10 March
Laurie
‘God, I’ve missed you, Starfish. Come inside and let me do sinful things to you.’
We only get to see each other every few weeks now I’m living back at Mum and Dad’s; it’s been ages since I was last here. Oscar pulls me over the threshold of his flat, taking my weekend bag from me and slinging it aside so he can haul me into his arms. Yes, we’ve become one of those loved-up couples who call each other ridiculous names like ickle-pickle and dinky-toes.
We. At last there is a ‘we’. And it’s amazing. I’ve never felt this wanted or cared for in my life. Oscar makes no secret of how into me he is. He has this intense way of looking at me that makes me feel the need to glance over my shoulder just to check if Jennifer Lawrence is lurking behind me.
‘Let me get my coat off!’ I laugh, and he unbuttons it for me and peels it down my arms.
‘I was rather hoping you were going to be naked underneath.’ He pauses to eye my practical jeans and warm sweater.
‘I thought about it. Didn’t want to shock the cabbie.’
‘This is London, remember?’ he grins. ‘You’re not in the sticks now, Laurie. You could have been naked with four legs and no one would turn a hair.’ His eyes glitter. ‘Except for me, of course. I’d notice if you were naked.’
‘I don’t live in the sticks,’ I bristle, because he always refers to my home back in Birmingham as if it’s some kind of straw-chewing backwater. It’s on the very edges of suburbia, a typical greenbelt village. I get it. He’s London through and through; the open spaces and lack of black cabs came as a shock to him when I took him home to meet my family over Christmas.
It wasn’t the smoothest of ‘meet the parents’ visits, to be honest. He was perfectly lovely and they were super-polite, but common ground was difficult to find. Dad tried with football, but Oscar’s more rugby, and Oscar tried with malt whisky where my dad’s more of an ale man. It’s early days, but I think we were all relieved when it was over.
‘So much green,’ he’d muttered, and it hadn’t sounded like a compliment.
I shake off the memory; this is our big reunion after six weeks apart, I don’t want to feel out of sorts with him for no reason.
‘Can I just use the loo?’ I ask, and he reaches behind me and pushes a door open.
‘Voilà.’
‘Wait right there. I’ll be back in a sec.’
Inside the magazine-perfect bathroom, I throw the lock, strip naked and then belt my coat back on again. The silky lining is slippery against my skin, making me feel suddenly sexy and ready for Oscar to do his worst.
‘Come on, Laurie,’ he wheedles, and I swing the door wide and look at him, my head on one side. Without a word I walk the length of the hall and step back outside the front door, then after pulling it closed I rap my knuckles lightly against it.
‘Who is it?’ His voice is low and amused, laced with bad intentions.
‘It’s me, Laurie,’ I say, attempting husky. ‘Open the door, I want to show you how much I’ve missed you.’
He takes his time, leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed even though his eyes tell me he’s anything but nonchalant. I let my gaze sweep over him, assessing, taking in his dark jeans and expensive shirt, his bare feet somehow still tanned.
‘You’re overdressed,’ I say. ‘Can I come in?’
He doesn’t step aside, just reaches out and tugs my belt open. I don’t move to stop him when he unbuttons the coat with slow deliberation, his tongue snaking over his top lip, an unconscious tell.
‘Promise me you’ll always visit me like this?’
I smile. ‘We don’t make each other promises, remember?’
He tugs me inside by my lapels, then presses me against the back of the door as he slams it and slides his warm, searching hands inside my coat.
‘I remember,’ he whispers, half laughing, half groaning as he palms my breast. ‘Now stop talking and come to bed.’
Jack
‘Come on, Sar, we’re going to be late at this rate.’
Sarah always does this. She operates on an elastic timescale, imagining that time will stretch to accommodate however long she feels is necessary to get ready for a night out.
‘How do I look?’
When she appears in the lounge doorway I look up from the newspaper her flatmate must have left on the table and give her my full attention. Any man would; she looks incredible.
‘New dress?’
