4. Caffeine and Camaraderie

CAFFEINE AND CAMARADERIE

R osie stood in front of her wardrobe, hands on hips, surveying the colourful chaos before her. The once orderly rows of beige and navy had been disrupted by a riot of prints and bold hues. Since she'd met Emma and Lisa, she felt so much more confident about herself and loved playing with colours, styles and fabrics. She smiled, fingering the sleeve of a crimson blouse she'd unearthed from the depths of a drawer. Who knew she'd been hiding a secret fashionista all these years?

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen to see a message from Emma: "Don't you dare show up in anything sensible. We're painting the town red... well, pale pink at least. It is only 11am after all."

Rosie chuckled, reaching for the crimson blouse. "Challenge accepted, Emma," she murmured to herself.

Twenty minutes later, Rosie found herself outside The Bean Counter, a trendy coffee shop in the high street. The exterior was all sleek lines and minimalist decor, a far cry from Jools, the cozy bistro they'd been meeting at.

She peered through the window, spotting Emma at a table near the back. Lisa sat beside her, looking as polished as ever in a tailored blazer. Two other women Rosie didn't recognise completed the group.

Taking a deep breath, Rosie pushed open the door, the scent of freshly ground coffee beans enveloping her. As she approached the table, Emma looked up and let out a wolf whistle.

"Well, well, well," Emma grinned, eyeing Rosie's outfit appreciatively. "Look who's embracing her inner fire engine."

Rosie felt her cheeks warm to match her blouse. "Is it too much?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nonsense," Lisa interjected, standing to greet Rosie with a warm hug. "You look fabulous. That deep pink is definitely your colour."

"Hear, hear," one of the unfamiliar women chimed in. She was a petite blonde with a head of curly hair, tied at the nape of her neck. She had an artistic air about her, paint splatters visible on her hands. "I'm Julie, by the way. Emma's told us all about you."

"All good things, I hope," Rosie said, taking the empty seat between Julie and the other newcomer.

"Oh, the best," the last woman said with a wink. She was curvy and warm-looking, with a slightly harried air that reminded Rosie of Mary. "I'm Catherine."

Catherine seemed a bit different from the other women. Shyer andnowhere near as elegantly dressed. She wore denim dungarees and kept fiddling with her fingernails.

"We are the 'Sensational Sixties Squad' now," Emma said.

Rosie raised an eyebrow at Emma, who shrugged unapologetically. "What? We needed a catchy name. Now, who's for coffee?"

As they perused the menu, Rosie felt her eyes widening at the array of options. What on earth was a 'Unicorn Frappuccino'? And since when did coffee need to be 'deconstructed'?

"Right," Emma said, clapping her hands together. "Let's make this interesting. We each order for the person to our right, and it has to be the most ridiculous thing on the menu."

"Oh, I don't know," Catherine fretted, biting her lip. "I'm not very good with complicated orders. What if I get it wrong?"

"That's half the fun," Lisa assured her with a pat on the arm. "Besides, how hard can it be? It's just coffee."

As it turned out, it could be very hard indeed.

Julie went first, ordering for Catherine. "She'll have a... um... Venti half-caf soy vanilla latte with an extra shot, upside down, with caramel drizzle and whipped cream."

The barista, a young man with more piercings than Rosie had ever seen on one person, didn't bat an eye as he scribbled the order down.

Catherine, looking slightly panicked, ordered for Lisa. "A grande... no, venti... oh, dear. A big iced skinny hazelnut macchiato, sugar-free syrup, extra shot, light ice, no whip."

Lisa nodded approvingly. "Not bad, Catherine. You're a natural."

When it was Lisa's turn to order for Emma, she got a mischievous glint in her eye. "She'll have a trenta cold brew, five shots, with vanilla sweet cream foam, two pumps of mocha, one pump of white mocha, extra caramel drizzle, and cinnamon dolce topping."

Emma's eyes widened. "Good lord, woman. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Just keeping you on your toes, dear," Lisa replied sweetly.

Emma, recovering quickly, turned to order for Rosie. "Right, let's see... She'll have a venti soy no foam light-roast half-caf with a splash of sugar-free vanilla and a twist of lemon. Oh, and make it extra hot."

Rosie blinked, trying to process the string of words that had just assaulted her ears. "I'm sorry, did you just order me coffee or summon a demon?"

The table erupted in laughter, drawing curious glances from nearby patrons.

When it was Rosie's turn to order for Julie, she felt a bead of sweat form on her brow. "Um... she'll have a... oh, bollocks. Can I just point at something on the menu?"

The barista, to his credit, maintained his professional demeanour, though Rosie could have sworn she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

"How about a Unicorn Frappuccino?" he suggested kindly. "It's... colourful."

"Perfect," Rosie said, relieved. "One of those, please. And maybe a shot of whiskey for me?"

As the barista moved away to prepare their drinks, Emma leaned in conspiratorially. "So, ladies, now that we're all acquainted, let's get down to the good stuff. Who's got the best ex-husband horror story?"

"Oh, don't get me started," Catherine groaned. "Richard - that's my ex - he's an army officer. Emphasis on the 'officer' part. The man can't so much as butter his toast without barking orders."

"At least he butters his own toast," Julie chimed in. "My Tom - well, we're separated, not divorced yet - he once called me from the next room to ask where we keep the forks. We've lived in the same house for twenty years!"

