13. Like Teenagers

LIKE TEENAGERS

M aria had had good days and bad days since then. Some nights, Rosie would hear her crying in her room, other days, Maria would be up and about, planning a bright and wonderful life without David.

Having Maria to stay had been fun, and the woman was spotlessly clean and organised. Rosie had never seen anything like it. No sooner had she lain a teaspoon in a saucer that Maria had picked it up and washed it.

Mary was a different character all together. She was a thundering ball of chaos, flying through the house, knocking things over and bashing into every piece of furniture she passed.

As Rosie got up to move some of Mary's clothes off the table, the doorbell rang, and a disconsolate Catherine stood on the doorstep.

"Richard's at it again," Catherine said without preamble, her voice tight with frustration. "He showed up at my book club meeting, told everyone I was 'too fragile' to be out on my own. Can you believe it? We've been divorced for five years, and he still thinks he can control my life!"

"Oh Angel. Come in. I'll put the kettle on."

Catherine settled at the kitchen table, dumping an enormous handbag that seemed to contain half her possessions.

Rosie smiled to herself. How had her orderly life had spiralled into this sitcom-worthy scenario. Not that she objected. There was something anarchic about it all and, surprisingly, that appealed to her. She texted Emma to let her know that the troops were amassing at hers, and if Emma fancied coming over, she was very welcome.

"Is that you, Catherine?" Maria called, appearing at the door in a headscarf that made her look like a 1940s housewife. "Oh good, I need your opinion. Do you think I should dye my hair red? David always hated red hair, said it was too 'attention-seeking'."

Catherine blinked, momentarily stunned by Maria's suggestion. She couldn't think of anyone in the world less likely to dye her hair red. "Um, well, I suppose if it would make you happy..."

"Wonderful. I'll just pop to the shops and get some dye. I need to pick up some cleaning products and some paint for the windowsill. Rosie, you don't mind if I borrow your car, do you? Mine's still at the house, and I can't bear to go back there just yet."

Before Rosie could formulate a response, Maria had taken the car keys and was out the door, hair scarf and all.

"Well," Rosie said faintly, "I suppose that's one way to make a statement at the supermarket."

Catherine giggled, a sound so unexpected that Rosie couldn't help but join in. Soon, they were both howling with laughter, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting home.

"Oh dear," Catherine gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. "What a pair we are. Two divorced women becoming hysterical over a woman sporting a hair scarf."

"But she did look exactly like that woman from the poster – the one encouraging women to get involved in the war effort. Do you remember that? The woman had a red, spotty headscarf on and was flexing her biceps."

"No, I don't remember it from the war but then you're considerably older than me."

"Oy, stop that right there. I'm only four years older than you. I don't remember the poster from the 40s. I remember seeing it in history books."

"Yeah right," said Catherine with a smile. She giggled to herself and turned to Rosie.

"This is such fun, isn't it? A group of women hanging out together. It's like being a teenager again."

"Speak for yourself," Rosie chuckled. "I never had this much excitement as a teenager."

Their chat was interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock, heralding the arrival of Emma who burst through the door, laden with shopping bags.

"I've brought reinforcements. Wine, chocolate, and so many crisps that we could paper the walls in them. By the way, your key was in the door."

"Oh," said Rosie, taking it from Emma. "There are so many people with my keys at the moment, this could be anyone's."

Emma began unpacking her bags, revealing an alarming array of junk food and beauty products. "We're having a girls' day," she said, as if every meeting of the Sensational Sixties Club was anything but a ‘girls' day.'

We all need cheering up. Now, where do you keep your wine glasses?"

Before Rosie could answer, the front door burst open again, this time revealing Maria, her arms full of shopping bags, her hair still wrapped in a hair scarf."

"I'm back!" she called out. "And I've got... oh! Hello, Emma, when did you get here? Oh, never mind, you're just in time. I've got hair dye, a new wardrobe, and... is that wine I see? Perfect!"

"Yes, there's plenty of wine. Where have you been? Out helping the war effort? Working in a munitions factory or something?"

Maria took the scarf out of her hair. "What is wrong with you all?" she asked. "I like to keep my hair clean and tidy. I always wear this at home. I didn't realise it would become such a conversation starter."

"Starting conversations is all good. Anyway, you don't have to worry about what you look like, because we are going to transform our appearances while drinking wine and gossiping."

As Emma unloaded enough beauty products to open a small branch of Boots, the others looked on.

