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Her reflections were interrupted by Sheila who rushed in, pointing Barbara out to someone behind her.
“Ah, Helen, how lovely to see you again!”
Barbara in her red cotton dress glided up from the couch to gently lay her manicured nails on her friend’s shoulder. She was renowned among her circle of friends and acquaintances for nails perennially painted a certain shade that she referred to as fuchsia, but others called hot pink. She leant towards her friend as several air kisses brushed their powdered cheeks, each woman secretly relieved that, by following health protocols, she needn’t reveal too much emotion, while staving off possible infection.
“Barbara, it’s been so long! Must be at least three, four years now. How did we survive Covid?”
Barbara gestured an invitation for Helen to join her as she descended gracefully into the couch. As Helen adjusted her blue frock, Barbara scrutinised her friend beneath her eyelashes. That dress looks like silk. Bought from Zara probably. Helen still always has to have the latest fashion, it seems. Good heavens, even her shoes are matching blue silk. Pity about the hair style. Her fine hair needs a good trim, and a bolder colour would give her face more presence rather than her natural grey. It’s almost as if she’s trumpeting her age and the fact that she has the gall to look ten years younger.
After successfully dissecting Helen, Barbara suggested a cup of tea. Sitting beneath a painting titled “Tea Leaves”, it seemed appropriate. They called Sheila over. Sheila was taking the orders of a large gathering of about twenty women and didn’t hear them. Rather peremptorily, they raised their voices ever so little and waved their hands to attract her attention. The fact that Sheila was run off her feet made no impression as they gave her their requests.
