by Jane Green
Now she wears it like a coat of armour, and it occurs to me that if I were in Portia’s shoes, if I had developed an armour of sophistication to present to the world, I too would probably get in touch with friends I hadn’t seen for ten years because surely those would be the only people with whom I could drop my guard.
We go back to the living room and I ask her. I ask her whether she is comfortable playing this role, and for a second she looks hurt, but she swiftly regains her composure and lets out a small laugh.
‘This was a role I was always destined to play,’ she says. ‘And Christ, it could be so much worse. Far rather the single girl-about-town than a country housewife stuck in some crumbling pile in the middle of nowhere, with just the children, the Labradors and the horses for company.
‘Anyway,’ she says, peering at me closely, ‘what sort of role do you think I’m playing?’
‘God, I’m sorry, Portia, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that everything about you is so perfect, so polished, and nobody I know lives like this. I mean, if this were my flat these sofas would be grey by now, and nothing would match, and there’d be washing-up all over the kitchen, and it just looks like it must be such hard work, living like this.’
She shrugs. ‘Not hard work. You get used to it, and this is, I suppose what’s expected of me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, every time anyone writes about the new league of single superwomen, I’m usually in there at the top of the list, and they always want to photograph me at home and examine the contents of my fridge, and quite frankly I wouldn’t want to disappoint.’
‘So what does a single superwoman keep in the fridge?’
Portia laughs. ‘Help yourself,’ she says, and I get up and open the fridge.
‘Portia,’ I start to laugh. ‘Lucy would have a fit if she saw this.’ Because there is, quite simply, nothing remotely edible in the fridge. There are two shelves devoted to champagne and white wine, another devoted to bottles of mineral water, both still and sparkling, and a few tins at the back which on closer inspection reveal themselves to be – surprise, surprise – caviar.
‘What do you live on?’ I come back into the living room, shaking my head in amazement.
‘I eat out mostly,’ she says. ‘And occasionally I’ll pick something up on my way home from work.’
‘What if you have dinner parties? And I’m assuming you must have dinner parties, given the size of your dining room table.’
‘Darling,’ she says, fixing me with a mocking look, ‘what do you think caterers were invented for?’
I laugh, and then a question occurs to me. ‘Portia, I can see why you’re portrayed as a single superwoman, but why are you?’
‘Why am I what?’
‘Why are you single? I just don’t understand it.’
Is it my imagination or does Portia suddenly look slightly uncomfortable? ‘I just haven’t found the right person yet,’ she says breezily, but somehow I don’t believe her. Then again, this is typical of Portia. She probably has some terrible tale of loss and heartbreak which makes my dalliance with Martin look like child’s play, but this is what Portia does when she doesn’t want to talk about something: she switches off.
She pours some more champagne for us both, and then sits back, looking at me over the rim of her glass, and before I have a chance to ask more questions she deftly changes the subject.
‘How have these last few years been for all of you?’ she says, continuing without waiting for an answer. ‘You and Si told me a bit about your lives at the bookshop the other week, but what about Josh? Is he happy? I must say that Lucy seems… she seems charming. Not perhaps what I expected, but obviously the relationship works… Does it?’
‘Does it what?’
‘Does it work?’
‘Josh and Lucy? God, they’re amazing. Well, you’ll see for yourself later on, but they’re the most perfect couple imaginable. I know what you mean about Lucy not being what you’d expect – you should have seen the horrors he kept picking up throughout his early twenties. All these identical Sloanes called Serena who were desperate to get Josh into Daddy’s business.’
‘Lucy definitely doesn’t fit into that category,’ Portia says. ‘So how come he ended up falling for Lucy?’
I think back to the story of how Josh and Lucy met, how they fell in love, and even as I think about it I feel a slow smile spread upon my face, because after all these years, after all this time, the memory of it still warms the cockles of my heart.
Josh and Lucy, as I now tell Portia, are in no doubt that they were meant to be together, and Lucy has always been convinced that fate played a pretty strong hand, because had it not been for that skiing trip, they would never have met.