I get up and cross the room, running my hands over the soft oxblood leather. It tracks the flow of her body like a second skin, ending mid-thigh. My fingers linger there on her bare leg, slowly rucking her skirt until I skim the silk of her underwear.
A tiny, knowing smile plays over her mouth. ‘I’ll take that as your approval, shall I?’
I kiss her neck. ‘You do that.’ When I slide my hand behind her head and press my mouth into the dip between her collarbones, she sighs and takes a step back from me.
‘Don’t, Jack. We’re late enough already.’
I look into her smoky, perfectly made-up eyes. ‘I could be really fast.’
‘I know you could.’ There’s an edge to her voice.
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’
She pauses too, glancing down at her black skyscraper heels and then back at me again. ‘Just that – nothing.’ She sighs, shaking her head. ‘Let’s not fight. We’re both really busy. Let’s just go.’
She can say that again. My life is bloody full-on and Sarah’s the same, pulling us three ways at once and usually in the opposite direction. I’ve had to switch stuff around at work this weekend so we can finally catch up with Laurie and the much-talked-of-but-not-yet-met Oscar Farquhar-Percival-McDougall. Or something like that. And where are we meeting them? At his fucking private members’ club, naturally.
‘Are you going like that?’
I look down at my clothes as if I don’t know what she means. My jeans might look battered but that’s purposeful; I paid a lot of money to look this casual. Perhaps it’s my T-shirt with ‘Star Fucker’ emblazoned across the chest that’s got up her nose – my attempt at subtle irony. I’m finally gathering a bit of a rep as an up-and-coming radio DJ, and you have to dress the part, though there’s a fine line between hipster and wankster.
‘Yes, Sarah. I’m going like this.’ I reach for the battered vintage leather jacket she gave me last Christmas and shrug it on, just to reinforce the point that I’m not going to change.
She double-checks her immaculate lipstick in the hallway mirror, then picks up her handbag and coat with a shrug. ‘Okay.’
I follow her down the stairs and, as I watch her skip down confidently in heels no one should be able to look so comfortable in, I roll my shoulders to shake off my dark mood.
‘Hey.’ I catch her hand to slow her down as she reaches the pavement. ‘Let’s not fall out. I’ve missed you this week.’ I trail the back of my hand down the smoothness of her cheek, then hold her delicate jaw. I’d rub my thumb over her full mouth if it wouldn’t ruin her lipstick. ‘You really do look knockout in this dress. I’m already thinking about peeling you out of it later.’
She softens, as I knew she would. ‘Smooth talker.’
‘You know it.’
‘I do.’ She turns her face into my hand and nips my thumb. ‘Now flag us a taxi, fool-boy. I’m freezing.’
Laurie
Does it sound crazy to say I’m nervous? It’s only Sarah and Jack, for God’s sake, my oldest and best friends. I just want them to love Oscar as much as I do, that’s all. It’s been too long since we saw each other; our pact to meet at New Year fell by the wayside with the advent of Oscar. This is the first date since New Year that we’ve all been able to make; life is pulling everyone in different directions, it seems. They haven’t arrived yet, and he’s deep in conversation across the other side of the room with the barman, because he wants to have the perfect first round of drinks ready for them when they come in. He shoots me a smile when he catches me looking his way. His eyes linger on me for longer than is polite, a look that telegraphs that he’s remembering our afternoon in bed.
I look away first, my eye drawn to the door by Sarah and Jack’s arrival. Joy blooms hot in my chest at the sight of Sarah’s familiar red hair, although she’s warmed the shade down from fire engine to rich mahogany and it’s been styled into lustrous, tumbling waves rather than the Princess Leah plaits of Delancey Street. I touch my own messy bun, self-conscious for a moment, but then her face cracks into a huge grin when she spots me and her gait goes from uncertain to almost skipping across the bar to get to me.
I’m glad, actually, that Oscar isn’t beside me right at this moment; it gives me a couple of seconds to just be myself, for it to be me and Sarah, like old times. Her grip is fierce when she hugs me.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ I say, at the same time as she says, ‘Bloody hell, Lu. It’s been too long.’
