Paddy Richardson: Only today
The Crones’ Covid Farewell Festivities are at Esther’s. Wednesday at 5. And, no, they aren’t breaking any rules. While each of them is nudging 70, they aren’t there yet. And, hardly a mass gathering, Esther said, when she phoned around with the idea. The Crones. Five women. Books. Wine. Chat. The books came first. They all were newly retired. Service clubs, walking groups, journaling, Jesus, it was all so earnest. Ruth knew Chrissy and Esther. What about a book club? Oh God no, I’ve done that, all the books were awful and you had these questions you had to discuss, it was like being back in English One.
What if we just swapped books around? A bit of chat? Wine? Esther was best friends with Steph and Ruth asked Kate from up the road.
Would you just listen to us old crones cackling on? Chrissy had said it once when the bottles of pinot had been just too good not to crack open another one and the name stuck. Well, they’re hardly crones. Chrissy and Ruth go to yoga, Esther bikes and Steph reads all the labels on the products at the supermarket before she buys them, never go supermarket shopping with Steph, honestly I just about lost the power to live. Kate swims. They look good. For their age, that is.
The crones. They’ve been meeting over five years now and they’ve drunk a lot of wine, swapped a lot of books and they’ve talked and talked and giggled. They’ve cried together as well – Ruth’s cancer, Chrissy’s mother’s stroke. And now this awful thing with Kate’s daughter.
They’re in Esther’s living room, books on the table, wine open. And, oh God, they’re going to miss each other. Four weeks. Four weeks in The Bubble. Chrissy’s late but there she is now poised in the doorway.
Duh-Dah.
Chrissy’s formerly grey with subtle highlights bob has been clipped above her ears, she turns her head and the back of it, God, it’s shaved. But running from the top of her head and sweeping outrageously to the side, well, it’s pink. Pink hair.
‘‘I got the last appointment and, I thought, bloody hell I’ll make the most of it. Nobody’s going to see me for the next four weeks anyway.’’
‘‘It looks amazing.’’ Esther pours wine and hands her the glass as the others murmur ‘‘wow’’ and ‘‘you’re so brave’’.
‘‘Here’s to us.’’ They clink glasses.
But Steph is frowning, ‘‘I can’t believe you went to the hairdresser.’’
‘‘Oh, they had face-masks and gloves on. Anyway, it’s not lockdown until tonight.’’ ‘‘Did you look at magazines?’’
‘‘Yes, but.’’
‘‘We have to take this seriously. Did you wash your hands?’’
‘‘Chrissy would have washed her hands,’’ Esther says, ‘‘Honestly, Steph.’’
I love, Steph, honestly I do but she is so bloody bossy… She was a prefect. I don’t think she’s ever got over it.
‘‘Okay. Chrissy goes to the hairdresser’s.
She touches door knobs, she looks through magazines. Did you know that the virus stays on surfaces for 72 hours?’’
‘‘There was hand sanitiser.’’
‘‘I don’t think we should be swapping books,’’ Steph says. But she mumbles it and she takes a large swig of her wine. She takes another swig.