Of course I don’t tell Portia all the details. I tell her they met on a skiing trip, that Lucy was the chalet girl, that Josh was with a ghastly woman called Venetia. And then I look at my watch and let out a yelp, and we order a minicab and dash over to Josh and Lucy’s.
And throughout the entire cab journey, Portia asks me questions about Josh, about Lucy, about Max, and I’m not entirely sure why I don’t give her the full story, why I don’t tell her more, but I find myself clamming up slightly. Perhaps I’m not entirely comfortable with her interest. Perhaps I’m starting to think that Si might be right, that she might be up to something after all.
Chapter seventeen
As usual, Si opens the door to Josh and Lucy’s house and welcomes us in, giving Portia a brief hug before turning to me and leaning forward to give me a kiss. And then he stops.
‘Oh my God!’
I smile.
‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!’
Lucy comes running out of the kitchen, and Josh comes running out of the living room, and within seconds all three of them are staring at me open-mouthed.
‘Can I touch it?’ Si whispers reverently, as he reaches out his hand and softly strokes my head as if I were a cat, while Portia looks on with faint amusement.
‘Look at our Cath!’ Lucy beams proudly. ‘Quite the supermodel! Cath, you look gorgeous, look at your fantastic hair, and your sweater! Good Lord, Cath, pink will have to be your colour from now on.’
‘You look amazing,’ Josh says, when he finally recovers, and he catches Portia’s eye and immediately goes over to welcome her.
I watch, and I can see Si watching out of the corner of his eye as Josh leans down to give her a kiss, and Portia, instead of kissing the air as she has done with the rest of us, plants her lips softly, but very definitely, on Josh’s cheek, and I look at Si in alarm as he raises an eyebrow.
‘Oh look, you daft thing.’ Lucy walks past Josh with my coat and, seeing Josh, laughs, then reaches up to wipe the lipstick off his face, as a slow flush creeps up Josh’s face.
We go into the living room, and because we’re so late I’m certain that James will already be in there, so imagine my surprise when the vile Will turns round from examining the bookshelves and gives me his evil lizard smile.
‘Hello, Catherine,’ he says, extending a hand that I reluctantly take, wondering how a person’s eyes can make them look so cold. ‘Nice to see you again.’
‘And you,’ I say, nodding, extracting my hand and shooting a filthy look at Si for not telling me Will was coming. ‘This is Portia.’ I do my best to appear polite by introducing them, and I edge towards the door.
I can see that Will obviously approves of Portia, as he suddenly flashes a charming and disarming smile at her, and for the first time I see a hint of what Alison Bailey was referring to when she said he could be the most charming man on earth.
But I am not fooled.
‘I am not fooled,’ I hiss to Si, as I go into the kitchen to try to discover what has happened to James.
‘Be nice,’ Si warns. ‘It’s only one evening, and I knew if I’d told you he was coming you wouldn’t have come, would you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Truth.’
‘No.’
‘Listen, sweets.’ Si stops and looks at me very seriously. ‘I know you don’t like him, but please try and make an effort. You don’t have to love him, but I think he might be around for a while, and it would make me so happy if you could just come to some sort of amicable arrangement. Not friends necessarily, just being on polite terms.’
‘Okay,’ I grumble, as Si puts his arms around me and gives me a hug. ‘I’ll try. Is James in the kitchen?’
Si disengages himself from my arms and says, ‘No. Why?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ and I walk into the kitchen, ignoring the eyes boring into the back of my neck.
Lucy hands me a bowl of Indonesian crisps and instructs me to take them into the living room, and just as I head out of the room I turn my head and say in a nonchalant manner, ‘Isn’t James coming tonight?’
‘Oh bugger!’ Lucy slaps her forehead. ‘Oh blast! Oh damn! I knew there was something I’d forgotten.’ She puts her head in her hands, then looks up at me with guilty eyes.
