I had no inclination to decipher what that meant, so I just nodded in agreement.

  ‘How’s my hair?’

  ‘As Josie would say, it’s the size of a motorcycle helmet and you could smash a shop window with it,’ Carly replied.

  ‘Excellent. We’re good to go then,’ I quipped, thinking how Carly’s comment was absolutely the right thing to say at this very second. I needed a bit of Josie with me right now. She’d left part of her DNA on my soul and it was time to channel it.

  Carly pressed another button, then reached over and gave my hand a squeeze while she was speaking.

  ‘My fellow Twisted Knickers out there, welcome to this week’s podcast. This is Carly Morton, and, as always, I’m joined by my far more successful sister-in-law – model, influencer, social media superstar and all-round babe, Carol Cooper.’

  ‘That was some introduction,’ Carol piped in. ‘You’re either after money or something in my wardrobe, so what is it?’

  ‘Neither,’ Carly chirped. ‘I want you to do Christmas dinner this year and I’m starting early with the coercion. Anyway, folks, as you know, this show is dedicated every week to whatever subject is twisting your knickers, getting you in a flux-with-an-L, bringing you down or heating you up, but today is a bit different because we’re also joined by our very favourite relative – don’t tell our kids we said that – our Aunt Val. Now, if you caught Carol’s Instagram Live post this morning, you’ll know why Val is here, but for those who have no idea what I’m talking about, let me fill you in.’

  I took a sip of my tea, as Carly went on to explain the whole story, and mentioned that all the details and pictures could be found on their social media posts and YouTube channels. I had no idea what YouTube channels were, so I made a mental note to get them to show me later. There had been me thinking I was making a ground-breaking technological leap when I got Netflix.

  ‘Aunt Val, I’d give you a drum roll, but you’ll only chide me for banging on your table, so I’ll just say hello and tell you we love you.’

  ‘That’s much better than a drum roll, pet,’ I replied, smiling, still blocking out the thought of all those listeners.

  Carly was speaking again. ‘This morning on Carol’s Instagram Live, you told us about the engagement ring that Uncle Don bought you when you were still too young to drink in pubs.’

  ‘I had to snap him up before anyone else got the chance,’ I retorted, grinning at the thought of that memory again. ‘And I never regretted it for a second. He was one of a kind, my Don. I never stopped feeling lucky that he chose me and I chose him. We slow danced in the kitchen that night and we were still dancing in this kitchen over forty years later.’ A flashback to that more recent night hit me like a kick to the chest. Don. Me. Swaying to an old Otis Redding song just a few weeks before he passed. I’m not sure that he knew who I was that day, but he held me tight and I let myself pretend that we were just us, that everything was fine, that his mind was still here. Those were the kind of moments that had kept me going and I ached for more of them.

  Throat suddenly tight again, I pushed the memory away for now. When I was in bed later, I’d let myself think about it, but right now, I had to concentrate on what we were doing.

  ‘Carol and I have danced many a night in this kitchen too,’ Carly added, her own memories making her smile. ‘I remember you and your pal, Josie, teaching us all to jive during a Hogmanay party. We broke three of your best glasses, knocked over a cheese and pineapple hedgehog and Josie said she pulled a hamstring spinning me round.’

  Oh Jesus, another kick to the throat with that one. We’d laughed until we cried that night. I lost my words for a second, but thankfully, Carly nudged everything back on track.

  ‘And that actually brings us to the subject of this podcast today. Because another of the rings that you lost held special significance to Josie, didn’t it?’

  I caught Carly’s nod and knew it was my cue to start telling her about Josie’s ring. Right Val, I told myself. Just act like your pals are here. It’s just another chat.

  ‘It did. You know, I listen to this podcast because I like to hear what you and Carol are talking about, and I think you two are smashing. I mean, obviously I’m biased, but I’ll stand by that.’

  Carly grinned and gave a thumbs up.

  ‘But I also listen because, to me, hearing you speak is like a million conversations I’ve had with my pals at this table over the years. I’m sure everyone out there knows that you two are related, but the thing is, you were pals first, and you still are, through all the ups and downs and disasters and dramas that have come your way. You’re in your fifties now…’

  ‘Hush your mouth,’ Carol joked.

