"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you – you look like a monkey and you smell like one too!"
Nell sang the words down the phone and then burst out laughing. Apparently, her mother Cate always used this bastardised form of the anniversary song when she phoned her children to wish them happy birthday.
Song sung, Nell offered to visit.
"Shall I take you out for your breakfast? Then you can come back with me and we'll get ready for your party."
The offer made Kelly want to weep. She'd woken that morning determined to be cheerful. The day had started well because, contrary to expectations and despite the white chocolate cheesecake's best efforts, she had lost weight. Not the stone and a half that would have been perfect, but seven pounds since she had last weighed herself three weeks ago. That had to be something of a miracle.
Birthday greetings had flooded in from people too. Her Facebook page and Twitter accounts contained postings and Tweets, all wishing her a great day, she'd received several texts, and even snail mail cards.
There was nothing from Mark. Stern admonishments that she should have known that he wouldn't call – God, he probably hadn't even remembered – and that she was daft to have expected him to do so didn't help. As the minutes ticked by, her mind returned over and over to the same thoughts: I'm 40; I'm single; I'm a failure; and I'm never going to meet anyone.
Nell's offer reemphasised her single status.
Nell was her oldest friend. The two of them had met years ago at Glasgow City Council, having both been employed in the local authority's fledgling communications department. Their friendship began in the kitchen, a small area set aside for employees to make teas and coffees, and re-heat soup or ready meals in the small microwave. It was also used as a skulking ground, where people came to bitch when the job wasn't going well.
Kelly and Nell spent a lot of time in the kitchen.
Glasgow City Council was a weird and wonderful place to work. Kelly started there straight from university. She'd been one of the first people to take a degree in public relations, and Glasgow City Council's recruiters saw this as an advantage. The council was beginning to take public relations very seriously. They needed people who could deflect questions about wasteful spending, and ensure that the local authority was seen in the best possible light.
Nell joined not long after – the communications department realising it needed in-house designers, people who could create beautiful posters and leaflets. She hadn't come straight from university, having spent some time working for her then-boyfriend/now husband in his burgeoning sandwich shop empire.
Kelly had found Nell in the kitchen one day. She had turned away quickly as Kelly came in, but not fast enough as Kelly could see she'd been crying.
"Are you okay?" she asked, proffering a tissue from a well-stocked handbag.
Nell took it, and thanked her, blowing her nose hard. "It's just...oh, that old besom Councillor McIllwray."
Kelly nodded in sympathy, familiar with the elected member she named. The woman was head of several council committees and she took an inordinate amount of interest in the workings of the communications department. She and Kelly had clashed on numerous occasions because she always insisted on wordy quotes in press releases that she wouldn't let Kelly alter at all, and her quote always had to be the first one.
"So, this wee leaflet of yours...? I demand that you make it completely pink and you put my picture on the front of it."
The mimicry was spot-on. She reproduced Councillor McIllwray's whiney, nasal tones perfectly, and Nell burst out laughing.
"Oh my god! Who else can you do?"
Kelly managed two other wickedly accurate impersonations – their head of department, a Fife man whose inflections made sentences sound like questions even when they weren't, and the council's Lord Provost, a former ship builder who had a broad Glasgow accent.
They started to seek each other out, sharing lunch breaks mooching round the city centre shops, and then they progressed to nights out. Most of the communications department were young, so the Friday night after work drink became a regular thing. Kelly and Nell would start off with the rest of the department and then slowly drift away from them, moving on to other pubs and bars, and often ending the night with a curry at Kelly's flat or in the one Nell shared with two others.
In time, Nell introduced Kelly to her boyfriend Daniel, and then to her family and his. Kelly waited a while to do the same. Her mother and sisters were...an acquired taste. Daniel, Nell's family and to a lesser extent, Daniel's family had all shown polite interest in Kelly asking her questions and listening to the replies. Rose, Kelly's oldest sister Louise and youngest Samantha didn't ask many questions of the people around them, and most of Rose's remarks were designed to illicit sympathy.
Aware that her eyes were watering in response to Nell's breakfast offer, Kelly sniffed hard.
"Yeah, that would be nice. We'll need to be quick. I've got a nail appointment at half-eleven, and it's going to take me hours to get ready now that I'm 40."
"Shut your mouth," Nell told her. "You're still two years younger than me, you bitch."
Nell was small – short in stature and slightly built. Kelly suspected it was going to take her a long time until she looked her actual age, rather than a schoolgirl.
Nell appeared at her flat half-an-hour later, waving a bag containing champagne and a present. As the gift was large, square in shape and flat, Kelly knew straightway what it was – a painting. Nell didn't paint often these days, and it usually took her a long time when she did, so the effort was especially appreciated.
"Shall I open it now?" she asked but her friend shook her head furiously. "No, I don't want to be there when you do," Nell replied. "That way, you don't have to pretend to be pleased if you hate it – and if you do hate it, just put it in the bin."
Kelly rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Nell. Where shall we go for breakfast? And I'm paying, by the way."