Lisa shook her head sympathetically. "Men. Can't live with them, can't legally feed them to the pigs."

"Not that you've checked, of course," Emma said with a wink.

"Of course not," Lisa replied primly, then ruined the effect by adding, "Hypothetically speaking, it's the teeth you've got to worry about. They don't... I mean, I've heard they don't digest well."

"What about you, Rosie?" Julie asked, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Any ex-husband tales to share?"

Rosie hesitated, fiddling with a napkin. "Well, Derek and I... it's complicated. We're separated, but he's been making noises about wanting to reconcile."

"And do you want to?" Catherine asked gently.

Before Rosie could answer, their drinks arrived - a kaleidoscope of colours, textures, and aromas that looked more like science experiments than beverages.

"Good grief," Emma exclaimed, eyeing her monstrosity of a drink. "I think mine just winked at me."

Julie poked at her drink with a straw, watching in fascination as the colours swirled. "I'm not sure whether to drink this or hang it in my gallery."

As they cautiously sampled their concoctions, pulling faces and swapping sips, Rosie felt a warmth that had nothing to do with her 'extra hot' coffee.

"You never answered the question, you know," Lisa said softly, nudging Rosie's arm. "About Derek."

Rosie sighed, staring into the depths of her bizarre coffee creation. "Honestly? I don't know. We were together for so long, it's hard to imagine life without him. But at the same time..." she trailed off, struggling to find the words.

"At the same time, you can't help but wonder what else is out there?" Emma finished for her.

Rosie nodded, relieved that someone understood. "Exactly. It's like... I've been 'Derek's wife' for so long, I'm not sure I remember how to just be 'Rosie' anymore."

"Oh, honey," Catherine reached across the table to squeeze Rosie's hand. "We've all been there. When Richard left, I didn't know how to do anything for myself. I mean, the man had been choosing my clothes for years. Can you believe that?"

Julie nodded emphatically. "I get it. When Tom moved out, I stared at the washing machine for an hour because I couldn't remember how to use it. He'd always done the laundry."

"See, that's the thing," Lisa interjected. "We get so used to being one half of a couple that we forget how to be whole on our own. But let me tell you something, ladies - we are not half of anything. We are whole, complete, fabulous women."

"Hear, hear!" Emma raised her ridiculous coffee in a toast. "To being whole, complete, and fabulous!"

As they clinked their glasses together, Rosie felt a surge of affection for these women she barely knew. They were all so different - Emma with her irreverent humour, Lisa with her polished exterior and hidden mischief, Julie with her artistic soul, and Catherine with her endearing mix of anxiety and warmth. Yet somehow, they fit together perfectly.

"You know," Rosie said, surprising herself, "I think I'm going to tell Derek no. About getting back together, I mean."

The table fell silent, all eyes on Rosie.

"Are you sure?" Catherine asked. "That's a big decision."

Rosie nodded, feeling more certain with each passing second. "I am. It's time for me to figure out who I am without him. And I have a feeling it's going to be someone pretty amazing."

"That's my girl!" Emma crowed, reaching over to high-five Rosie. "Look out world, Rosie 2.0 is coming!"

As the conversation flowed, moving from ex-husbands to empty nests ("I swear, I can hear my own echo in the house now," Julie lamented), to dreams they'd put on hold ("I always wanted to learn the tango," Catherine admitted shyly), Rosie felt a sense of possibility unfurling within her.

"Ladies," Lisa said suddenly, setting down her coffee with a decisive thunk. "I have a proposition for you."

"Ooh, sounds scandalous," Emma waggled her eyebrows. "Do tell."

Lisa rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Nothing so exciting, I'm afraid. But I was thinking... what if we made this a regular thing? Not just coffee, but... adventures?"

"Adventures?" Catherine echoed, looking both intrigued and terrified.

"Yes, adventures," Lisa nodded enthusiastically. "We're all at a crossroads, aren't we? Kids grown up, marriages ended or ending, careers winding down. But that doesn't mean our lives are over. Far from it. I say it's time we start living again, really living."

"I'm in," Emma said immediately. "God knows I could use some excitement that doesn't involve arguing with the meter reader."

Julie nodded slowly, a smile spreading across her face. "You know what? Why not? My gallery can run itself for a few hours a week."

All eyes turned to Catherine, who was chewing her lip nervously. "I don't know... I'm not very adventurous. What if I make a fool of myself?"

"Then you'll be in good company," Rosie found herself saying. "Because I have a feeling we're all going to make fools of ourselves at some point. But won't it be fun?"

Catherine looked at each of them in turn, then squared her shoulders. "Alright, I'm in. But if we end up skydiving or something, I'm blaming all of you."

As they laughed and began throwing out ideas for their future 'adventures' ("Pottery class!" "Wine tasting!" "Naked life drawing - as the artists, not the models, Emma!"), Rosie felt a bubble of excitement building in her chest.Why should the young have all the fun?

As they gathered their things to leave, Rosie caught sight of their reflection in the coffee shop window. Five women, all in their sixties, all laughing and chattering like schoolgirls. But there was a strength there too, a resilience born of lives fully lived and challenges overcome.

"The Sensational Sixties Squad," she murmured to herself, testing the words out. "You know what? I think I like it."

And with that, Rosie stepped out into the sunshine, ready to embrace whatever adventures lay ahead. After all, sixty was just a number. The real journey was only just beginning.