‘Oh, Cath, I’m sorry, can you forgive me?’ She looks mortified, and I feel a flash of anger at her because this is just so typical. Typical of her to be so scatty and to forget. This is exactly what Si was talking about, why he warned me off going into business with her. I mean, Christ, how could you forget to invite someone to a dinner party?
‘Bugger. And you look so gorgeous, I can’t believe it.’ She’s genuinely devastated and I start to forgive her. It’s not the end of the world. I’m just disappointed.
‘What happened?’
‘I phoned him and then the machine picked up just as my call waiting went and so I left it and I just completely forgot to call him back. I don’t believe it,’ and then her eyes light up. ‘Let’s call him now!’
‘No.’ I lay a firm hand on Lucy’s arm, which is reaching for the phone. ‘If it’s okay with you, I’d be much happier if you didn’t.’
‘Oh, Cath. I am so, so sorry. Can you forgive me?’
‘Don’t worry,’ I say, but I feel like laying my head on my arms and sinking into a deep sleep. It’s not even as if I’m terribly upset, I’m just weary. Weary of this whole relationship game. Weary even though I’ve only taken one tiny tentative step back into the lion’s den, and already I’m learning that I’m just not equipped to win this one.
I like being alone. I always have. But it’s not the present that worries me. What worries me is that I’ll have to spend the next fifty years on my own, and that’s something that I really don’t want to have to think about. But in the meantime I’m used to my own company, and I haven’t had to think about anyone else for months. Years.
But the thing is that since I’ve met James, since everyone started banging on and on about my not-so-secret admirer, I’d started to find it quite exciting. I’d forgotten that I don’t get involved because the pain just isn’t worth it. All that flattery and attention distracted me from any pain that might have been lurking around the corner, but of course the pain got me in the end. It always does.
I take the bowl into the living room and sink miserably into the sofa, as Josh looks at me with a worried expression, then leaves the room, presumably to find out what’s wrong.
Portia and Will are deep in discussion, and, bizarre as this may sound, it almost looks as if he’s flirting with her. Bizarre only because I had him down as a complete misogynist, but then again maybe it’s just me. Maybe he only gives time to women like Portia.
I watch Si trying to push his way into the conversation, only to be ignored, and eventually he comes over to me with a shrug and an apologetic smile.
‘They seem to be getting on like a house on fire.’
‘I know. Thank God someone seems to finally like him.’
‘Why? Have Josh and Lucy already expressed disapproval, then?’
‘Not yet,’ he says, wincing, ‘but I’ve got a horrible feeling this evening isn’t going to run smoothly.’
‘God, you and your bloody feelings,’ I laugh, as Josh and Lucy walk in, having finally got the food in the oven, the glasses on the table, and the devilspawn in bed.
‘Will.’ Josh pours him some more wine. ‘Si tells us you live in Clerkenwell. How do you find it.’
‘I love it,’ Will says. ‘I’ve got the most incredible loft in probably the best building in Clerkenwell, and there’s always something going on in the neighbourhood.’
‘Will’s been thinking about moving to Soho, though,’ Si interjects in his best husbandly way.
‘Really? Why?’
‘I’m not seriously thinking, it’s just that the only problem with Clerkenwell is it’s pretty much in the back of beyond and I miss being in the centre of things. Don’t you feel the same way living here?’
The hairs on my back bristle, but luckily he wasn’t talking to me and I leave it to Lucy to deal with that last comment.
‘Here? Why on earth should we feel that living here?’
‘Well, the suburbs.’
‘But this isn’t the suburbs,’ Lucy says pointedly. ‘It’s West Hampstead. We’re practically in town.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Will sneers. ‘This is the nineties version of suburbia. A high street lined with cafés and local ethnic restaurants, and the whole area filled to bursting with young marrieds like yourself with their 2.4 children and a four-wheel drive. It’s the updated version of Abigail’s Party. Mike Leigh would have a ball.’
I’m dying to open my mouth, but I’m frightened that if I do the damage will be irreparable, not only to any future relationship I may or may not have with Will, but more importantly to the relationship I have with Si.
