Over a lifetime we connect with many people. Some touch our lives in significant ways even though they are around only weeks or days or even moments. With others we go on to develop lasting relationships and are still close to them 10, 20, 30 years on. Emma and I met when we were 11, on our first day at Winchester County High School for Girls. I never imagined then that almost 50 years later we’d still be friends. This week it's her 60th birthday. And these are just a few of my memories since that day in 1971…
Sharing an oven during cookery lessons. And Emma (who later became a domestic science teacher) rescuing my sunken sponges and lumpy sauces when the teacher’s back was turned.
Sitting by the Aga in the Lovegrove family kitchen, while Emma's signature dish - chocolate cake - was baking. Her four younger siblings wandering in to ask if it was ready and sometimes staying to chat. Eating it warm.
Planning running a café together where Emma did the baking and I did the serving. It never happened. But we’ve sat in hundreds over the years.
Visiting her at college in Worcester where she trained as a teacher. Seeing what her new life outside Winchester was like. Her room in the halls of residence, the student bar, her new friends, the room where she did domestic science.
Seeing Emma off at the airport when she went to Ghana to do VSO (Voluntary Service Overseas) in 1982. Her giving me an African fertility doll and making a traditional Ghanaian groundnut stew when she returned.
Emma, dressed as the devil, getting off (as we called it in those days) with a holy being in white (Tony) at my Saints and Sinners party. And knowing almost immediately that he was the man she wanted to marry.
Getting ready for the wedding at the house where I’d spent so much time in my teens. Emma giving me a beautiful pair of heart-shaped earrings as a bridesmaid gift.
The christening of their firstborn. Me, as Laura’s godmother, holding her in an awkward vicelike grip for fear of dropping her (I hope you’ve recovered Laura).
The Downes family visiting me from Germany. Laura and Emily (maybe 5 and 7 years old) fighting on the sofa. Emily saying she wanted to work with children when she grew up. And now she does.
Emma, Tony, Laura, Emily and me going on The London Eye. Laura realising (too late) that heights weren’t her thing. And lying on the floor for the entire ride. Emma worrying so much about Laura that she didn’t see any of the sights either.
Eating lunch in Pizza Express when Emily was just out of chemotherapy (aged 18). Emma listening to what Emily wanted. And doing her best to do Emily’s recovery Emily’s way rather than her own.
Watching Laura walk down the same aisle to marry Will as her mum had walked down to marry her dad. “You are not giving me away,” she’d told Tony beforehand. “You’re walking me down the aisle. I am not a chattel.”
Waking up early in Emma and Tony’s house in Winchester and helping myself to coffee and an English muffin. Thinking about how many of their houses I’ve done this in over the years – in Germany, Yorkshire, Somerset and Malaysia (to name a few).
Standing in the bar with Emma and Tony as the guests assembled for Laura’s 30th birthday lunch. And being touched to realise that I was the only non-family member (other than people’s partners) who had been invited.
Emma picking me up at Winchester station after mum was admitted to hospital with a broken shoulder. Having thoughtfully made smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches (my favourite) for us to eat by mum’s bedside.
Emma being with me when mum’s consultant told me, “It’s cancer. And it’s inoperable”. And silently squeezing my arm. I’ll never forget that touch. It showed such total understanding of me and what I needed in that moment.
Me sitting in tense silence the next morning as she drove me to the hospital, thinking about breaking the news about the cancer to mum. Emma intuitively knowing what I was thinking. And saying, “Whatever you’re imagining, the conversation won’t go as you think it will.” She was right.
Christmas in Penang (where Emma and Tony now live). Emma, Tony, Emily and me opening our presents, putting on our reindeer horns, then going to the E&O - a colonial, Raffles-designed hotel. Eating the most glorious buffet lunch ever.
Seeing Emma playing with her granddaughter, Evie. And thinking “Lucky Evie. What a brilliant grandma to have.”
Getting on Skype last Thursday and seeing Emma’s smile. I love that smile. I see it and feel my own face light too. It takes many forms: relaxed, happy, wry, loving. Emma even has a cross smile. I love that one too.
Happy birthday Emma! From sunken sponges to dying mothers, from chats by the Aga to exotic Malaysian Christmases – it’s so very wonderful having you as a friend.