smiles, but doesn’t say anything.
I sigh. ‘My work life is, to misquote The Breakfast Club, unsatisfying. I don’t enjoy it and I’m not very good at it, either,’ I add, thinking about my meeting with Suzanne yesterday. Fuck, and I didn’t turn up today. She’ll love that. ‘I know I have to do something about it,’ I say. ‘I just don’t know where to start.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s just . . . I don’t like it anymore,’ I say. ‘I don’t find it interesting. I used to love taking a wide-angle lens to the world and then zooming in on specifics, does that make sense?’ Robert nods. ‘But the rest of it, the calls, the sales . . . I just don’t care about. My boss told me I had to start delivering and stop being so passive,’ I sigh. ‘Whatever the fuck that means. But I can’t. I am not very good at making, uh, decisions.’
‘That’s not true . . .
You decided to leave Peter.’
‘Yeah, about five years after I should have,’ I reply, shaking my head. God, he’s good at making me talk. I can’t think of the last time I chatted like this, even with one of the girls. ‘Oh well. At least the money is good, why take a risk?’ I sigh, and try to sound cheerful. ‘And if it ain’t broke, right?’
‘Isn’t that the kind of thinking that kept you with Peter for so long?’
‘Ouch,’ I say, wincing.
‘Sorry. My big sister rang from Dublin earlier. She always asks me pointed questions like that. It’s catching.’
‘I didn’t know you had a big sister.’ The idea of Robert being a baby brother is strangely delightful.
‘I have two. Both older, both boss me around constantly. Alice is married with children in Dublin. I see her every couple of months. Rosie is in London, but south of the river. So I see her even less. Is Sophie your only sister?’
‘I most certainly am!’ Sophie, Luke and Henry have arrived. I feel almost surprised to see them. I was enjoying talking to Robert so much that I forgot why we were here.
We stand up for the inevitable hug-and-kiss hello dance. Robert hasn’t met Henry before, and I can see them sizing each other up the way men do. Henry still looks about 21: his rugby brawn is somehow boyish. In comparison, Robert looks like his dad.
I briefly recount the highlights of last night. Everyone tells morning-after stories to make me feel better.
‘My worst walk of shame was Battersea Bridge to Clapham North,’ says Luke. ‘I’d just moved here and knew Battersea was next to Clapham so figured it couldn’t take more than ten minutes . . . I took a detour in Clapham Junction and it took an hour and a fucking half to get home.’
‘I had a window-jump of shame because the girl didn’t want her flatmates to know she’d pulled me,’ says Henry.
‘I’ve never had a walk of shame,’ says Sophie. ‘Because I have always been an angel.’
I raise an eyebrow at her doubtfully. That is so not true.
‘Except for the time at university that I went to a ball and wore my then-boyfriend’s tuxedo shirt and boxers back to halls the next day, still drunk, smoking a cigar then ran into Mum and Dad, who I’d forgotten were visiting,’ she says thoughtfully. ‘There was that time, I guess.’
‘And to think that you two look sweet and innocent,’ comments Robert.
‘We are sweet and innocent!’ exclaim Sophie and I at exactly the same time, with exactly the same intonation. We do that sometimes. I think it’s a sister thing.
‘They’re not,’ says Henry. ‘Sophie especially.’
Sophie punches him lightly and he grins at her. I think Henry had a crush on Sophie a few years ago, but never acted on it.
‘What are we eating, kids?’ says Luke.
‘Steak and chips,’ says Henry. ‘With extra chips.’
‘Abigail wants low-maintenance food,’ I say, scanning the menu. ‘Ooh! Risotto.’
‘Are you talking about yourself in the third person?’ says Robert.
‘Abigail likes it,’ I nod. ‘She thinks it’s funny.’
Luke laughs at this, nearly choking on his drink. ‘I would never have thought a girl like you would say things like that . . .’
‘Things like what?’ I say, frowning at him.
‘Just . . . your little comments. You used to seem kind of, um, subdued,’ he says, exchanging a quick glance with Sophie. ‘In a good way. Sweet, you know.’
‘Why are you exchanging looks?’
‘I’m telling him to shut up,’ says Sophie calmly. ‘He just means that you were a bit quieter before.’
‘Do you think I was quieter before?’ I ask Henry. He shrugs. Mr Observant.
I stare into space for a second, trying to remember. Have you noticed it’s impossible to look back and remember how you used to act? You can remember how you felt, that’s all. I remember letting Peter talk for us, as it made my life easier. And I remember feeling a bit, I don’t know, out of place sometimes. I don’t feel like that anymore. Despite today’s remorse-packed hangover. I just feel like myself.
The waiter comes over to take our order. Sophie, as always, agrees to everything he suggests, so we end up with every side dish on the menu.
‘Why did you order honeyed carrots?’ says Luke.
‘I feel bad saying no!!’ she exclaims. ‘He put so much effort into telling us the specials . . .’
‘I’ll eat them,’ says Henry.
‘I will too, of course,’ says Luke quickly. Nothing like com petition to make a man loving.
Robert changes the subject. ‘So, Abigail tells me you play for Richmond, Henry?’
Henry goes into a long diatribe about his team’s strengths and weaknesses. I’ve heard it before, and start gazing around the room. A few after-work drinkers, a romantic couple, another romantic couple, three guys at the bar . . . and one of them is looking right at me.
Zip. (That’s the record in my head.)
Guy. At bar. Looking right at me. And he’s good-looking. Short dark hair, slight stubble, wide smile that’s now grinning with just a hint of cheekiness . . . What the devil? Men never stare at me like that. I must have something on my face.
I turn back to our table, and quickly but casually, check my face and hair for problems. I seem clean enough . . . I glance back at him. He’s now talking to his friends, but a moment after I look over, we meet eyes again.
‘There’s a guy at the bar looking at me,’ I whisper across the table to Robert. ‘What do I do?’
‘Feign