They began their usual argument of who should pay. Nell felt she should pay as it had been her idea, and it was Kelly's birthday. Kelly disagreed because Nell was already hosting her party and had put a huge amount of effort into doing so. She also suspected Nell was keen to offer because she was much better off than Kelly. When you were part of a couple, life was cheaper. There were two people to pay the mortgage and the council tax, and split the bills. Daniel's small chain of sandwich shops and delis did well too. Kelly hated feeling like a charity case.
She held a hand up. "No, no arguments. I'm paying."
Nell grumbled some more, but then shrugged. "If you're paying, you have to suggest the place. I'm happy with a Wetherspoon's brekkie, though."
Again, that hint of charity. Wetherspoon's breakfasts were cheap.
"Café Gandalfi," Kelly decided. "It's a Glasgow institution. A bit like myself these days."
They set off. Café Gandalfi wasn't far from Kelly's flat – in Albion Street. Despite it being early January, it was busy: its punters ignoring the usual January tradition of auld claes and cauld parritch, and tucking into large, cooked breakfasts with gusto.
The place was warm, and scented with bacon, coffee and toast, all of which combined to make anyone entering it feel ravenous. Kelly ordered scrambled eggs on sourdough toast, while Nell opted for the full Scottish; eggs, bacon, sausages, black pudding, mushrooms and toast.
As usual, the food was sublime. Kelly wasn't much of a cook herself, but she was fussy about food quality and she'd eaten plenty of rubbery scrambled eggs over the years. These had been cooked to order and were light and fluffy. Nell offered her some of the mushrooms that had come with her breakfast and she accepted. The food spread its warmth, and Kelly began to feel much cheerier.
Breakfast over and done with, Kelly got up to go to the loos. Returning to their table, she noted that Nell was talking to someone, a guy who had sat down in her chair opposite Nell. It was one of the downsides of being friends with Nell. Wherever they went, she attracted male attention. Kelly was used to feeling like the second-choice best friend.
"Kelly, this is Nate! I created a website for him a few years ago."
The man glanced up and nodded at her. He was in his early 30s she guessed, sandy-haired and blue-eyed, with a square face and muscular upper body. She sighed. Nate looked like the kind of cocky bastard she always went for.
"Hiya," he said, scraping back the chair. "Sorry, I nicked your seat. We're just about finished anyway."
"No bother," she replied, taking the seat beside him. Up close she noticed that he wore the same aftershave as Mark.
"We were just talking websites, Kelly," Nell said. "Nate's thinking of a change of direction for his business so he wants his site updated at some point."
She looked at Nate, obviously waiting for him to fill Kelly in on his change of direction. He said nothing.
"Yes, he's, em, thinking of expanding his personal training business. Exciting stuff!" Nell said, overdoing the enthusiasm in compensation.
"Have you got a publicity plan worked out?" Kelly said. He might need her freelance PR and content services after all.
"I'm no' ready for that yet."
"Well, it would be wise to start thinking about that. You must plan ahead these days, and make sure you've got a good campaign worked out. PR is vital for any new business, especially in the leisure industry."
Nate scowled at her. "Let me guess. You could do the PR stuff for me."
Taken aback by the sharp reply, Kelly couldn't stop her own retort. "Yes I could. I'm one of the most cost-effective PR experts in Glasgow. Last year, I helped one client expand their customer base by 300 percent, and I worked with one charity on a campaign that raised £75,000 above their usual donations."
Nell, she noticed, was moving about on her seat and drumming her fingers on the table.
"Well done you," Nate pushed back his seat and stood up. "I'll be in touch, Nell. Enjoy the party." He nodded briefly at the two of them and walked off.
Kelly waited until he was out of sight. "What a wanker," she exclaimed.
"You were a little...forceful, Kelly darling." Nell reached a hand out to take one of Kelly's, an apologetic look on her face. "I thought he looked like your type. Y'know, good-looking, bit younger. That kind of thing. I thought he might..."
She let the sentence trail off, alerted by Kelly's grimace.
"Don't try and set me up Nelly-welly! And anyway, that wasn't forceful, was it? Too many people don't realise how important PR is. They launch a new business, they create a brilliant website, but how does anyone know about it unless there's been some PR, or at least a digital marketing campaign to ensure people find it online?"
Perhaps she could have put it differently, but Kelly knew her stuff. And he had been rude.
She checked the time on her phone. "I need to get to that appointment."
Nell picked up her handbag from the floor. "Yes, I'd better get back to the house. Trish is coming over to drop off all the stuff she's baked for you."
"She's going to stay for the party, isn't she?" Kelly asked. It seemed cheeky to get someone to make all the food for your party and then not invite them.
Nell raised her shoulders in a mock shudder. "Luckily for you – and even luckier for me – St Patrick's is having a crisis meeting about its youth group. Basically, there are no youths who want to join. I don't blame them, do you? Trish is helping organise it so she can't come. Shame."
