She stood and cleared her plate and offered me a drink. I asked for a coffee and also if I could use her toilet.
“End of the hall, on your right.”
Other people’s bathrooms. Fascinating. Lisa’s had the feel of a beach hut, without the sand on the floor. Blue, pink and white striped shower curtain, white painted floorboards, shells and marine artifacts dotted about. An old wooden trunk to sit on. I peered on the shelves but there were no male toiletries, no Gillette foam or Lynx deodorant. I guessed that Lisa lived alone.
Over coffee I asked Lisa to tell me about the last time she saw Jennifer.
“It was that summer, ‘76. I got these out after you rang.” She fetched a photograph album from the shelves. I moved my chair round so we could look at the pictures together. She flicked through the first few pages and I caught glimpses of family scenes, babies and toddlers on rugs, school photos.
“Here,” she said, “this was my 16th birthday. The photo showed four young women, arms linked across shoulders, standing outside. They all had long hair and wore high boots, long coats and scarves, plenty of glittery make up. The glam rock look.
“That’s Frances,” she pointed to the one with blonde hair, “Frances Delaney, she didn’t go to school with us but she lived near Jennifer, house at the back of theirs. Jenny,” looking sleek and dark haired, “me, I was a right pudding then.” Her hair was thick and curly and it was true she was a plump teenager. The fourth girl, Caroline, had glasses and long red hair.
“Christmas that year,” she turned the page. More photos followed, all pretty similar, the girls posing for one celebration or another. Lisa and Jennifer pulling faces in one shot, the four of them posing with arms flung skywards in another. Clothes varying but hair always long, faces made up. There was a photo of them in waitress uniforms, the long tresses pulled back into ponytails and buns. “That’s at the Bounty, we worked there weekends, silver service, it was good money really. And we’d usually enough energy to go out and spend some of it afterwards.”
“I met Mrs Clerkenwell, she remembers giving you lifts up there.”
“Oh, yes,” I could hear note of recollection in her voice, “nearly quarter of a century,” she shook her head.
“Were you and Jennifer close?”
She looked at me, considering. “Inseparable,” she said at last, a tone to it though, a faint challenge? I couldn’t read it.
“We were best friends. It was strange that summer. We were both off to university, so excited but there was this,” she fumbled for a word, “sense of something coming to an end, I suppose. That sounds dramatic but we’d been so wrapped up in each other’s lives I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel without Jenny. Oh, we’d promised to write and visit each other for weekends, I think we even talked about trying to get jobs in the same place once we’d graduated, and sharing a flat,” she smiled and her dimples re-appeared, “never any thought that we might lose touch.”