We stand back at arm’s length and check each other over. I take in her screamingly sexy leather dress and she takes in my standby black dress that she’s seen countless times before; I think she may even have worn it herself once or twice. I’ve jazzed it up with a skinny snakeskin belt and the small gold and diamond starfish pendant Oscar gave me at Christmas, and up to the point of Sarah’s entrance I felt pretty glam, in an understated way. She looks like herself after a TV makeover, which, I guess, is effectively what she’s had. Her job seems to have transformed her from my beloved potty-mouthed friend into someone who could easily have walked out of a magazine. Until she opens her mouth, and then, thank God, she’s still exactly as she always was.
‘Fuck,’ she says, wiping one fingertip under each eye so her mascara doesn’t run. ‘I don’t get this upset over my own sister. I bloody love you, Laurie James.’
I laugh, squeezing her hand. ‘Love you too. I’m so glad you’re here.’
Jack steps out from behind her then, and I brace myself for impact. I’ve no idea if I’ll be able to act casual around him. I’ve put off even thinking about seeing him again, a tactic which has worked right up to this very second where I now find myself wholly unprepared.
He looks right into my eyes, no shifty gazing off over my shoulder, and for a moment I’m knocked off-centre by that aching, familiar longing. Old habits die hard, it would seem.
‘Good to see you, Laurie,’ he says. For an awful moment it seems as if he’s going to shake my hand, but then he holds it and pulls me close into a hug. The scent of him fills my head, warm spices and lemon, probably something expensive Sarah has given him, underscored with that inimitable essence of him, a smell I can neither describe nor reimagine when he isn’t there. But he’s here now, and for a second I close my eyes and feel the heat of his body through his inappropriately worded T-shirt as he kisses my forehead. It’s a casual embrace, I tell myself. Of no significance to me now I’m with Oscar.
‘Happy New Year,’ he says into my hair. He sounds self-conscious, and I half laugh as I step away.
‘You’re three months late, you plonker.’
‘Where is he then?’ Sarah’s excited eyes scan the half-full bar, and Jack stands at her side, one hand resting on her waist. I’m struck by how much they’ve changed in a relatively short time, or perhaps how they seem to have grown up without me. It’s subtle: a gloss on Sarah, a layer of self-assurance on Jack. Oscar has it too, to an extent; he’s now firmly entrenched in his role at the bank alongside his brother, and although we speak most days I’ve become aware of something edging between us. It’s an inevitable consequence of living separate lives, I suppose. He’s here in London making new friends, eating at cool places, and I am back living with my parents in Birmingham. It’s possible that I’m imagining it because I’m anxious about my lack of job. Or maybe I’m just plain old jealous. Not everyone can make it, can they? Some do, and others settle for less. I think all of this in the split second between greeting Sarah and Jack and catching Oscar’s eye as he moves towards us across the bar bearing a tray of impressive-looking cocktails. I wink at him subtly as I step aside so he can deposit them on the table, and Sarah catches my eye and gives me a little thumbs-up behind his back. I don’t look at Jack as I catch hold of Oscar’s hand when he straightens and steps back. I love that Sarah doesn’t stand on ceremony; she lunges straight in and kisses him on the cheek, catching hold of his other hand.
‘You must be Sarah,’ Oscar says with a laugh, and for a moment they silently size each other up. I wonder if she is what he expected; whether he measures up to her idea of him. No one speaks for a second. I think Sarah, Jack and I are each trying to decide where Oscar fits into our trio. Will he be given equal billing? Or must he be assigned a temporary spot in the corner, holding space while he’s assessed for permanent residence?
‘And you must be Oscar,’ Sarah says, still holding on to his hand. ‘Come on then, let me get a good look at you.’
She pretends to scrutinize him, and he obligingly holds his breath and waits for her verdict, solemn-faced, like a schoolboy in front of the headmistress.