"Why on earth do we need all this?" asked Catherine. "And where has it come from? You've never struck me as a beauty products kind of woman."

"Me? No. I never use any of it, but the woman who lives next door is a beauty PR, and she is given lots of freebies. She brought a big bag full round, so I've brought the bag here"

"Well, that's very generous of her. Let ‘Operation Makeover' begin," said Rosie, looking through the vast array of products. There were creams, lotions and potions for every possible problem in every area of the body. Green cream to combat redness, conditioning oil for eyelashes, neck creams, hair oil, facial massaging contraptions…it was ridiculous. Who had time to do all this?

"No, I don't know what it's all for either," said Emma, reading Rosie's mind. "There are products here to cure beauty issues that I didn't know existed."

While Emma and Rosie looked askance at the array of products, Catherine dived in. "Oooo…tweezers," she said. "I've always wanted to get my eyebrows done."

Rosie didn't feel quite so adrift at this point. At least she was aware of the value of tweezers and regularly had her eyebrows tended to.

"Come on then," said Emma, lifting the tweezers like a weapon and moving in the direction of Catherine's face. "Let's sort out these big, fat caterpillars for you."

Rosie found herself swept along on the tide of giggling, gossiping, and general mayhem. She'd had her toe nails painted by Catherine, had covered herself in a face masque that had made her skin tingle and was rubbish ‘elbow defender' into her rough elbows.

As evening fell, they ordered in an alarming amount of Chinese food and settled in the living room, surrounded by the detritus of their 'spa day.'

"You know," Maria said, admiring her newly red locks in a hand mirror, "I haven't had this much fun in years. David always said these kinds of girls' nights were frivolous."

"Well, David's an idiot," Emma declared, raising her wine glass in a toast. "Here's to frivolity, and to friends who don't judge you for it!"

As they clinked glasses, a loud banging on the front door made them all jump.

"Rosie!" a man's voice called out. "I know Catherine's in there. Tell her to come out at once!"

Catherine paled, shrinking back into the sofa. "It's Richard," she whispered. "How did he find me?"

Rosie felt a surge of protective anger. She marched to the door and flung it open, coming face to face with a red-faced Richard.

"Can I help you?" she asked coldly.

Richard tried to peer around her. "Where's Catherine? I know she's here. She needs to come home now. She's not well, she shouldn't be out on her own."

"I can assure you," Rosie said, drawing herself up to her full height, "that Catherine is perfectly fine. She's a grown woman, fully capable of making her own decisions. And right now, she's decided to stay here with her friends."

"How dare you talk to me like that," Richard began, but he was cut off by Emma, who had appeared at Rosie's shoulder.

"We'll talk to you in any way we choose. You have no right to tell catherine what she can and can't do. You have no right to follow her and make demands. This is plain harassment. Either go away and leave her alone, or I'll call the police."

Richard sputtered, clearly unused to being spoken to in such a manner. "This isn't over," he growled, but he turned and stomped back to his car.

"No, it's not," Emma growled back. "Because if you ever come here again we'll ring the police. You have been warned."

As Rosie closed the door, she turned to find Catherine staring at her with wide eyes. "Thank you," Catherine whispered. "Both of you. I've never... I mean, I didn't know how to..."

"Oh, come here, you silly goose," Emma said, pulling Catherine into a hug. "That's what friends are for. Now, who wants more wine?"

As they settled back into the living room, Rosie found herself marvelling at the turn her life had taken. A month ago, she would have been horrified at the mess, the noise, the sheer chaos of it all. But now...

"You know," she said, surprising herself, "I have a spare room or two upstairs. If either of you needs a place to stay for a while, that is."

Maria and Catherine exchanged glances, then looked back at Rosie with identical expressions of gratitude and relief.

"Are you sure?" Maria asked. "We don't want to impose..."

Rosie waved away their concerns. "Impose away. To tell you the truth, I'm rather enjoying the company."

As the evening wore on, filled with more laughter, more wine, and increasingly outrageous plans for their 'new lives,' Rosie felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol. This, she realised, was what she'd been missing all these years. Not just companionship, but true friendship. The kind where you could show up on someone's doorstep in crisis and be met with open arms and a willing ear.

It was well past midnight when they finally began to settle down for the night. Rosie provided Catherine with pyjamas, while Maria insisted on sleeping in a slinky nightgown she'd bought on her shopping spree ("David always said nightgowns were for grannies. Well, I'll show him!").

As Rosie lay in bed, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of other people moving about her house, she couldn't keep the smile off her face. Yes, her life had become chaotic. Yes, her house was a mess. And yes, she now apparently had two new roommates.

