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Impossible to Forget(73)

Author:Imogen Clark

Angie nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose it is. It’s funny. We should never have been friends in the first place. Not really. We’re all too different, but we just sort of got thrown in together and stuck to each other.’

‘That’s probably why you’re still friends now,’ said Romany. ‘If you’re all so different then you’re less likely to fall out.’

Angie planted a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. ‘You, my darling child, are very wise.’

‘I know,’ she said, mock-preening herself. ‘It’s one of the huge number of talents that I possess. So, where are you meeting?’

‘No. 24. At seven thirty.’ Angie looked at the time on her phone. ‘And I’m late. Shit! Right, I’m out of here. Bed by ten. No wild parties or orgies. I’ll lock the door behind me. Don’t let anyone in!’

Romany raised an eyebrow and shook her head. ‘I’m not six years old,’ she said. ‘Have a great time. Say hello to Auntie Maggie from me. And what’s his name, Leon.’

‘Will do.’ Angie gave her another quick kiss and a squeeze of her shoulder and then left the flat.

It was cold outside and her dress wasn’t thick enough. She should have brought a coat, but if she went back now she would be even later, and Romany would laugh at her for being disorganised. So, she set off at speed up the street, hoping that the exercise would warm her up sufficiently to not miss the coat.

When she arrived at the restaurant, the other two were already there and a bottle of something red had been opened and poured into two large glasses.

‘Why am I always the last?’ Angie asked breathlessly, dropping herself down into the remaining chair and pushing her hair away from her sweaty brow.

‘Because you have a special talent for it,’ replied Leon with a fond smile. ‘Do you want some of this?’

He picked up the bottle and went to pour some into her glass, but she put her hand over the top.

‘Why can’t you remember that I don’t drink any more? It’s been fifteen years!’

Leon shook his head. ‘I suppose because I always picture you with a beer in your hand,’ he said, and she punched his arm. ‘What can I get you instead?’

‘Water is fine,’ she said, and he shook his head.

‘Don’t you miss having a drink?’ he asked.

Angie was about to give her stock answer about no longer needing alcohol, but then she remembered who she was talking to.

‘Hell, yes! Sometimes I dream about beer, lots of little bottles all marching towards me like the brooms in The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. But then I remember that this was my decision and no one forced me into it. And I do feel so much better without all that shit in my system.’

‘Personally, I like a bit of shit.’ Leon laughed.

Angie turned her attention to Maggie then. So far she hadn’t spoken, but was sitting and quietly observing the other two.

‘So, Mags,’ Angie began before she had switched her gaze from one friend to the other. When she did, the rest of the sentence stuck in her throat. ‘God, Maggie. What’s the matter? You look bloody awful.’

Maggie tried to laugh. ‘Gee, thanks for that, Ange,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry. But honestly, what’s the matter? Are you ill? Is it serious?’

Thoughts of cancer or some other life-threatening illness raced through Angie’s mind. She had never seen anyone age so quickly in such a short period of time. She tried to think when she had last seen Maggie, and concluded that it must have been when she had dropped round just before Christmas with gifts for her and Romany. That was only four months ago. How could a person change so much so quickly?

Maggie seemed to retreat a little, wrapping her arms around herself as if in protection from the glare of Angie’s focus.

‘I’m not ill,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’

Angie didn’t believe it and she said so. ‘No, you’re not. Something’s definitely up. What is it? Come on. You can tell us.’

Maggie studied the table hard, as if the answer to the question was somehow caught in the striped grain of the wood. Her bony fingers pulled at the skin on her chin repetitively and with some force so that Angie wanted to put a hand out to stop her.

Then she took a deep breath.

‘I lost my job,’ she said.

She pulled her gaze up to meet their eyes. Then she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, as if she had decided to own this information. She reached for her glass and took a long drink.

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