‘I approve.’ She grins, looking from me to him and back again. Belatedly, she turns to Jack and draws him into the circle.
‘This is Jack,’ she says, presenting them to each other, and now it’s my turn to catch my breath. I watch as Oscar is first to hold his hand out and note how Jack allows a deliberate beat to pass before reciprocating.
‘Look at you, all big-brother posturing.’ Sarah bumps shoulders with Jack to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Laurie has her actual brother to do all of that stuff for her so you can stand down, soldier.’
‘You’re not going to ask me about my intentions towards Laurie, are you?’ Oscar deadpans. ‘Because they’re all very, very bad indeed.’
‘Oh, I like you already,’ Sarah laughs, delighted, and Oscar rewards her with a champagne cocktail, and the same for me. Jack sniffs the tumbler of iced amber Oscar passes him, practically turning his nose up.
‘They call it Penicillin,’ Oscar says. ‘Whisky. Ginger. Honey.’ He grins at Jack. ‘Almost a health drink.’
Jack raises his eyebrows. ‘I’m more of a beer bloke, to be honest, but I’ll give anything a go once.’
Oscar’s smile falters a fraction as he raises his glass. We all follow suit.
‘What shall we drink to?’ he asks.
‘Old friends,’ Jack says.
‘And new ones,’ Sarah adds pointedly, her megawatt smile all for Oscar.
We clink glasses and I shoot Jack a micro-look that I hope sends a macro-message. Don’t you fucking dare, Jack O’Mara.
He appears to receive it, because he turns to Oscar and engages him in a question about Thailand, leaving me and Sarah free to catch up.
‘This is fancy,’ she whispers, her excited eyes flickering around the private members’ bar.
I grin, because I knew she’d get a kick out of it. ‘It is a bit, isn’t it? Oscar wanted to make a good impression.’
‘Any man who orders champagne cocktails and makes my best friend smile gets the thumbs-up from me.’
I flick a glance towards Jack and Oscar as Sarah speaks. They share a similarity in height, but very little else. Jack’s sandy hair always looks as if he’s been scrubbing his hands through it, whereas Oscar’s freshly cut blue-black waves flop perfectly over his eyebrows. He debated for longer than I did over what to wear tonight, wondering whether his striped shirt was too banker, his tweed jacket too headmaster. In the end he settled for a chambray blue linen shirt; it reminds me of our days in Thailand. To be honest, it doesn’t really matter what Oscar wears. He comes from wealth; there is an undisguisable whiff of establishment about him that would show through even if he was wearing a hoodie. I find myself wondering again whether I’d even have spoken to him if I’d met him anywhere other than on a beach, where all bodies are more or less equal. It certainly came as a culture shock to see him so well-heeled when we met again for the first time in England; it really rammed home the point that we come from two different worlds. I’m hoping Jack will be able to see through the polished exterior. Jack has gone for the ‘just tumbled out of bed after shagging a hot model’ look that comes off as slightly arrogant. If I didn’t want to think better of him, I’d wonder if it was a deliberate move to undermine Oscar. But because I do want to think better of him, I let it slide and just absorb the sight of them standing together. So different. Both so important to me. I gulp down a mouthful of cold champagne and refocus on Sarah.
‘So am I likely to see you sliding down that fireman’s pole anytime soon?’
She laughs. ‘I’ll have you know they see me as a serious reporter. They only send me to cover the most important stories.’ She sips her drink. ‘I met Gok Wan last week.’
‘No way!’
‘Way. And he told me he liked my shoes.’
‘Were you interviewing him?’
She nods, and then caves and shakes her head, laughing. ‘I was behind him in the queue in Pret in Covent Garden. He did really like my shoes, though.’
I grin. ‘Lorraine Kelly better watch her back.’ I’m only half joking.
‘So … Oscar.’ She leans in and lowers her voice, her eyes lingering on his profile as he bends to catch something Jack said. ‘How serious is it?’