‘You are joking?’ Lucy says very quietly, as Will shrugs and says he’s not. ‘First of all, Will,’ and I can tell by the inflection on his name that Lucy is seriously pissed off, which is something that doesn’t happen all that often, ‘I can tell you that West Hampstead is a fifteen-minute drive to the West End, and a ten-minute ride on the Thameslink to the City, which I think you’ll find would not merit a labelling of suburbia anywhere.
‘Secondly, irrespective of that, what exactly is wrong with an area that caters to the needs of, as you put it, young marrieds?’
Will shrugs disdainfully. ‘It’s just, well. Look at you all. You think you’re so cutting-edge and trendy, with your stainless-steel top-of-the-range kitchen equipment and your Alessi corkscrews, but this, all of you, are just the nineties version of suburbia,’ this last said with an unmistakable sneer, and I almost gasp in shock.
‘I’m not entirely sure of the point you’re making,’ Lucy says, her voice ice-cold, ‘but I’m certain that whatever it is I don’t agree with it. So what if we have Alessi corkscrews and four-wheel drives…’ She takes a breath and is about to carry on, but Portia steps in and expertly changes the subject to calm everyone down.
‘Speaking of four-wheel drives,’ she says coolly, ‘I’ve been thinking about trading in my car for one of those jeeps. I quite fancy the idea of being so high up on the road – it adds a whole new perspective to my superiority complex.’
Everyone laughs, and the tension is shattered, and I wonder how I had forgotten Portia’s ability to do this – to diffuse situations, to calm things down, to take control. For a few seconds I am immensely grateful to Portia for coming back, because I’m quite certain that given a few minutes longer I would have punched Will in the mouth.
We somehow manage to sit and make small talk, and Si goes to sit next to Will, obviously protective of him tonight, and I watch Si watching Will with big, adoring eyes, and I can’t help but note that Will barely even turns to look at him.
If I were to give him the benefit of the doubt I’d say that Will was trying so hard to make a good impression on everyone else that he was temporarily abandoning Si, but somehow I don’t think it is that. I just don’t think he’s all that interested, really, but God, how I hope I’m wrong.
Eventually we stand up and all file into the dining room, as I give Lucy’s a
rm a squeeze, because none of us has even been into the dining room for about two years – we always eat in the kitchen – and I find myself seated next to Josh at the top and then, thank God, next to Si.
Will walks past my chair on his way to his place, and as he passes he leans down and touches my sleeve. ‘Very nice,’ he says, and I open my mouth to thank him for such an unexpected compliment. ‘Shame it’s not pure cashmere,’ and with that he walks off round the table.
Portia is on the other side of Josh, opposite me, and thankfully next to Will, and in the commotion as people take their seats Si leans over and whispers, ‘Bet you a fiver she flirts with Josh all night.’ I raise my eyes to see Portia watching us, and a guilty flush threatens to rise, but I give her a strained smile and ignore Si.
But Si is wrong about Portia and Josh. Not, perhaps, through choice, but for lack of opportunity. Will has evidently decided that Portia is the only person at this table worthy of his attention and proceeds to monopolize her from the moment she sits down.
The rest of us fall into our easy conversations. We talk about the bookshop, and I make everyone laugh with tales of mad customers. Already three people have come in and asked for a book, and, on being told it isn’t stocked but it could be here the next day, have gone on to ask if Waterstone’s have the book.
Lucy chuckles, as I apparently kept smiling through gritted teeth, even as I politely told them to go and find out for themselves. And where, the customers wanted to know, would they find the book? Which section would it be in, and on which floor?
The conversation dies down as Lucy brings in the chicken dish, and we all make the appropriate noises of delight at the smell as Lucy lifts the lid to release the steam.
All, that is, except for Will. He says nothing until he is served, and when we all start eating, all groaning with pleasure, Will chews for a while, then puts his knife and fork together on his plate and pushes his plate aside. We all stop and stare.
‘Is everything okay?’ Lucy asks.
