That was twenty years ago, and no one had bothered since.
*
I was re-reading the opening of The Locust Plague at Clean Bean, waiting for Kelly to turn up, when Kelly bundled herself and her daughter, Molly, through the door. My heart lifted at the sight of them, so familiar, so warm.
Kelly had not been the most bookish at our school, but she was by far the most adaptable and smart. We were an odd couple, because I was very academic and much shyer, but we loved each other. She derived joy from my weirdness, and I from her capabilities. When the rest of us were having doom-laden panics about getting into the right university, Kel suspected that in ten years’ time those letters wouldn’t matter quite as much as what might follow after. But! as some of our other friends had pointed out when Kelly wasn’t there, it’s all right for Kel. She’s got CHARM.
In fact, charming as she was, Kelly had worked very hard to keep her head above the water, no help from family, no connections. She climbed up and up, before landing on the paradise island that had been her working mid-twenties: job as a junior stylist, then art director on an influential magazine. Then she became an Instagram marvel – @thestellakella: taste queen, collaboration maven, with thousands of followers. Clothing shops and furniture stores started to look like the inside of @thestellakella’s house – it was hard to tell exactly how the line had blurred, but it had. Unlike so many chancers on the Internet, at least Kel had the weight of experience and proof behind her. And then came Dan, now her husband, one of those Instagrammable people who seemed self-motivated since he was five years old – although Kelly would always say that when she’d met him, Man couldn’t even cook a potato. And then came Molly. I’m never having another kid, Kelly said, when Mol was born. Ever again.
Now Mol was four, and Kelly was due another baby next March.
Mol settled herself into a chair, got out her pens and pad, and proceeded to descend into her own world. She was drawing a box of a house and filling it with merciless, ravishing streaks of fuchsia. She did not keep to the borders of the house, and the colour spilled out of its walls, every which way. We could easily have not been there, two adult women she was so certain of that we could have turned to pillars of salt without her noticing.
‘Been crotchety earlier,’ Kelly mouthed, taking a seat.
‘Would you like anything, Mol?’ I said. I’d already ordered two flat whites from Zoë, remembering that Kelly was on decaff.
‘No, thank you, Rose,’ Mol replied.
I looked at Mol, her bowed head. I liked being with Mol – walking through parks in particular. Mol, always running ahead, squatting easily to pick up twigs splodged with lichen, or an especially splendid leaf. Her centre of gravity was so low, she was up and down like a pop-up toy. Already, she had Kelly’s eye; my friend had encouraged in her growing mind the power of observation, the wonder and pleasure to be found in looking for the interesting in the everyday, hauling them out of context, turning them into magic wands, fairy blankets, good fodder for a collage when they got back home. I knew these collages, because I followed them all on Instagram when I didn’t make it to the park. I’d seen leaves splattered in gold paint that got over 25,000 likes.
Zoë came over with the flat whites and beamed at Kelly and her daughter. People often did that with the pair of them – they looked so wholesome, just how a mother and child should be. I went to pick up my coffee. ‘Hold on,’ said Kel, and I knew what was coming. Mol’s head was neatly positioned peeping between the two cups, and Kelly already had her phone out. ‘Just carry on drawing, love,’ said Kelly, but it was as if Mol hadn’t even heard her: she was so used to the phone as to be oblivious. The photo taken, Kel swiped through three or four filters before finding the one that clearly captured the moment more than the moment itself. ‘ “Brat whites,” ’ she said out loud as she typed these words in the photo caption, pressed send and slipped her phone back into her bag. I wondered idly if she had entered her location, and if she had, whether Clean Bean’s takings would see an uptick.
Mol and Dan were regular, if passive, contributors to the addictive story Kelly wove online. Privately I still felt it was weird to monetize your child and partner, putting them in a place where strangers were looking at them every day, and all of it without Mol being able to give her permission – but Kelly was still my best friend, and doing a hell of a lot more with her life than Joe or I. And one thing was indisputable: Mol was superlative content. It’s a community, Kel would say – of support and interest! The girls who started following me a few years back are beginning to have kids too. It just works! Mol was sweetly, deeply, entertaining, and Kelly didn’t ever seem to be in the mood to discuss the philosophical, ethical angles of her decision. I guess it was just her choice, and there was no doubt, with her endorsement deals, her free hotel stays, the fact that I had seen several women in one week wear a jumper that Kel had debuted from a tiny line in Stockholm – @thestellakella was a pop culture phenomenon.
‘How’s Joe?’ Kelly said, drawing her cup towards her. ‘How’s Joerritos?’
I sensed the weight in her words, but couldn’t tell their temperature. I knew, in many ways, that Kelly was fed up with Joe, but she still held it in.
‘He’s good,’ I said. ‘He’s talking to an investor.’
Kelly stirred her coffee. ‘An investor,’ she repeated, leaching the word of any magic.
I found it weird she was asking about Joe first, but I let it go. ‘And how’s it all going with you? You feeling OK?’
Kelly looked down at Mol. ‘Yeah, it’s not bad. The morning sickness is wearing off, thank god.’
I shook my head in wonder. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’
She laughed. ‘You could do it too, Rosie, if you had to.’
‘Do you really think so?’
She looked at me with surprise. ‘Course. Look, if I can do it, anyone can.’ We both knew this wasn’t true, but I let it go. ‘Oh yes, I wanted to tell you – I’m gonna ramp up @thestellakella into a double maternity thing. See how that goes.’ She waved her hands decisively in the air. ‘A journey of moving from being a mother of one to a mother of two.’
Mesmerized, I watched my oldest friend. Kelly was so good at this kind of thing: making stories simple for the greatest number of people. Kelly was relatable yet confident; the reason her preposterous plans worked was because she believed in them, and because she understood that many people were lost these days, and needed a guide. Me included.
‘That sounds good,’ I said. ‘I wanted to ask you about something, actually,’ I went on. ‘About my mum.’
‘Your mum?’
As with Joe, alarm entered Kelly’s eyes, but I carried on. ‘Do you remember, growing up, whether my dad ever said anything to you about her? Or ever mentioned anything, in your presence, about her?’
Kelly turned her head to look out of the cafe window. I could see she was thinking how best to answer. She’d spent many hours in our flat after school or at weekends, sleeping over, my dad driving us to the cinema or dropping us off at the shopping centre. Kelly knew my life as well as I did, if not better. ‘Why are you asking now?’ she said.