Love Your Life(59)

“I’m going to beat you up!” Bertie yells at Matt for about the hundredth time.

“Stop it, Bertie, my love,” says Maud, glancing up briefly. “Matt, I’m so sorry, only he does adore martial arts.”

    “It’s fine,” says Matt good-humoredly, although I see him flinch as Bertie prepares to kickbox him again.

“I’ve found it,” Nell addresses Matt, looking up from her phone. “?‘The fundamental problems with Harriet’s House: a feminist viewpoint.’ It’s a blog. I knew I’d seen it. Have you read it?”

“Can’t remember, I’m afraid,” says Matt, looking even more beleaguered. He and Nell have been debating Harriet’s House all afternoon—at least, Nell has been telling him how patriarchal and misogynistic it is, and he’s been occasionally offering replies like, “We have a new feminist line of character dolls,” which barely causes her to break stride.

“?‘Who buys into this capitalist, exploitative version of girlhood?’?” Nell reads out with a thunderous frown. “?‘What architects of bullshit think to create such a misleading fantasy world?’ You should read the piece, Matt,” she adds, offering him her phone. “It’s good.”

“Right,” says Matt, without moving to take the phone. “Yes. Maybe later— Oof!”

Bertie has landed a vicious blow on Matt’s chest, and finally Maud raises her voice.

“Bertie! Stop attacking Matt! Just…You mustn’t…” She takes another gulp of cava, then heaves a massive sigh. “Oh God. It’s my birthday.”

I exchange looks with Nell and Sarika, because this is what always happens on Maud’s birthday. She gets drunk and morose and starts saying she’s ancient and usually ends up weeping in a taxi.

“I’m so old,” she says, right on cue. “So old. Where’s the other bottle?”

    As she gets to her feet, she sways dangerously on her wedges, and I see that she’s been quietly getting more drunk than I’ve realized.

“Maud, you’re not old,” I say reassuringly, as I always do. But she ignores me, as she always does.

“How did we get this old?” she says with a dramatic flourish, grabbing the last full bottle of cava and swigging from it. “How? You realize we’re going to disappear?” She narrows her eyes. “We’ll be invisible women, all of us. Ignored and belittled.” She takes another glug of cava and sweeps a hand around to include all of us. “That’s the wretched society we live in. But I won’t be invisible, OK?” she gives a sudden impassioned cry, gesticulating with the cava bottle. “I refuse to disappear! I will not be invisible!”

I bite my lip to suppress a smile, because Maud could not be invisible if she tried, with her flowing vivid hair and maxi dress patterned with pink and violet flowers. Not to mention the cava bottle in her raised hand. In fact, the people at the next picnic rug have turned to stare at her.

“I exist,” she proclaims, even more passionately. “I exist. OK? I exist.”

I glance at Matt and he’s staring up at Maud, looking freaked out.

“Sorry,” I murmur hastily. “Should have warned you. Maud always gets drunk on her birthday and makes a speech. It’s her thing. Don’t worry.”

“I exist!” By now Maud’s voice is fortissimo. “I EXIST!”

“Could you stop shouting, please?” comes a voice from the next picnic rug, and I swivel to see a woman in a stripy top regarding Maud with disapproval.

    “My friend’s allowed to shout if she wants to,” objects Nell at once. “It’s her birthday.”

“You’re frightening our children,” persists the woman, gesturing at a pair of toddlers who look about two years old and are watching Maud avidly. “And is alcohol allowed in the park?”

“Frightening your children?” counters Nell in outrage. “How is it frightening to hear a strong, wonderful woman saying she exists? I’ll tell you what’s frightening—our unequal society. That’s frightening. Our politicians. They’re frightening. If your children want to be afraid of something, be afraid of them.”

She glares at the two-year-old girl, who gazes at Nell’s furious face for a moment, then bursts into tears.

Meanwhile, Maud has staggered over to the other rug and leaned down so her face is close to the woman’s.

“It’s my birthday,” she says in slow, precise tones. “And that’s fucking…terrifying.”

“You’re drunk!” exclaims the woman, recoiling and putting her hands over the nearest toddler’s ears.

“Oh, puh-lease,” says Maud, lurching back to our rug. “Did you never get drunk? Oh, that reminds me. Matt, I have a teeeeny little favor to ask you….”

Matt instinctively backs away and gets to his feet. “Think I’ll take Harold for a walk,” he says, avoiding Maud’s eye. “Get a bit of air.”

“Kung fu!” Bertie lands a kickbox on him and Matt winces, then grabs Harold’s lead.

“You know what else is frightening?” Nell is still on a rant. “Global denial of the facts. That’s frightening.” She turns to Matt. “And you know something, Matt—”