Thought Beadle and I could have a sleepover type thing. I was even going to get us Domino’s. I thought it might be nice to eat together, to share something. I’d have paid. Can you believe? Beadle looked moderately excited when she turned up at the flat, which is huge news for her, she’s always got that lost expression and I thought oh yay! But obviously as soon as I managed to put Mike off, Beadle informed me she was hitting the hay. At half nine. She’s been asleep since then, which made me regret telling Mike not to come, because what am I going to do now. I’m all excited to leave with no one to talk to.

Xoxo A

WHOLE CHICKEN

Ruth

Now

I pick up the rotisserie chicken on my way. I go to Sainsbury’s and not Tesco, though I’ve always considered myself more of a Tesco girl. Mother is a Sainsbury’s girl, which is perhaps why I prefer Tesco. Or perhaps it’s because there was one next to my student halls when I first lived alone. Either way, Sainsbury’s is closer to my childhood home and so I buy the chicken there. I hold it in my arms and cover it with my scarf. It’s windy and I like feeling its heat radiating through the layers of clothing, against my chest, breast against breast. I’m like a beggar holding her lovechild in her arms, a belated Christmas carol in late January, both of us trying to keep warm.

I’ve put the coleslaw in my handbag. I check that it hasn’t spilled, before climbing the three steps to her door. It opens before I have a chance to knock. My mother and I thrive on punctuality: it’s something that runs in the family, deeper than a habit, like our brown eyes, our straight backs, the way our lips chap and are sore throughout the winter months. Her dry mouth brushes against my cheek as she gives me a hug no longer than usual, holds me back by the shoulder to look at my face, takes a moment to gauge the right distance so her astigmatic eyes can focus. I don’t like it when she isn’t wearing glasses: the similarities surface in our faces and I don’t like the feeling that she can read mine.