But somehow, none of that seemed to matter. For the first time in longer than she cared to admit, Rosie felt truly alive.

She was just drifting off to sleep when a crash from downstairs jolted her awake.

"Sorry!" Catherine's voice called out. "Just getting a glass of water. Um, Rosie? Where do you keep the dustpan?"

"I've got it in my room," shouted Maria. "Sorry. You know what I'm like, I have a genetic need to clean all the time."

Rosie chuckled, shaking her head. Life with her new housemates was certainly going to be interesting.

The next morning dawned bright and early, much to the chagrin of three slightly hungover women. Rosie, always the early riser, found herself tiptoeing around her own kitchen, trying not to wake her guests.

Her efforts were in vain, however, as Maria stumbled down the stairs, her new red hair a tangled mess, still wearing the slinky nightgown from the night before.

"Coffee," she groaned, slumping into a kitchen chair. "I need coffee. And possibly a new head."

Rosie chuckled, sliding a steaming mug across the table. "Here you go. How are you feeling this morning? Any regrets about the hair?"

Maria patted her head gingerly, then smiled. "You know what? Not a single one. David can take his opinions and shove them where the sun doesn't shine."

"That's the spirit," Catherine said, appearing in the doorway. She looked surprisingly chipper for someone who had consumed her body weight in wine the night before.

Are you all OK to get your own breakfasts? Just help yourself to anything. I'm meeting Mary for a quick catch up. I'll be back in about an hour.

"No problem – you go and see Mary and say ‘hi' from us."

The café buzzed with the quiet chatter of patrons and the hiss of the espresso machine. Rosie sat across from Mary, watching her daughter bounce one of the twins on her knee while simultaneously trying to eat a scone.

"Here, let me take her," Rosie offered, reaching for her granddaughter. As she settled the baby in her arms, she caught Mary studying her with an odd expression. "What is it? Do I have jam on my face?"

Mary shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. "No, it's not that. It's just... you seem different, Mum. Happier."

Rosie felt a warmth spread through her chest. "Do I?"

"You're practically glowing," Mary confirmed. "I haven't seen you like this in years. Is it the new friends? Or perhaps this mysterious Mike I've been hearing about?"

Rosie felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "It's everything, I suppose. The friends, Mike, the adventures we've been having. I feel like I'm finally living, Mary, not just existing."

Mary reached across the table, squeezing her mother's hand. "I'm so glad, Mum. You deserve this happiness. And for what it's worth, I think Dad sees it too. He mentioned how different you seemed when he saw you last."

Rosie's smile faltered slightly. "Your father... well, that's complicated. But let's not dwell on that. Tell me more about what the twins have been up to."

As Mary launched into a story about the children's latest antics, Rosie felt a surge of gratitude. Not just for her new lease on life, but for this moment of connection with her daughter.

By the time Rosie arrived back home, she'd made some important decisions.

"Ladies," she said, bursting through the door. "We need a house meeting."

Catherine and Maria walked into the kitchen and sat at the big dining room table.

"I just wanted to say that you are both welcome to stay as long as you need. As long as you want. I'm really enjoying your company. There's no pressure on either of you to leave. I just wanted you both to know that. I'm rather enjoying having my very own sitcom playing out in my living room."

"Oh, thank you," they both said, hugging Rosie. "You are so kind to put up with us. Thank you."

"No, you are very welcome."

As they cleared away the breakfast dishes, chattering about their plans for the day (Maria was determined to revamp her entire wardrobe, while Catherine wanted to start a blog about life after divorce), the doorbell rang, interrupting their planning session. Rosie opened it to find Emma, Lisa, Julie, and Trisha on her doorstep, all looking far too perky for this time of the morning.

"Morning, sunshine!" Emma called out. "We've come to check on our refugees. How's life in Casa del Chaos?"

Rosie ushered them in, explaining the events of the previous night.

"Well," Lisa said, once Rosie had finished her tale, "it seems like you've had quite the adventure. Are you sure you're okay with all this, Rosie? It's a big change from your usual routine."

Rosie looked around at the women gathered in her kitchen - Maria with her flame-red hair, Catherine with her newfound confidence, Emma with her irrepressible spirit, and all the rest. She thought about the laughter that now filled her home, the late-night chats, the sense of purpose she felt in helping her friends through their own crises.

"You know what?" she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. "I've never been better. It turns out, a little chaos is just what I needed."