Playing James

one "Hello, Casualty Department?" "Hello? Is that Casualty?" Now, please don't think I'm being stupid, I know the woman said Casualty. But I am double-checking. To be sure. If you were in my predicament then you would check too. "Yes, this is Casualty, how can I help you?" "I have a problem." "What sort of problem?" "I have a condom. Stuck." "Stuck where?" she asks politely. I glare at the phone. Now who is being stupid? "In my, er . . . my, er . . ." I frantically search for the appropriate medical term, ". . . whatsit." "Vagina?" she asks. I cringe at the blatant use of the word. "Yup. That." "Please hold," she says briskly. Please hold? PLEASE HOLD?! That's the bloody problem, HOLDING. Holding doesn't seem to be the issue, letting go does. Actually, maybe I ought to explain something here. I don't have a condom stuck. Anywhere. Absolutely not. No way. I would know if I had. So why am I on the phone to Casualty? Well, it is sort of true. It's just not me. It's Lizzie, my best friend, who is sitting on the sofa opposite me, crying into my kitchen roll. "I'm holding!" I say brightly over the top of the mouthpiece. I think about telling her she ought to try and relax a little and the condom might just slip out but wisely decide against it. You would have thought that at the grand old age of twenty-five we'd have grown out of these sort of dramas and moved on to the bridesmaids'-shoes-don't-match-the-dresses ones instead. Don't misunderstand me, I don't mind, I was just expecting something different. At least it's an excuse to eat Jaffa Cakes at nine in the morning (me) and quaff medicinal brandies (Lizzie). Lizzie was utterly distraught when she turned up on my doorstep this morning. I thought something absolutely awful had happened, but obviously this isn't so great and probably won't be up there on her "Special Days" list. Poor Ben, my boyfriend extraordinaire, was shoved out so quickly he was still carrying the spoon he was trying to eat his cereal with. I won't go into gory details because presumably you can guess what's happened. Lizzie's boyfriend of six months, Alastair, has in the meantime sodded off to work, pleading an important meeting, leaving little old moi to sort it out. I didn't have the heart to make her telephone Casualty herself and then I really couldn't be bothered with the whole "my friend has" stuff when they always presume it's you with the problem anyway. Lizzie and I have been best friends since the age of thirteen and grew up together down in Cornwall. Two friends couldn't come from more contrasting backgrounds. With Lizzie's family it's all doilies and the best dinner service. Nothing like my Bohemian family, where not one plate matches the other and all the dogs eat off them anyway. We love each other's families, probably for the differences. I used to revel in the coziness of her household. She similarly loved the chaos of my homewe would sit on the stairs, eating apples and watching them all (I have three brothers and a sister to boot) charging about in the midst of some drama or other. I would tut and raise my eyes heavenwards, but she would be sitting forward slightly, avidly watching the proceedings, simply soaking up the atmosphere. It would be much easier if the condom thing really was my problemMason, Sarah is the author of 'Playing James', published 2004 under ISBN 9780345469557 and ISBN 0345469550.