I am going to see Maisie. She's been my best friend since the first day at Grammar School. When I got a detention for spelling 'Shepherd' wrong three times in R.E. she was waiting outside the Headmistress' office with a square of Caramac and a smile. She held my hair as I was being sick on the beach in Ibiza after too much Southern Comfort during our first holiday abroad. And the night my dad died, Maisie was the first person I called. She came and held my hand tight as they took him away. Then, quietly and humbly she changed the bloody sheets on the bed where he had died. 

We are so similar our mothers used to get us mixed up. Which could be useful, especially when Maisie picked the phone up one cold winter day thinking it was me and declared to her never swears in her life mother, 'It's fucking freezing outside!' Realising her mistake, she held the phone in mid air, counted to ten and pretended I'd answered. 

When the Alzheimer's started to kick in hard and my Mum stopped recognising me, Mum would say 'Hello Maisie!' whenever I turned up.

'I can't believe she does that,' I tell Maisie.

'Shows I've made more of an impression than you.' Maisie says.

'You bitch,' I say. 

We giggle.

'I'm the daughter she never had,' she laughs.

And it's true really. Maisie and me are alike but we're also completely different. She's been married to Angus forever and they're still loved up enough to go away together and not come back early. Maisie has a good reliable job as a nurse, two kids - one of each, a tidy house and her Yorkshire Puddings always rise. She goes to church, visits old ladies and her Wheelie Bin is immaculate. She has a box for everything and never forgets a birthday. She is my alter ego. And part of me would die if anything happened to her.

When I arrive, Maisie is in the kitchen making Mince Pies. As we hug I see she has flour on her face. 

'It's June,' I say, wiping her cheek.

'I'm doing Christmas for Angus, he had such a horrible time last year I decided to surprise him.'

Angus had broken his ankle putting the angel on top of a huge tree Maisie insisted they had. She's felt guilty ever since.

'You're a fucking saint,' I say.

'I know!' She smiles. 'But....' She puts a tray full of baby bottom plump pies into the oven. 'I want a new kitchen so it's not entirely altruistic...'

I lick the remains of the mincemeat from the jar. 'Won't a BJ do it? I'll put the kettle on.'

'Thanks.' Maisie washes her hands. 'You've been on your own too long. A BJ is a new dress, a pair of Boots, a trip to Ikea. A new kitchen is a whole different ball game.'

'No pun intended.' We giggle.

'I might be getting a refresher course,' I say, laying a tray as Maisie piles slices of fruit cake on a plate.

'Really?' She looks pleased.

'Is that home made?' 

'Of course! Who is it this time?'

'He's called Dave.'

'You are joking,' says Maisie.

'No he is,' I say.

She looks a little less relaxed. Like when she got a B plus instead of an A minus. Then I know she's onto me.

'It's not Dave the date is it?' Her frown line gets deeper.

We make our way to the summer house. She marches when she's mad. 

'That man's trouble,' she says.

I pretend not to hear.

'Don't ignore me,' she says opening the windows and setting down the tray on a snowy white cloth.

'You can't believe everything you hear.'

'When it's true you can.' We both wait to pour the tea until it's the colour of mud.

'You're biased,' I say. 'Anyway, he says he can sand my floors.' I pick at the cake. 'Yum.' I say.

She stirs the tea as if she is mixing  my life. 'He had an affair,' Maisie says. 'A long and painful affair.' 

'Some bits of it must have been fun,' I say. 

Maisie does her moral outrage silence.

'I was at the same party as you when his wife found out,' I say defensively.

She hands me a steaming mug of tea and I kick off my sandals.

'I don't want you to get hurt,' Maisie says. 'Again.'

'Cynic,' I say cuddling my mug. Maisie always makes me face facts.

'Realist you mean'.