‘Well, it’s early days still,’ I say, because although it feels like longer, we’ve only been together for five months. ‘But I like him a whole lot, Sar. I wouldn’t have thought he’d be my type, but somehow we just seem to work.’
She nods, watching him with Jack. ‘Will they have much in common?’ she asks. ‘Besides you?’
I’m momentarily blindsided by the thought that she knows about the kiss. She starts to laugh.
‘Do I take that as a no?’
I smile, faltering. ‘No, of course not. I mean, they’re pretty different, but I can’t imagine how anyone wouldn’t get on with Oscar. He’s … well, he’s pretty easy to like.’
Sarah’s smile widens, and she sneaks her arm round my shoulders and squeezes me, her cuff bracelet cool against my skin. ‘I’m so happy for you, Lu! You just need your dream job now and then you can move back to the city where you belong.’ Her eyes shine. ‘You are coming back, right? Because now there’s the four of us we can do all that double-dating shit.’ She laughs and rolls her eyes, but I know she’d love it.
‘I’m not sure. I hope so,’ I say. ‘But you know …’ I shrug. ‘Rent and all that. It’s just so expensive. I need to stay at home until I get a proper job, not waste my time earning money in a crappy job which leaves me no time to get a new one.’
I think again about Oscar’s much-repeated suggestion that I move in with him, even if it’s just as a practical stop-gap while I find something else. He lives in a flat owned by his mother, rent free of course. But something makes me want to do it myself. Not depend on anyone too much. Mum and Dad always impressed on us the importance of making our own way in life.
‘Imagine if we could go back to Delancey Street,’ she says wistfully. ‘I’m sharing with a woman from work now and she’s a right bitch-bag. Fanatical about keeping everything separate, even our loo rolls. She’s drawn up a rota for when we get to use the lounge. Can you believe that? Says she doesn’t like to feel I’m watching her watch the TV.’
It’s my turn to slide a supportive arm round Sarah’s shoulders. ‘What about you and Jack? Will you look for somewhere together soon, do you think?’
Sarah flicks her eyes sideways, the tiniest of eye-rolls, but I don’t miss it. ‘It’s not on the cards yet. He’s super-busy at work and he house-shares with Billy and Phil, one of the guys he works with.’
‘Snake-hips Billy?’ It’s been his unofficial nickname since the day he revealed his ‘Greased Lightning’ dancing skills. Though just the thought of it reminds me sharply of the awful way the day ended.
She nods. ‘I’m not sure Jack enjoys it all that much but it’s the right side of town for the station and affordable, so he’s kind of stuck there for a while.’
She watches Jack lean in to look at something on Oscar’s mobile. ‘I’m starting to worry about him, Lu. He hasn’t seemed himself lately.’
My stomach turns over with dread. ‘In what way?’
Sarah folds her arm across her slender, leather-clad midriff and stands closer to me so we can’t be overheard. ‘I can’t put my finger on it. He’s … distant?’ It comes out as a question, as if she’s asking herself rather than telling me, and she lifts one shoulder, biting her bottom lip. ‘Or maybe it’s me. I don’t know, Lu, I’ve asked him if he’s happy and he just brushes me off as if I’m going crazy or something.’ She half laughs, sounding anything but amused. ‘Just busy, I guess.’
I nod, wishing I had something useful to say. I’m massively unsettled by the idea of trouble in their paradise. In the early days of their relationship I selfishly hoped their romance would be short-lived, but over time their love has become an integral part of the map of my life; a bloody massive island I’ve had to reroute my own path round, yet rely on to locate myself all the same.
‘Did you show Sarah these, Laurie?’ Oscar says, turning to us with his mobile in his hand. He tilts the screen our way as he steps closer and scrolls through images of our perfect ramshackle beach shack, the endless blue ocean and the pink-and-purple-streaked Thai dawn that I know so well.
‘Some of them,’ I say quietly, and Oscar’s eyes are tender when I look up at him. Can he see that I wish with all of my being that we were back there right now, sitting on the steps of the beach shack, burying our toes in the cool sand? They are my favourite memories, those shoulder-to-shoulder hours, those hushed conversations and languorous kisses. It’s unexpected, this stab of longing through the ribs, more so because I’m with Sarah and Jack, who I’ve never wanted to run from before.