  ‘And you’re still the same daft lassies that you were when you were fifteen and climbing out the window to go to discos. And the reason I say all this is that sometimes it’s hard to keep the laughs and the enthusiasm alive when life has given you a kicking, like it does to us all. I have a few pals that make me feel that way, even at my age, but I lost one of those a few years ago, and believe me when I tell you that the world is a less colourful place without Josie Cairney. She smoked like a train, she swore like a sailor, she had a laugh that sounded like a generator booting up in a power cut, and anyone who got on the wrong side of her had better be a fast runner, but she was someone who made every single person she loved better. She made us stronger. She made us laugh harder. She made us die with embarrassment and she made us feel like we could do any bloody thing that we set our minds to. The night she died, her and I had been at a wedding in a posh hotel, and we were dancing our shoes off, having the best of times.’

  As I began sharing my story with anyone who was listening, every moment of that night played like a movie in my mind.

  Josie had appointed herself wedding planner for our friends Cammy and Caro, and later that night, after the celebrations were over, the two of us, joined at the elbow, had strolled along the hotel corridor, holding our shoes in our free hands, a bottle of champagne tucked under Josie’s arm.

  When we’d reached Josie’s room, she’d swayed slightly as she put the key card in the lock.

  ‘Are you coming in for a nightcap?’

  I’d winced as I’d pulled at the waistband under my best frock. ‘Only if I can take these knickers off.’

  ‘Best offer I’ve had in a long time,’ Josie had said, making the two of us hoot with laughter.

  In the room, she’d handed the bottle to me, but then, as she’d flopped onto the bed, a coughing fit had consumed her. That had been happening more and more over the previous few months, but Josie had repeatedly brushed it off as a chest infection, a mild dose of the flu, a touch of bronchitis.

  I was pouring the champagne into two mugs on the tea tray, when I’d chided her, as I’d done many times before. ‘For feck’s sake, Josie, will you get that seen to? You sound like you’re on your last legs there.’

  What I didn’t know then was that I was right. My best pal, the bloody magnificent Josie Cairney had been told that morning by a specialist that she had terminal lung cancer. That would have been the time to tell me, but, God love her, she didn’t. Instead, she did something that should have alerted me that something was wrong – she got sentimental.

  ‘You know,’ she’d said flippantly, ‘that was a brilliant night. It really was. If I popped my clogs right now, I’d go a happy woman.’

  Laughing, I’d chucked her over a packet of shortbread fingers. ‘Och, don’t be daft. I know you’re lying. You won’t die happy until you’ve shagged Pierce Brosnan.’

  ‘You’ve got a point,’ Josie had shrugged, with that mischievous glint in her eye. ‘Although, I do worry that he’s getting on in years and at his age I’d be a bit too much for him.’

  Before I could point out yet again that Josie was several years older than Mr Shaken, Not Stirred, she’d blurted, ‘Val Murray, I bloody love you, do you know that?’

  ‘That’s completely understandable. I’d love me too,’ I’d fired back, joking as usual.

  That’s when I’d held my glass up to celebrate her. ‘Congratulations, Josie, you pulled off the wedding of the year today. It was brilliant, it really was. If my Don trades me in for a supermodel, you can do my next one too.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll even give you a discount on my fee. So it’ll be a large bottle of gin and five boxes of Tunnock’s tea cakes.’

  I’d plonked down on the chair next to the bed, and for the next few minutes, we chatted about the day, until we’d both drained our glasses. That’s when I’d forced my groaning joints back out of the chair. ‘Right, I’m going to love you and leave you. I need to get back to my room and get these knickers off. My feet are turning blue.’

  She had got up from the bed and that’s when she’d done something else unusual – she’d hugged me. And Josie, as she would tell anyone, ‘hated all that touchy-feely pish’.

  ‘Goodnight, love. You’re the best pal a woman could have, Val,’ she’d said.

