Every time you make a move

Friends Will Be Friends-Pt 4

Garden Lodge

"Tell me, did you get the ferry in time?"

Monica had her Motorola tucked in between her ear and her shoulder hands-free as she glided down the candlelit wide mahogany stairwell as she buttoned up her silk pyjamas, coming back down from tucking her two children into bed and comforting them as the North Sea storm passed over South Kensington.

There had been a power cut shortly after they finished eating their takeaway dinner, and Phoebe had to painstakingly dotted every room in use with at least five tea lights before he went home. It proved difficult taking into account the size of each room, but Monica took out a few paraffin lanterns in the outdoor shed. The twinkle of Freddie's piano wafted from the piano room whilst the stubborn gale force wind and the rain outside pattered on the window overlooking the stair level.

"Yes, yes," Paula's voice crackled on the other end, "I can't stay in this phone box long. The line is bad and Max is in the van. He hates storms..."

"Alright, well just tell me how France is so far then" Monica winced as another flash of lightening lit up the dark entrance hall.

"Wet and windy. I'm parked in a sheltered alleyway in a small town named Étaples and it's bucketing down..." Paula's voice faded out as another thunderclap sounded, but Monica was still able to make her next question out, "You've been to France, haven't you?"

"Briefly, yes... I wouldn't mind going back sometime," Monica carefully entered the kitchen, "Freddie and I stayed in Nice for a week when I was around seven months along, then we went up to Switzerland"

"Seven months?" Paula asked in confusion.

"Seven months pregnant" Monica repeated, pulling a stool out at the breakfast bar where one of the lanterns were.

"Oh, of course," Paula muttered, "Forgive me, everyone that we went to school with is popping out babies but me"

"No rush, I think you're doing just fine... Probably better than me actually" Monica's envious words slipped out as she folded her arms around herself.

"How so?"

"You're an art therapist," she raised her voice as the thunder tumbled outside again, "You're useful and your job probably changes people's lives"

"I don't know about that... To many, your lifestyle is the dream," Paula began, "You're engaged to one of the biggest rockstars in the world, you live in a nice house and you have two beautiful children."

"She's not wrong, even though it's all Freddie's vision and tastes" Monica looked around in the dark at what she could make out of the Italian marble kitchen and the chess tile floor, but excused, "that may have been our dream when we were both eighteen, but we're older now. I'm proud of you for having something to fall back on"

Paula didn't answer back, for she knew that Monica was right. The other end was silent, and Monica was internally hoping that a tree had been blown over in the storm and fell on the telephone wire in France.

But Paula suddenly asked, "Mo, do you remember when we went shopping in London, and we went into Biba and then that lady was rude to you?"

Of course Monica remembered that day, and the very thought of Freddie Mercury's ex girlfriend Mary Austin telling her that she was too 'big' to fit any of the dresses in the shop still made her cringe in shame. She felt tempted to tell Paula who that woman was coincidentally, but deciding that there was a time and place for everything she bit her tongue.

"The one with the eyebrows? Yes, why do you ask?"

Paula continued gently in the calm tone that Monica imagined she spoke to her clientele with, "Remember how you walked out of Biba feeling disappointed? And then we went into a different vintage shop nearby you found an outfit that you looked absolutely amazing in?"