“I have to get this cake finished because we’re going to Lucy’s graduation tomorrow,” says Carol as the four of us sit washed up round her kitchen table.
“But Carol, tomorrow’s only Wednesday,” says Diane, “Lucy’s graduation is on Thursday.”
Carol, Caroline and Diane have been my friends for over ten years – we have children of a similar age and once bonded over bizarre PTA activities – any one of us could cling-film a hundred chocolate brownies for a cake-sale or line up a mean tombola at the drop of a hat. All these things and more we did efficiently yet with shared irony.
“I keep losing days too,” says Caroline, “Keep thinking it’s Wednesday.”
“Mmm. I know what you mean,” says Diane.
As for me, I am secure in which day of the week it is, but today I misplaced one of my children. It was only after Carenza, Perran and Beth and I were actually inside an exhibition at the British Library that I remembered Pascoe was currently at home too and I should have invited him.
And I think that’s what has got us women on the run – our children are all in flux – four of them have just finished degrees, four of them have completed A levels, several are looking for their next step. Combine this with their summer trips, part-time jobs, visits from friends and no wonder we don’t know which day of the week it is.
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