  ‘And you’re a class act, Josie Cairney.’ I’d tightened my hug. ‘Och, we’re getting soppy in our old age. Love you, Josie. See you for breakfast in the morning?’

  ‘Love you too, pet, and yep, I’ll be there.’

  ‘Aye, well, don’t scoff all the sausages if you get there before me.’

  And with that, I’d waddled out of the room, and the door had closed behind me.

  Josie didn’t make it to breakfast. That night, sometime after I’d left her, she’d died in her bed, and to this day, I told myself she was asleep and never knew it was coming. I also told myself it was how she would have wanted to go: happy, a little tipsy, after a raucous night of dancing and laughter, surrounded by the people she loved.

  Now, at my kitchen table, I must have paused, because I saw that Carol and Carly were both staring at me, tears dripping down their cheeks.

  I rewound to where I’d been in my story and then carried on, ‘I had no idea that there would be no more of those great times with her. But what I do have is the memory of an incredible friend. So the way I see it, this podcast is all about women sticking together and holding each other up. Josie Cairney did that every day of her life. After she died, her daughter, Avril, gave me one of her rings. She told me that it was the ring, or Josie’s collection of Billy Idol records. No offence to Billy, but I took the ring. It was a large rectangular emerald on a gold band. I’ve no idea if the stone is real, so I don’t have a clue if the ring is valuable, but to me, it’s priceless. Because to me it’s Josie. And when I’m finding things tough, I put that ring on, and it’s like she’s here. The world is more colourful and I can hear her voice telling me I can do anything. You two do that for each other, and I hope everyone has at least one pal like that. And if they do, go dance yer heels off, because life’s too short to act your age.’

  There was a pause, and I began to panic that I’d gone too far or said something wrong, but as I looked from one niece to another, I saw that Carol’s eyes were still streaming and Carly was biting her bottom lip, just like she’d done since she was a kid.

  ‘Sorry for missing a beat there, but we’ve been doing this show for more than two years now, and I’m just very aware that that my auntie is way more life-smart than I could ever be,’ Carly said, sniffing loudly.

  I wanted to say that if I were that smart I wouldn’t have lost the rings, but Carly was already wrapping things up.

  ‘So, friends, family, and even any ex-boyfriends who listen in to our podcast so that they can reassure themselves that they had a lucky escape, now you understand how much Val’s rings mean to her, and to us, please help us find them.’

  Like a verbal tag team, Carol took over. ‘As we said at the start, pictures are on our social media sites and our YouTube channel, and our comments and messages are open.’

  Carly again. ‘And if you want to start a petition to permanently replace us with Val and her words of wisdom, we’ll totally understand and approve. We know when we’re beat. So, goodbye for now, go love your friends, and keep your eye on our socials because we may be doing a couple of bonus episodes over the weekend. Thank you for listening and for being part of the Twisted Knickers family. Mic drop from me…’

  ‘And from me,’ Carol added, before music began to play and Carly started pressing all kinds of buttons.

  This time, it was Carol who puffed out her cheeks and stretched so high her T-shirt flashed her stomach. ‘Aunt Val, I adore you, and I wouldn’t change being here for the world. I’m so glad we’re with you…’

  ‘But?’ I knew something was coming and I wasn’t wrong.

  ‘But, bugger me, this is the most emotionally exhausting weekend I’ve had since Callum went missing on that shoot in Amsterdam, and I was convinced he’d overdosed on dodgy Brownies and taken a header into a canal.’

  ‘Technically, you weren’t far off. If you swap the header into a canal for sleeping it off in the presidential suite at the Grand Hotel Krasnapolsky,’ Carly added.

  ‘The point is,’ Carol went on, ‘my heart is being shredded here. Any more of this and I’m going to have to ask my doc to increase my HRT.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love.’ I felt terrible for dragging them into this.

  ‘No, please don’t apologise! I just mean if I’m feeling this way, you must be in pieces inside.’

  I thought about that. I still had that sick, swirling feeling in the bottom of my stomach. I wanted to cry. My head was banging and I wanted to punch a wall because I was still so damn furious with myself. But apart from that… ‘I just need to keep believing that this will work,’ I said. ‘What do we do next?’

