drink?’ Matt says, flatly, chasing some rocket round his plate.
‘Not – uh. I don’t down bottles of apple Corky’s and urinate on war memorials. I don’t regularly stick to two units at one sitting though. That’s normal, isn’t it?’
‘Not if you have children,’ Lucy says.
‘Of course, sleepless night … and so on,’ I offer.
‘And Miles is nearly four now, I don’t want him to be around us, drunk.’
‘Well, I should think not,’ I say. ‘At the bottle at his age.’
Lucy takes it straight, blinking rapidly. ‘He’s weaned and on solids. He’s three.’
‘Urm, yeah. I meant …’ I trail off.
Lucy turns to Olivia and says: ‘Oh my God, I forgot to tell you – we finally got the keys to the villa!’
She starts rummaging in her bag, producing photographs. Lucy hands them to Olivia and Ben and they make noises of interest and approval. It doesn’t seem as if the photos are going to circulate any further.
‘Wrong crowd for that last gag, I’m afraid,’ Simon mutters, topping up my suddenly-nearly-empty wine glass.
‘Did I say a bad thing?’ I whisper back.
‘Absolutely not. I was waiting for the spotlight to swing round to my sperm motility.’ He looks down. ‘Disaster averted, boys.’
Suddenly I’m back at school, giggling at the back of the classroom. When our laughter subsides, we see the rest of the table are watching us with interest.
28
It’s fair to say that Matt and Lucy win the evening’s competition, hands down. Every subject – work, family, holidays, home – seems to come with right and wrong answers. They quickly realise my answers are duds and lose interest in me. I’ve never been skiing, or fretted about the best miles-per-gallon among station wagons, haven’t eaten at places with a Michelin star, don’t have strong opinions on each party’s tax breaks.
It’s not so much an air of self-congratulation as a thick smog. Being this acquisitive seems so exhausting. I wonder how this game ends, if they’ll finish up in a retirement home competing for who’s got the biggest necklace alarm.
I sincerely hope that Lucy and Matt are among the few people Ben and Olivia know up here, and they are therefore making a special effort. All my interactions with Olivia suggest she’s a nice enough person, yet around Lucy she seems to become Lucy-ish. Ben is quiet, maybe even subdued.
After the main course has been served, eaten and cleared away, I excuse myself to the bathroom.
‘Use the downstairs one. Before the kitchen, on your left,’ Olivia says.
It’s as immaculate as the rest of their residence, and I have a pang about my own homelessness. It’s not Sale any more. It’s not Rupa’s palace either.
Mid-handwashing with something fragrant from a white china pump dispenser, I’m surprised to overhear a muted conversation between Ben and Olivia. From the clanking, I gather it’s taking place over the dishwasher. Something about the tenor of it tells me they think it’s private. I guess they haven’t worked out their new home’s acoustics yet.
After some debate over which way the plates are stacked, Olivia hisses: ‘Rachel’s sweet.’
I freeze, while reaching for the hand towel.
Ben responds: ‘Yeah, she is.’
Pause.
‘And pretty,’ Olivia adds. Ben makes an equivocal noise. ‘Nondescript was a little harsh.’
I actually suck in air at this. I look at myself in the mirror. Nondescript, slightly bloodshot eyes in a nondescript face. I think: you asked for this. You went looking for it, you begged for it, you knew it was coming and here it is, and guess what? You hate it. I start mindlessly washing my hands a second time.
‘I never notice anyone other than you, darling, you know that,’ Ben says with exaggerated gallantry, and Olivia snorts.
‘Simon’s keen,’ she says. ‘That’s going nicely, I think.’
‘Yeah, Liv, don’t force it, will you?’
‘I’m not!’
‘Rachel’s come out of a long-term relationship, she’s going to be a bit fragile.’
‘They were engaged?’
‘Yeah. Seriously,’ I hear Ben continue, ‘she was with Rhys ages. She was with him when I knew her.’
‘Then maybe a fling is exactly what she needs.’
‘Why do women always have to interfere?’
29
Two courses down, and the booze has really kicked in. Lucy’s giggling has got louder, Matt’s anecdotes are more risqué. Simon’s relaxed but he can hold his drink, so he’s giving nothing away. He watches me as I pick up my napkin, sit down again and refill my glass. I feel so hollow, I want to be full of something – it may as well be drink.
I catch the tail end of a discussion about the best age to get married. (Is it the age Matt and Lucy were wed, by any chance?)
‘Are you anti marriage then?’ Lucy asks Simon, covering her mouth decorously as she hiccups.
‘You’re not anti, you just haven’t met the right woman, have you, Simon?’ Olivia says.
She glances at me – Christ, she’s saying this for my benefit.
‘I’m not anti marriage per se, I’m anti most marriages,’ Simon says. ‘I’m anti the reasons people usually get married.’
‘True love?’ asks Lucy.
‘Most people don’t get married to the person they love the most, they marry whoever they happen to be with when they turn thirty,’ Simon replies. ‘Present company excepted, obviously.’
Present company excepted is such an elegantly insulting term, I think, given it clearly means present company especially. It’s up there with with all due respect, meaning with no respect whatsoever.
‘Listen to this, Simon’s saying everyone marries whoever they’re with at thirty and love’s got nothing to do with it,’ Olivia says, tugging on Ben’s sleeve as he finishes distributing dessert bowls among us and sits down.
‘I didn’t say love has nothing to do with it,’ Simon folds his arms. ‘See, this is the problem discussing this with women. They start shrieking. Do most people think, “this person is my destiny” when they tie the knot, or do they think “I
