[Author's note: this story is in four parts. Yes, there's something unusual in the way Polly attempts to process the world around her (check the tags). Does it excuse her behaviour?]
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YOU ALWAYS REMEMBER YOUR FIRST TIME
You want to see a photo? Here, take a look. It's a great shot of us all, Erica's birthday I think. We must have been at least two bottles in by this point, because Annalise has that stupid smug grin. Kara's no better, losing her shit about something or other on the end as Val digs her in the ribs. It's a great shot of the five of us, taken as I recall by the hot guy who was clearing glasses, snagged by Erica's call to come over and do her bidding.
Erica's always been like that, and the glamour-model looks mean that she rarely encounters any resistance. In fact, her entire life is just about frictionless, drifting from one thing to another in her little summer dresses, her perfect blonde locks, those long eyelashes. Her husband is a builder by trade, thick set with rough hands and a great smile, always in jeans, always in a t-shirt that's seen better days, sandy hair tousled in a way that demands tidying, a hand running through it. Erica's constantly running her hand through it.
Kara's dark, buxom, shorter than Erica by half a head but still taller that the rest of us, a fitness trainer for a living with no sign of the three kids apparent on that flat, tight stomach, as if she'd squeezed them out like orange pips between bench presses. Her husband's the same, the manager at the gym. Kara keeps telling me how they go running together. Given they're early thirties with three kids and energy to burn, I'd say that they're active in other exercises too.
Val's always been able to hold her drink. She's stocky, brunette in a bob that keeps the hair out of her face because she's got shit to do and it doesn't involve messing around with her hair every thirty seconds. She's the kid-herder, given practice from her two boys who have always bounced off the walls while their fucking useless father looked on. I wouldn't have put up with that, but Val leaned right into it. She's a force of nature, extending her influence to our kids when we're in the park or down the beach. Kara doesn't mind Val taking the lead like that. It's respite, I guess.
Annalise is fair, slim, newly single, blonde, but don't be sucked in: the carpet does not match the drapes. I know because we do a swimming class together after school drop off and I've seen her in all her glory. That sounds crude of me. Maybe I should apologise. Or maybe you should toughen up. If that's enough to tweak your delicate sensibilities, my little wallflower, I guarantee that we will not be friends by the end of the story. I guarantee you a hundred percent that you'll regret starting this.
Second from the left, looking straight at the lens, that's who my eyes are drawn to whenever I look at this shot of us all. Neither fat nor thin, neither tall nor short, with a glass raised almost to my lips, there I am, frozen forever in that moment in my summer dress, my mousey blonde hair gathered back in a butterfly clip, the only one seeming to notice that we are observed as the others laugh. A husband with a high paying job in the same insurance company that I left to raise two kids, giving up my career to become a mother, sitting there in bare legs and strappy sandals.
That's me. I'm Polly. You're going to want to remember that.
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We're at dinner at a local place, just the four of us. I'm in a little black dress, sitting opposite Erica's husband, Harrison. Erica's next to me, opposite my husband Mark. Mark came straight from work in a suit and tie, his dark hair neat, smiling at something Erica said. She's in a dress too, dark blue against her pale skin, hair teased into a French twist, little wisps of blonde framing her lovely face, her lips the colour of merlot. Erica laughs, so I laugh, but I catch a glance at Harrison, sitting there in his shirt and trousers, looking uncomfortable. We're talking about the upcoming elections, about who's going to get in, who's worth voting for, and I can see it's not his field of expertise. He looks across the table at me and I flash him a sympathetic smile.
Mark's talking about his work, trying to play it down in a self-deprecating way, telling everyone that insurance is too boring to be the subject of dinner conversation. I tend to agree. I know Mark's playing it down, though; I know he just got promoted. He slips it in almost as an afterthought and Harrison reaches for his beer. The restaurant is new and quite expensive, above the level that they'd normally choose, but I'd booked it anyway. I don't want to sit in my jeans and eat burgers.
The main course arrives, and I nudge Mark to organise another round of drinks. We have babysitters, which means we should make the most of this. I top up Erica's glass and then my husband's, smiling as they banter. Harrison empties his glass and I nod to him.
"Do you want to keep on that, or switch to wine?" I ask.
"Uh, yeah. I guess, wine's okay."
"Red, to go with steak? Or white?"
I pick up both bottles.
"Red," he says.
I pour his wine, then position the glass in front of him with a little smile. He nods gratefully. Erica seems oblivious. She's talking about herself again.
"Talking of which," I interject, "What do you think about giving the kids phones?"
Erica blinks at me, derailed. It doesn't matter, I have more interesting things to talk about.
"As in?" she asks.
"What age do you think it's appropriate? We're kinda getting to that point."
"The age they don't drop them," Mark replies. "They're expensive."
I shrug, saying, "I'm thinking hold off as long as possible. I know Val's got one for her eldest, but I worry, given all the pressure on them these days with social media."
"You worried about them oversharing?" Erica asks.
"Yes. More than that though, I'm worried about them doing stupid things and there being a permanent record of it."
"Like bad haircuts? Questionable clothing choices?"
"That and everything else. I mean, imagine if we'd had phones, if our friends all had phones, when we were that age? Imaging becoming a teenager with everyone having a lens in their back pocket to immortalise your awkward moment forever?"
I smile at everyone, as if pleased with myself for making the point, and take a sip of my drink.
"I guess," Mark replies, "Though I really don't think anything would have been worth a picture, not from when I was that age."
"Why, darling? Were you quite boring?"
Mark stiffens just a little, but smiles back at me, replying, "I was circumspect. I didn't go looking for trouble if that's what you mean."
"So, there would be just endless pictures of you doing homework?" I prod.
"And athletics. I was a wholesome kid."
"And smart too. Top of the class, weren't you?"
"I suppose."
I grin at my husband, replying, "Come on, you were the class nerd. First in Mathematics, first in Physics, always beavering away."
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Harrison shift in his seat.
"Erica, how about you?" I ask, turning my attention to her.
"Oh, god no. I'd be a wreck if there'd been pictures of everything back then," she gushes.
I can tell she's slightly tipsy, waving her glass around as she talks. I pick my moment carefully.
"So, if we did a search on you, what would we find?" I ask, blithely.
Erica hesitates for a second, then grins amiably. I see the pause, and I know I've got her.
"Let's see," I say, getting my phone out of my purse.
"Polly, no, god. What are you doing?"
"There's something on all of us out there. What do you reckon for you?"
Erica laughs, drinking her wine, but her eyes follow my fingers as I tap her name into the search bar, along with a few more details. The screen refreshes, listing out results.
"What came up?" she asks, coyly.
I make a show of scrolling down the page.
"School fair, that was last year, uh, wow, did you run the Classic?"
"Yeah, does it tell you my time? That was five years ago, or more."
"How about this? Oh."