  Carly pulled a bottle of white wine from the rack on the counter behind her and then a bottle of soda from the fridge. ‘We wait. We hope. We day-drink. And if it doesn’t work, we’ll do it all again tonight.’

  18

  SOPHIE

  Standing under the powerful jets of the hotel shower felt like it was the most incredible ten minutes of Sophie’s life – until she turned the other way and the drumming liquid hit the seatbelt bruise that remained after her near-death experience yesterday.

  It still blew her mind that a day ago she was spinning around in an out-of-control car and now, relatively unscathed, if you didn’t count the bruising and a few lingering aches, she was standing in the shower in a luxury hotel. Although, she had cried for a full five minutes when she’d first got here and collapsed on the bed. She’d stared at the ceiling, replayed everything that had happened, right up until she woke up this morning in hospital. She’d whispered, ‘Thanks, Mum,’ to give credit to the angel who’d been looking out for her, and before she knew it, she was sobbing her heart out into the pillow of a king-size bed. And that was the second teary episode of the day. The receptionist had felt so sorry for her when she’d explained why she’d showed up a day late for her booking that she’d cancelled the charge for the previous night and upgraded her to an executive room.

  ‘Fifth floor, view of George Square. I hope it makes up a little bit for the nightmare you’ve had since you got here.’

  Sophie had spluttered out her thanks through wobbling lips.

  Now, though, she was feeling better. She’d had a good long think about whether she should just give this up and go home, but she’d decided that she’d gone through so much that she had to see if there was a pay-off at the end. And if there wasn’t… well, sod it, at least she was still in one piece.

  Drying off with a luxurious, thick white fluffy towel, she formulated a plan. Get dressed, find the nearest coffee place, grab a cappuccino to go, and then take the underground to Ash’s apartment in the West End of the city. She could still remember how to get there, so hopefully it wouldn’t take too long. If he was in, fantastic. If he wasn’t… well, she would just have to hope that he would send her a picture of the ring tonight, just as he’d done last year. Or maybe he’d just have a nostalgic stroll in the square late in the afternoon, around the same time as he’d proposed two years ago today.

  Her phone, sitting on the bedside table and plugged into the charger she’d borrowed from reception, beeped with an incoming text. She knew it wouldn’t be Erin, because before her shower, as soon as she’d had power, she’d texted her sister, still debating whether to tell her about the accident.

  Hey! Are you alive? Up? Busy?

  Sophie had messaged.

  Hangover. Dying.

  Had been the reply.

  That had made the decision for her. Now wasn’t the time to throw a life-threatening incident into her sister’s day, especially as the whole trip had been Erin’s idea in the first place. A couple of weeks ago, after several failed Tinder dates, including a bloke who asked her if she’d be prepared to put her feet in a bucket of baked beans for him because he got off on that (she’d excused herself to go to the loo and was on the train home before he would have realised she was gone), Erin had lost patience and challenged her. ‘Sophie, who is the only guy that you’ve fallen in love with in your entire adult life?’

  ‘Does Channing Tatum count?’

  ‘No. And stop trying to deflect the question.’ Sophie could see there was no way she was getting away with a glib brush off.

  ‘Then okay, it’s Ash.’ Her heart had thudded just saying his name aloud.

  ‘Exactly. You should go and see him. School is off for the long weekend at the beginning of next month, you could go then.’

  ‘It would never work,’ Sophie had objected. ‘He lives in Glasgow, I’d only actually known him for four crazy brilliant months when I said no to his proposal, ghosted him and then didn’t show up a year later like I’d promised. No wonder he changed his number. I think that tells me something.’ The truth was, in the last few months, since she’d started to come out of the brutal depths of her grief, she’d thought about going back up to see him a hundred times, but she was embarrassed by the way she’d treated him and absolutely terrified that he’d reject her. It was more than her wounded heart could take and somehow it was easier not to try. Better just to consign the whole thing to a mad, crazy, holiday episode from the past.