I’m surprised by the heat of my anger towards Jack. I want to yank him out of the bar by the sleeve of his cool leather jacket and tell him: Be happy, you stupid, stupid man. And let me be too.
‘God, it looks so amazing,’ Sarah sighs. ‘I’d love to go there.’
Jack drains his cocktail without disguising a mild shudder. ‘I’ll get the beers in.’
Sarah looks as if she’s going to say something, then smiles tightly, catching Jack’s hand as she offers to help him. We watch them pick their way across the busy bar and Oscar slips his arm round my waist, his still half-full glass in his other hand.
‘Okay?’ I ask, hoping he and Jack have hit it off.
He nods. ‘Sarah’s just how I thought she’d be.’
From this, I deduce that I’ve given him the impression that Jack is kind and easy-going, and that so far he’s coming across as guarded and uptight.
‘Did I get it wrong?’ Oscar’s dark eyes cloud with consternation as he studies his drink. ‘We could have met them somewhere else, you only had to say.’
I’m suddenly furious with Jack for being so unfriendly. What the hell is he trying to prove here, with his offensive T-shirt and lightly veiled disdain at the exclusivity of the bar and Oscar’s cocktail choice? That he wins at being cool, even if Oscar is wealthier?
I put my empty glass down and slide my arms round him, relieved when the troubled look in his eyes clears. ‘You got it exactly right, Oscar. This is you,’ I skim my eyes around the bar, ‘and you’re lovely, and I want them to know you just as you are. They’re going to love you, and you them when you get to know them better.’ His hand rubs up and down my arm as I speak. ‘Just relax and enjoy the evening.’
I spy Jack and Sarah coming back, two beers in his hand, more champagne cocktails in Sarah’s.
‘She definitely looks as if she belongs on TV,’ Oscar observes. I try to see Sarah through his eyes as she heads our way, all golden tanned legs and Hollywood curls.
‘Are you sure you chose the right girl?’ I joke. I hate it, but there’s always a part of me wondering why – why would this gorgeous man want to be with someone like me?
He shows a mild flash of annoyance, and I wish I’d just kept my mouth shut. ‘You’re so wrong that I don’t know what to say.’ He softens and his hand moves to cup the back of my neck. ‘You’re always the most spectacular woman to me, Laurie. In any room or any bar or on any beach.’
He dips his head and kisses me, gentle but sure. I close my eyes and for those seconds I feel like the most spectacular woman.
‘Get a room, kids.’ Sarah’s laughter spins light and bright, and I open my eyes again and smile.
‘Blame me,’ Oscar grins. ‘I can’t keep my hands off her.’ He runs his hand from my shoulder down to my hand and catches hold of my fingers.
Behind Sarah, Jack manages to laugh while frowning at the same time, a feat of facial engineering. ‘A proper drink to cool you off, mate.’
Oscar accepts the beer, laughing, good-natured despite Jack’s inference that Oscar’s cocktail hadn’t made the cut as a proper drink.
Sarah hands me a glass of champagne, her eyes giddy with delight about me and Oscar.
Jack lounges against the wall, beer in hand. ‘So what do you do, Oscar? Besides bum around on Thai beaches picking up girls?’ He softens his comment with a wink, but all the same it feels like he’s having a dig.
‘Living with Billy seems to be rubbing off on you, Jack,’ I say, throwing in a none-too-friendly wink of my own. He shoots me a tiny ‘not bothered’ shrug, then looks away.
‘Banking,’ Oscar says with a self-deprecating smile. ‘I know. Typical posh wanker, right?’
‘Whatever floats your boat, mate.’
Okay, now that was rude. Sarah looks at Jack sharply, and quite honestly, I could tip his beer right over his annoying head. Oscar, however, is very used to derision around banking, and it rolls off his back.
