’
‘I know we’re not talking about men tonight…’ Suze says, looking pointedly at her sister, ‘but that doesn’t stop us talking about your love life, does it?’
Fran stares straight back at her. ‘What love life?’
‘My point exactly. Look, Frannie, I can’t pretend to know much about gay romance…’
‘No, you can’t, so don’t ask, okay?’
‘Nobody on the scene then?’ Suze never seems to know when to stop.
‘I have met someone, actually.’ I don’t often see Fran blush but her cheeks are looking a lot redder than they did a moment ago. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she’s making it up, just to get Suze off her case. ‘But it’s early days, and none of your business, so can we just leave it, please?’
‘Suit yourself, but come on, Fran. You’re one of the first to stick your ears up whenever there’s even a hint of gossip. And if Carly and I are fair game, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be. And, besides, what are sisters for, if not to share a bit of the intimate stuff from time to time? You know, marks out of ten, and have you kissed her yet?’
‘You never know when to just leave it, do you? Some things are private, okay?’
Suze looks at me and does a ridiculous exaggerated wink. ‘That means she hasn’t!’ she says, dodging out of the way as Fran swipes at her with her hand.
‘Well, I don’t see you spilling all the latest on that Sean of yours.’
‘Not mine, as it happens.’ Suze clutches at her glass so hard I think it’s going to break in her hand, and takes a long swig. ‘Seems he’s been seeing some girl he met on a bus.’
‘Oops, sorry. Sore point?’ Fran’s anger subsides in an instant and she shuffles up closer to Suze and puts an arm across her shoulders.
‘He’s lucky he didn’t end up with a sore point of his own when I found out. There was a very tempting rolling pin nearby at the time, but I resisted. Very good of me, I thought, considering. And it doesn’t matter, not really. She’s welcome to him.’
‘Plenty more fish in the sea, eh?’
‘Okay, that’s enough of the clichés, Fran. Seeing someone else behind my back? No, there’s no way I’m going to put up with that, or forgive him. He’s denying it all, of course, but you know I can’t tolerate cheats.’ I’m sure she’s looking straight at me as she says that. ‘At least it means I’m free again, ready for when the right man does come along. Assuming someone else hasn’t claimed him first, of course.’ Now I know she’s definitely aiming her comments at me. And she’s right. I know she is. Right man, wrong time and all that. I have to stop obsessing over Jack Doherty and move on with my life.
We don’t stay long after that. Somehow the fun has leached out of the evening, and by eight o’clock we’ve called it a day. I decide to call in on Mum on my way home. A third of a plate of chips and one of Fran’s cheese-and-onion crisps – there was no way she was letting either of us take more than one – haven’t quite managed to fill the hole and I’m hoping Mum’s cooked one of her fabulous big family dinners, knowing that Sam is usually starving after football practice, and there might be some left for me.
I let myself in at the back door as usual but there’s nobody in the kitchen, and sadly no sign of any cooking going on either, unless it’s already been washed up and cleared away.
‘Hello! Anyone home?’ Well, I know there must be because the back door wasn’t locked and Mum would never go out without at least double-checking that.
I walk through into the hall. There are voices coming from the dining room, and some music which sounds too loud to be the background noise from the TV.
I pop my head round the door and there they are. Mum and that man from the allotments. Anthony. And no sign of my brother. There’s a pile of takeaway containers in the middle of the table, two mucky plates, not three, and an open bottle of something that looks decidedly fizzy. And they’re dancing. Oh, not all lovey-dovey cheek to cheek, but they do have their arms hooked around each other, in a jiggy-jiggy sort of way, and they’re flinging themselves around the room and laughing fit to burst.
They don’t spot me for a minute or two, but then Mum skips around and is suddenly facing me. I see the laughter drop from her face, and it’s replaced by a mixture of shock and what looks suspiciously like embarrassment. ‘Oh, Carly,’ she says, her feet grinding to a halt and her hand reaching out to turn the music down. ‘You should have said you were coming. Anthony and I were just…’