She winked. Nell wasn't keen on her mother-in-law, although Kelly had always thought she seemed okay – just your typical Irish-Scots Catholic devoted mother of four. Maybe hating your mother-in-law was one of the luxuries that came with being married. What would she know? At times, it seemed very self-indulgent of Nell.
"But she's made me all this stuff..." Tricia loved cooking and baking, sure, but the image of what she might have had to do this morning made Kelly uncomfortable. She imagined Trish setting her alarm for stupid o'clock this morning and leaping out of bed to weigh out flour and sugar, rubbing in butter and mixing together scones with the deftest of touches, rolling out and bushing with egg and milk, and crouching to peer at the oven to watch the little mounds slowly rise. This was on top of all the effort she'd already put in for the cakes, tray bakes and eclairs she had made for Kelly's 40th.
Nell snorted derisively. "Write her a thank you card. That'll be fine. Or pop around to see her. Some people just like to feel that they are necessary."
Paying their breakfast bill, Kelly wondered if she would have made a more grateful daughter-in-law. Not that she'd ever been within spitting distance of daughter-in-law status. There were ironies at play here: her huge gratitude to Tricia and her need to acknowledge it; and Nell's indifference.
The biggest irony of all? Tricia was Mark's mum and Nell was his sister-in-law. She was thankful to Tricia for making her cakes, and she had this on-off relationship with the woman's son that she longed to put on permanent or official status, but so far the relationship had been kept secret from his mother, as it had from everyone else.
There was a lot Kelly didn't know about Mark – had he remembered her birthday and why didn't he give a shit enough to text her, for example – but one thing she did know. If she gave even the slightest hint to Tricia that she was involved with her youngest son, Mark would never speak to her again. He told his mother nothing about his love life.
She told Nell about Laura's tweet. Nell was as horrified as Kelly had been. "Well, that's just damn rude," she snorted. "If you're going to cancel at the last minute, you should at least phone. Hashtag Kelly's 40th indeed!"
Kelly smiled. "My thoughts exactly. We should write the modern person's guide to etiquette, don't you reckon?"
They were heading up to Royal Exchange Square and Kelly's nails appointment.
"Too right!" Nell replied. "What would a modern guide cover? In ye olden days it was all about the correct way to address peers and all that, but the present-day girl about town needs to know lots of things these days."
Kelly took up the challenge. "Like, when's the right stage in a relationship to introduce your boyfriend to the Rabbit?"
Nell frowned. "That's a tricky one. Introduce it too soon and the lazy wee bastard will think he never needs to make any effort again. Introduce it too late – and then you're just too self-conscious? Or you're letting him know that he's been crap in bed so far?"
Kelly burst out laughing. "Exactly! See this is why we need a precise, modern-day etiquette guide! What else would be in it?"
Nell had a reply straight away. "Can I apply make-up on public transport?"
They mulled this over for a few seconds, Kelly saying "Yes", at the same time as Nell said "No".
"Powder, lipstick then? Just not nail varnish, or perfume because they smell?"
Nell nodded slowly. "Okay, I'll let you away with that. But also nothing that involves shedding. I don't think you should file your nails on a train, and you shouldn't brush your hair either."
"There should be rules about friends with benefits too," Kelly said. "Definite rules."
Nell stopped. "I don't know enough about friends with benefits. It's too modern a concept for me. You'd have to write that section all by yourself. What would it say?"
Kelly breathed in deeply. "Well, friends with benefits should always remember your birthday." She stopped. Had she given too much away?
"And it's not against any friends with benefits rule to buy you an actual fucking present."
Now, she had given too much away.
Nell touched her hand. "I'm sorry Kelly," she said gently. "That sucks. He's a stupid sod who obviously doesn't realise how lucky he is."
Kelly smiled at her. She'd come within seconds of telling Nell who the stupid sod was. And that would have been stupid indeed.
"Doesn't matter. I am really looking forward to my party."
They had arrived at Purity Beauty in Royal Exchange Square. The two of them stopped in front of the door. Nell hopped from foot to foot. It was cold, the wind whistling about them and the threat of snow in the air.
"Thanks Nell."
"What for? You bought us bloody breakfast."
Kelly tilted her head to one side. "For organising my 40th. And making sure it was special."
"Hashtag Kelly's 40th! You're my best friend. I've relied on you a lot over the years. What did you think I was going to do?" She leaned forward and pecked Kelly on the cheek.
"Go make yourself beautiful – I mean, even more beautiful – and I'll see you soon!" She skipped a small circle so that she was facing Kelly, and hopped up and down a few times. With a final twirl, she walked off.
Kelly pushed open the door of Purity Beauty, nasal passages assaulted at once by the smells of coconut oil, menthol, mint and the overwhelming, chemical smell of ethyl acetate – aromas of treatments familiar from years of coming to this place.
The receptionist popped her head around the door at the top of the stairs. "Aw – it's yourself Kelly! We've got this new Shellac nail colour and I think you'll luv it. C'mon up."