‘Are you sure everything is OK with you two?’ Jess asked, taking the pile of knickers out of my suitcase and rolling each pair before neatly putting them back.
It was the perfect opening. I could tell her what I’d seen outside the salon: she’d make grumbling noises, call Bryony a cow, then reassure me that nothing was going on and I didn’t need to worry. But I couldn’t do it. We shared almost everything, but when it came to me and Stew, I couldn’t help but censor myself, even with my best friend. Voicing your fears only made them real. It was all so much safer and more manageable when it was just in my head.
‘Everything is fine,’ I said with as much authority as I could muster. ‘It’s just the working away thing, he’s going to be annoyed. And what if I don’t get the job and I’ve created drama for nothing? Do you think I should cancel my interview?’
‘Fran,’ Jess met the look of uncertainty on my face with a fierce expression of determination. ‘You’re going to go to London, you’re going to get this job and it’s going to be amazing. I saw how much they’re offering for five days’ work, you’d have to be certifiable not to go for it.’
‘You’re too nice to me,’ I said with a smile, pretending not to notice as she slipped a black thong in my suitcase, hiding it underneath my more utilitarian underwear. Little did she know, it was a gym thong not a sex thong, making it the least alluring piece of underwear in the entire world.
‘No, I’m not,’ she stated. ‘I’m just nice enough. You are kind and thoughtful and practically perfect in every way.’
‘You know, I don’t think Mary Poppins was all that pleasant,’ I said. ‘Have you ever read the books?’
‘I think we both know I have not,’ she replied. ‘Since when was Mary Poppins based on a book?’
‘Since forever,’ I said, planting my hands on my hips and staring into the suitcase. Trousers, check. Shirts, check. Pants and bras and socks, check, check, check. Was that everything? I really wanted to be fully packed and ready to go before Stew got back from football practice.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ she said gently, giving my hand a squeeze. ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’
‘The last time you said that we ended up in lockdown for a year.’
‘That reminds me, I promised I’d take some banana bread into work this week,’ she muttered as she held up two nearly identical, worse-for-wear, nude bras. Or at least they used to be nude. If the fabric matched the skin tone of anyone on earth in their current state, I imagined that person might want to see a doctor sooner rather than later.
‘These are the saddest bras I’ve ever seen in my entire life,’ Jess declared, draping one of them over her head, the cups hanging down over her ears, as she twirled the other in the air like a lasso. ‘They’re begging to be put out of their misery, Fran. There’s about as much support left in them as a ham sandwich.’
‘The colour is a bit off, that’s all. They’re perfectly serviceable bras,’ I replied, grabbing them back and stuffing them into my suitcase. ‘Not everyone’s underwear drawer is made up of peekaboo leopard print push-ups and black silk suspenders.’
‘One, the world would be a sunnier place if it was, and two, you can’t have a peekaboo push-up bra, the padding gets in the way of the hole for the nip.’ She eyed my fresh five-pack of white high-waisted briefs and blanched. ‘And underwear can be serviceable without looking like you stole it from your nan. I’m going to get you some for Christmas. By January, you’ll have a knicker drawer to rival Meghan Markle.’
‘Is she a well-known lingerie connoisseur?’
‘Just strikes me as someone who would have really nice pants,’ Jess shrugged, fiddling with a tiny silver hoop in her left ear. ‘Just trust me. Text me your size, and I’ll get you something nice, totally tasteful.’
‘Sounds like more of a gift for Stew than for me,’ I clucked.
‘I don’t have a boyfriend, and my underwear game is top-notch,’ she huffed. ‘You know what they say, dress for the job you want.’
‘And what job is that?’
‘Beyoncé. She’s bound to need someone to fill in at some point.’
I laughed as I closed up my suitcase, as ready as I’d ever be.
‘Stew wouldn’t notice if I wandered in wearing nipple tassels and a crotchless thong,’ I said. ‘He’s not fussed about that stuff, you know?’
A flicker of concern crossed her face before she smoothed her expression and met mine with a smile. ‘You two will work it out. You always do.’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed, giving my greying bras one last look before turning out the bedroom light and leading her back downstairs. ‘We always do.’
Even though I was more than half asleep when the key turned in the lock, I snapped to my senses straight away. The TV was off, Netflix had given up on me hours ago, and when I blinked at the clock on the mantelpiece, the time was almost midnight.
‘You’re still up.’
Stew walked in, bleary eyed and clutching the door to keep himself steady.
‘Sort of,’ I replied, rolling out of my hedgehog ball and folding my arms across my chest. Immediately, I uncrossed them. Too much aggression and too much of a cliché. ‘I thought you’d be home earlier, I was getting worried.’
‘Phone died, I was so busy today I forgot to charge it before practice. The lads wanted to get a pint after all. Sorry.’
‘You don’t have to apologize for going out,’ I said, even though I was glad he had. ‘I just wish you’d texted me. Chris and Kaush have got my number, I was halfway to thinking you were dead in a ditch.’
He rubbed his hand over his face and winced. ‘Yeah, they didn’t go to the pub, it was some of the other lads. Like I said, I’m sorry.’
‘Well, you missed out on a good pizza,’ I said lightly. Some of the other lads? Which other lads? ‘Did you get my text before your phone died?’
‘No?’
‘Right.’ I sat up and wrapped his nana’s blanket around me. Almost everything in the house belonged to Stew’s nana because it was Stew’s nana’s house. He’d inherited it three years earlier which was why we’d moved back up to Sheffield in the first place. Well, one of the reasons we’d moved back up to Sheffield. ‘I got an interview today.’
‘Fran,’ he groaned, stretching out my name as long as he could without running out of breath. ‘I’m so knackered. Can we talk about it tomorrow?’
‘Not really because the interview is tomorrow.’
He started treading down the heels of his trainers, still clinging to the doorframe to keep him upright.
‘And it’s in London.’
‘Why would the interview be in London?’ he asked, looking perplexed.
‘Because the job is in London?’ I replied with a weak smile. ‘But it’s just five days, I’d be back on Tuesday, and the money is amazing and—’
His confusion shifted into something sour.
‘Why are you chasing another assistant job? I thought we’d decided you were going to apply for the teacher training at Hallam?’