Abigail?’ I ask Ben.
Abigail, Ben’s bug-eyed, skinny little sister, was around thirteen or fourteen when we were students. Ben doted on her in the way much older brothers usually do. Ben warned me before I met her that she had Asperger Syndrome, which meant she said whatever was in her head, with no checks, balances or social graces. Sounds no different to most of my family and my boyfriend, I joked, though privately I was apprehensive. What if she asked why I had sideburns? When I met her, I found she was one of those rare people who have few unkind impulses or nasty thoughts so it didn’t matter as much as it might have. She admired a knitted hat I had bought at the student market, with: ‘Can I have it, please?’ Ben was appalled.
Afterwards, I sent her one similar. Ben said she was so pleased she was ‘practically in tears, the gimp’, even though it was so large for her it made her ‘look like one of the aliens from Mars Attacks’. He reported this in a letter, having taken the unusual step of writing to me during the holiday break.
‘Abi is,’ Ben smiles, ‘really well, actually. She has a part-time job in a travel agent’s. My aunt works there so she looks out for her. And she still lives with my mum, so it’s good knowing neither of them are on their own.’
I remember how much he used to worry. ‘That’s great.’
I recall the way Abigail once attached herself to me, and say: ‘I bet she loves having a sister-in-law.’
Ben grimaces. ‘Hmm, she did at first.’
I make a questioning face.
‘Abi assumed she was going to be a bridesmaid at our wedding. Liv had already asked her two friends. She said she wasn’t going to sack one of them because Abi jumped the gun. And Liv said if she had Abi, she’d have to have her demonic nieces and she wanted to avoid that at all costs. I tried to explain Abi’s not manipulative, she doesn’t understand. Well, you know how she is.’
I find it touching he presumes I understand Abi, despite all these years.
‘You couldn’t have intervened, somehow?’ I ask. ‘I know how tricky these things get.’ Do I ever.
‘I wanted to. I tried. Ultimately I couldn’t tell Liv who to have as bridesmaid.’
‘Ah. Sure.’
‘Abi dug her heels in, got into a “bridesmaid or nothing” mindset. It was so political between my mum, Abi and Liv. I stayed out of it. Anyway, upshot is that things have been a bit strained between all of them since. Or they are between my mum and Liv. Abi’s forgotten about it. I’m sure they’ll sort it out eventually.’
I think of Ben’s mum’s easy laughter when she met me, and for a split second imagine a parallel universe where I’m her daughter-in-law and Abi was my bridesmaid, and how well we’d all get on. More of my fantasy fiction: I should throw in a few elves as ring-bearers.
‘Will you give Abi my regards, if you speak to her?’
‘Course,’ Ben says. ‘She used to ask after you a lot.’
We both pause, at the ‘used’. How did he explain our terminated friendship, I wonder? How did he think of me? If he thought of me at all …
This is the first conversational pothole of many on the road that lies before us, if we’re going to be friends. It’s possible Ben doesn’t see the start of anything here, only a favour to another friend. A trip down memory lane, a swift three-point turn and back out again, foot firmly on accelerator.
Ben’s obviously thinking this way too, because he says: ‘This is mad, isn’t it?’ gesturing at me, him, our being together. ‘Where does the time go?’
I’m sure it went faster for you, I think, nodding. Caroline and Simon’s tandem conversation about high finance shows no signs of stopping. Ben therefore obviously deems it safe to ask: ‘What happened with you and Rhys? If you want to talk about it? Totally fine if you don’t …’
‘It was everything and nothing in particular. We reached the end of the line. Cockfosters.’
‘Sorry?’
‘The end of the line. The Underground? Never mind.’
‘Ah.’ Ben smiles politely, bemused.
At university, I’m sure that would’ve made him laugh. I don’t know him any more. He’s changed. Or maybe I should try again with a better joke.
Half of me wants to throw myself on Ben and tell him every last thing, gesturing to the barman to bring us the rest of the bottle and telling Caroline and Simon they’re good to leave us. The other half of me knows not only is this the wrong person to seek sympathy from, I can’t bear to see a grain – the smallest speck – of relief in his eyes. Relief that he got away from me.
‘Anyway. What made you want to move back up here?’ I continue, slightly desperately.
‘Apart from the fact that Simon said his firm had a job going? Dunno, really – I was fed up with London, couldn’t face the commuter belt, I couldn’t live somewhere too small, and this is the other big city I know and like.’
‘Was your wife keen to move too?’
‘Not exactly. We reached the decision through a process of mature debate. And, er, compromise and … concession.’
Simon overhears this and interrupts: ‘What he means is, they’re here, but Olivia gets her way now until either of them dies.’
He adds: ‘And while we’re on the subject of pushy women, Caroline thinks Ben should get some more drinks.’
‘I didn’t say that!’ Caroline protests, enjoying Simon’s teasing. She’s always liked cocky blokes.
Ben shakes his head in mock disapproval. ‘Come on, Caroline. We’re not doing slammers in the union bar any more. She was monstrous at university …’
‘Really?’ Simon says, contemplating Caroline, obviously hoping ‘monstrous’ is code for ‘open to suggestion’.
‘What was Rachel like?’ Simon asks Ben.
Ben mutters ‘Worse’ and gets up swiftly.
19
‘Are you going to tell Rachel about this story, then?’ Ben asks Simon, on his return. I’d have liked to sustain the illusion that this isn’t about business for a little longer.
Yet I add: ‘Yeah, what is it? I’m curious.’
‘Can I trust you? Is this off the record?’ Simon says, warily, pushing forward on his seat, eyes darting round the bar as if my plainclothes associate might be loitering by the fag machine.
‘I don’t come to wine bars wired for sound.’
Simon glowers at me.
I make a cross on my chest with a fingertip. ‘Promise this goes no further. On my life. You are safe to speak.’
