Because I don't know what you mean and what you don't by Josie Long

Author:Josie Long
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canongate Books

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‘Did I already tell you about her? Oh God, I am LIVING for her, she is my LIFE,’ she says to me before we have even sat down. ‘Are we going to start with a cocktail? Let’s start with a cocktail? Are you drinking? You must drink. Goody-goody.’

She orders us the special one for today, some kind of gin bramble with local berries. The table is too small and the chairs are repurposed from a school or a church: we both shift in our seats like that is all fine and good. It’s the sort of place where the menu is written down the page in a series of cryptic clues. Ceps, Gruyère, Artichoke £19. It escalates. Chateaubriand, Mother Mary Greens, Chipped Maris, Red Marrow Rougère £87 (for two). I do not have the money for this.

‘So her name is Sue. Which is perfect, isn’t it? She’s seventy-six and she’s my BFF, my absolute old lady crush.’

I’m excited for tonight now. I’ve known Tara since we were fifteen and she is at her best when she has a new project. She was born to perform and she loves it. When she’s fully immersed in a new obsession, it’s all she wants to talk about, and it’s like listening to a stand-up routine. Rather that than when the obsession is a boyfriend or a girlfriend. The woman is a magnet for drama. I used to think she was unlucky in love, but after a while I started to notice the common factor and then it was harder to summon any sympathy. Don’t get me wrong: I care about her, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference.

The way we work is that we meet up, she talks and I respond. I don’t even know if she realises. I wait for the part where she’ll ask her questions for the night – ‘So how are you? How are things with Steven? How’s work?’ – all at once, so I have to pick one and shoot my shot. Usually afterwards she pauses, says nothing and goes back to her own concerns. She’s done her duty as a friend, she’s asked a question. And sometimes it drives me crazy, and other times I live for the gossip. What are you going to do? I’m not perfect.

To be fair to her, she doesn’t think about me, but I don’t think she talks shit about me either and that’s comforting. She knows a version of me that is harmless and uncomplicated. God knows who that person is. I feel angry and reassured that she doesn’t know me.

‘She runs that garden with an iron fist. And she knows everybody. Every single person on the estate.’

Tara loves to remind me she lives on an estate, as if she is no longer richer than me, or posher than me. Tara has lived on an estate for six months, since her mum bought her a flat on an estate. And I think her mum must pay the mortgage because she’s left her job.

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