Page 52 of Stella is Starting Over

‘Sorry.’ Stella laughs. ‘She can only say “baby” and “dog”, so that’s actually a compliment.’

I look at Florrie, waiting for her to respond. She doesn’t. She looks at me, then at Rose, then at Stella, then at me again.

‘How was the journey?’ Stella asks.

‘Fine,’ says Florrie.

‘Good,’ I say. ‘I mean we should really have walked, it’s like twenty minutes, but, you know.’

‘Sure,’ she says. ‘I’m going to get some ice for the Pimms, everyone’s in the garden, you know where things are – Florrie, the loo is that way – and help yourself to anything. There’s a beige buffet but there’s other bits in the fridge if you’re hungry, plenty of vegetarian and vegan stuff.’

‘I’m not a vegetarian. Or a vegan,’ Florrie says sharply.

‘Sorry!’ Stella says, flushing. ‘I must have confused you with someone else.’

We go out into the garden and I take a beer, grateful that Stella’s the kind of person who serves alcohol at a children’s party. Florrie pours herself a very large glass of rosé and puts her hand into mine, for the first time ever. Is she nervous? She’s never struck me as socially inept before.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ she says. She takes out a pouch of tobacco and starts to roll a cigarette. A group of other parents standing at the far side of the garden look at me. ‘I don’t know if this is a smoking— I mean, I’m not sure you can. . .’

‘We’re outside?’ she says, with ice in her voice.

‘I know but there are kids everywhere,’ I say, once again feeling like she’s about to blow up a building if I don’t say the right thing. She puts the rollie back into her bag.

‘I don’t like kids,’ she says.

Right. I’m not really sure what to do with that statement because we’re at a child’s birthday party, which she specifically asked to attend. ‘I get that,’ I say. ‘I’m not, like, a huge devotee of them myself.’

She looks up at me, the freckles on her nose starker because she looks paler than usual. ‘Can we go?’

I look around. ‘I don’t think we can leave right now. Why don’t we do an hour and then we can go? There’s a really nice pub up the road; I’ll buy you an ice cream on the way.’

She half smiles. ‘Okay.’

A woman who looks a lot like Stella, and weirdly also nothing like Stella, approaches us with a plate of snacks. ‘Do you guys want one?’ she asks, holding them out with a flourish. ‘They’re all organic and kid-friendly with no salt so they’re obviously horrible.’

I laugh. Florrie does not.

‘I’m Dom,’ I say. ‘Are you the sister?’

‘I am,’ Louella says. ‘Nice to meet you. You must be the handyman! We love you – you’ve saved Stel a fortune. I don’t suppose you make house visits a bit further afield? I’ve got a picture that needs hanging. . .’

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Needy single mums are the only clients I take on.’

‘Classic,’ Louella replies. ‘That bitch gets all the luck.’

I laugh again. Florrie doesn’t, again, which seems to alert Louella to her being there.

‘Sorry, I’m so rude. I’m Louella, most people call me Lou. Are you Dom’s girlfriend?’

‘Yes,’ Florrie says.

‘Dom’s been such an angel to Stella,’ Louella says. ‘You’ve got a good one.’

Florrie says nothing.

‘I love your dress – it’s dreamy.’ Louella soldiers on, unbothered by carrying the conversation apparently. ‘Where’s it from?’