To My Best Friends

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Sam Baker. To My Best Friends

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SAM BAKER

To My Best Friends

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Lizzie’s taupe cardigan was loosely belted over a beautiful floral Paul Smith tea dress that Jo knew for a fact had cost as much as half a month’s mortgage; the Burberry trench coat that had cost the other half lay over the back of the pew behind her. Mona wore a slick black Helmut Lang trouser suit, which just about made up for the four-inch heels Nicci had convinced her ‘cost per wear’ would be a bargain. At the last count, ‘cost per wear’ those boots still stood at six months’ Council Tax. David’s scuffed Church’s brogues, identical to the ones Nicci had bought him their very first Christmas together, already showed signs of missing Nicci’s care. And Jo’s own navy suit was nowhere near as frumpy as she remembered now the skirt was taken up, as per Nicci’s instructions.

As ever, Nicci had been right. It might be her funeral, but her friends still looked a million dollars. In a subdued, funeral-appropriate, style.

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