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The woman looks surprised, almost theatrically so. ‘Oh, hello!’ she parrots. ‘I thought you looked familiar. Wow!’
‘Are you – do you have children here?’ Alix gestures at the school.
‘No! Well, at least, not any more. They did come here but left a long time ago. They’re twenty-one and twenty-three.’
‘Oh. Proper grown-ups!’
‘Yes, they certainly are.’
‘Boys? Girls?’
‘Two girls. Roxy and Erin.’
‘Do they still live at home?’
‘Erin does, the oldest. She’s a bit of a recluse, I suppose you might call her. And Roxy – well, she left home when she was quite young. Sixteen.’
‘Sixteen. Wow! That is young. I’m Alix, by the way.’ She offers her her hand to shake.
‘Josie,’ the woman replies.
‘Nice to meet you, Josie. And who’s this?’ she asks, noticing a tiny caramel-and-cream-coloured dog on a lead at Josie’s feet.
‘This is Fred.’
‘Oh, he’s adorable! What is he?’
‘He’s a Pomchi. Or at least, that’s what they told me. But I’m not so sure now he’s full-grown. I think he might be more of a mix than that. I do wonder about the place we got him from – I’m not entirely sure they were kosher, you know, now I think back on it. I keep meaning to get one of those DNA tests. But then, you know, I just look at him and I think, whatever.’
‘Yes,’ Alix agrees. ‘He’s gorgeous whatever he is. I love dogs.’
‘Do you have one?’
‘No. Not at the moment. We lost our girl three years ago and I haven’t quite been able to get my head around replacing her. But I have been looking. The kids, you know, they’re at that age where I think having a dog will be really good for them: coming into adolescence, the teenage years. Teeny was my dog, the dog I had before I had kids. This one would be for them. But we’ll see.’
She reaches down to pet the dog, but it backs away from her.
‘Sorry,’ says Josie, overly apologetically.
‘Oh,’ says Alix, ‘he’s shy. That’s fair enough.’
Alix glances at Josie and sees that she is staring at her meaningfully. It makes her feel uncomfortable for a moment but then Josie’s face breaks into a small smile and Alix sees that she is, as she’d thought on the night they met in the pub, quietly, secretly pretty: neat teeth, rose-petal lips, a small Roman nose that gives her face something extra. Her hair is hazel brown and wavy, parted to the side and tied back. She’s wearing a floral-print T-shirt with a blue denim skirt and has a handbag also made of blue denim. Alix notices that the dog’s collar and lead are blue denim too and senses a theme. Some people have that, she ponders, a repeat motif, some defining aesthetic tic that somehow makes them feel protected. Her friend’s mother only bought things that were purple, she recalls. Everything. Purple. Even her fridge.
‘Anyway,’ Alix says, unfolding her sunglasses and putting them on. ‘I’d better get on. Nice to see you again.’
She turns to leave, but then Josie says, ‘There’s something I’d like to talk to you about actually. If you’ve got a minute. Nothing important. Just … to do with us being birthday twins. That’s all.’ She smiles apologetically and Alix smiles back.
‘Oh,’ she replies. ‘Now?’
‘Yes. If you have a minute?’
‘I’m so sorry, I can’t really now. But maybe another time.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘No, not tomorrow.’
‘Wednesday?’
