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Lycra” or I’ll have to push you into the traffic.’
    Lisa grinned and whipped out her travelcard. ‘I think that’s a conversation for the pub, don’t you?’ she replied.

Chapter Three
     
    The smell of Camden hit Josie as soon as they got off the bus on the High Street. Incense, kebabs, patchouli oil . . . It was all exactly the same. The pounding bass-y reggae; the shops full of buckled biker boots and outrageous platform heels; the clusters of skanky teenagers smoking roll-ups, clad in their uniform of ripped black bullet belts and piercings; the cannabis flags fluttering like bunting from shop windows . . .
    It made her feel old. It made her feel like a middle-aged mother. Which, of course, she was. But she wished she didn’t look quite so much like one.
    ‘Right,’ Lisa said, looking around as if they’d just landed on a different planet. ‘God, Camden High Street. So here we are again. I think I need a drink already.’
    ‘I think I need some food,’ Josie said, eyeing a bistro across the road.
    ‘I think I need to hear who Lisa’s been shagging,’ Nell said, steering them to the pedestrian crossing. ‘Twelve o’clock’s not too early for a drink and lunch, is it?’
    ‘Not in my belly it isn’t,’ Josie replied. She suddenly felt anxious as she saw Lisa consult the watch on her slim, slim wrist Oh no, Lisa wasn’t going to sit there and just watch them eating while she picked at a single grain of rice or something, was she? Josie couldn’t bear it when people did that. Talk about killing off everybody else’s fun. Today she just wanted to enjoy herself, not be reminded about calories and spare handfuls of flesh.
    ‘Looks like wine o’clock to me,’ Lisa said, ‘and I’m absolutely ravenous. I forgot all about breakfast this morning, I was so excited about seeing you two.’
    The crossing started bleeping for them to go, and Josie pressed her lips tight shut together. She’d been excited about the weekend too, but that hadn’t stopped her wolfing down two rounds of toast and the boys’ leftover bacon. How did anyone forget to eat, anyway? Was it actually possible? She always suspected models and celebrities were lying when she read statements like that in magazines. Surely nobody was that forgetful? Ever since she’d had the boys, Josie’s whole life had been charted by mealtimes. ‘Mum, is it nearly lunchtime?’ ‘Mum, what’s for tea?’ ‘Mum, I’m starving! I’m THIS hungry!’
    They crossed the road and went into the cafe. It was vaguely familiar, and Josie struggled to think why. ‘I’m sure I’ve been here before,’ she said, staring around. It was gloomy inside, but cosy-gloomy, with lamps on the wall, leather armchairs and an open fire in the front. Further back were scruffy, chipped tables and chairs. ‘I’ve got major déjà vu. Ringing any bells for you two?’
    ‘No,’ Lisa said. ‘Not even a tinkle. Hello?’ she called over to a waiter.
    Nell started to laugh and elbowed Josie. ‘You have been in here – and so have I,’ she said. ‘Don’t you remember? We came in here for lunch – well, actually, it was probably a late breakfast for us in those days – and we met those awful blokes. Yours was a poet. Mine was an artist, I think.’ She shook her head. ‘Must have been ten years ago or so. Jesus!’
    Josie racked her brains. A vague shadowy memory flickered in her mind, of an earnest, brown-haired guy trying to sneak his arm around her back on a slippery leather sofa. ‘I remember,’ she said. ‘Didn’t they keep trying to get us to look at their etchings?’
    ‘Something like that,’ Nell said. ‘I think we just let them buy us drinks, then made a swift exit.’
    Josie stared at the sofa in one corner, as if half expecting to see a ghostly image of herself still there, giggling and flirting with some poor sod. ‘What mercenary bitches we were,’ she said, feeling guilty and amused at the same time.
    Nell grinned. ‘Thank goodness