‘Dull, I know. Not like you, from what I hear? Radio, isn’t it?’
Crisis averted. Jack finally finds the grace to pick up the conversational baton that Oscar has passed him, entertaining us with stories about the radio station and telling us about a more high-profile job he’s ninety-five per cent certain he’s in line for in the summer. He lights up like a flare when he talks about work, more himself, more relaxed, and I’m finally able to relax too. Perhaps the evening might not be a disaster after all.
Jack
Tonight’s all about making a point, isn’t it? Oscar posh-boy double-barrelled twat face. Let me buy you expensive fucking cocktails in my private members’ club, let me drop that I’m a banker casually into conversation, let me stick my tongue down Laurie’s throat when I know you’re both watching. Well, I’m on to you, posh boy, with your floppy black hair and your deck shoes (because who knows when you might need to step aboard someone’s yacht at a moment’s notice).
I think all of this with my cock in my hand at the urinal. I’ve been hiding out in here for the last five minutes, mostly because I know I’m acting like a dick and I don’t seem able to reel myself in. Sarah’s flashing me daggers; I won’t be peeling that dress off her anytime soon. She’s more likely to peel my scalp off, and I can’t say I blame her. I don’t know who’s winding me up more tonight, Oscar with his unshakable good nature and refusal to be needled, or Sarah for the way she’s practically jumping up and down begging to be his new best friend. I can’t help but wonder if she wants to force the same relationship with him that I have with Laurie, and I want to tell her that I’m sorry but you just can’t fake that kind of thing. It took me and Lu years. I pause to stare at myself in the mirror over the basins as I wash my hands and think about that for a second. Laurie and I hardly have much of a friendship left these days. I haven’t been alone with her since that night back in the kitchen at Delancey Street more than a year ago. Sarah accused me of acting like an over-protective big brother, but she’s wrong. I can’t claim to feel brotherly towards Laurie, I forfeited that when I – No, I’m not going to think about that now.
I step out of the gents intent on winding my neck in and run smack bang into Laurie. She doesn’t waste any time.
‘What the hell are you doing, Jack?’ I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this angry. Her cheeks are flushed pink and her shoulders are braced.
I glance over my shoulder towards the door I’ve just come out of. ‘Pissing.’
Her violet eyes spark with annoyance. ‘Pissing me off, more like.’
‘It’s good to see you too,’ I say, flicking into defensive mode.
‘Don’t,’ she hisses. ‘Don’t you dare do that, Jack O’Mara.’ We’re in an upstairs corridor with people milling around us, and she leans in to make herself heard. ‘What point are you trying to make out there, exactly? That you’re cooler, better, funnier? Is it too much to ask that you just be happy for me?’
I shrug. ‘I would be if he wasn’t a twat.’
‘He isn’t a twat. He’s good and he’s kind and I think he might even love me.’
I hear a sound of derision, and I realize too late that it came from me.
‘What?’ She shakes her head, her eyes over-bright with fury. ‘Is it so improbable that someone might actually love me, Jack?’
‘You barely know him.’
She reels as if I’ve punched her.
‘Who made you the expert all of a sudden?’ she comes back. ‘Who are you to tell me if I can fall in love in a minute or a month or a year?’
We stare each other down, and I realize with a sideways jolt that she isn’t the girl from Delancey Street any more. She’s a woman with a life that I’m by and large no longer a part of.
‘Do you love him?’
She looks away, shaking her head because I have no right to ask her. Especially not like this.
‘He matters to me, Jack,’ she says, softer now, and the vulnerability in her eyes makes me feel like a dick.
‘Okay,’ I say, and I mean it. I wish I could pull her into my arms and put our friendship back where it should be. But something in me knows that hugging Laurie isn’t the right move. Instead I grab her hand and look into her stormy eyes.
‘I’m sorry, really sorry, okay?’ And I feel as if I’m apologizing to her not just for this evening, but for everything that’s gone before. For lying about not seeing her years ago on that damn bus, for kissing her in a snowstorm, for always getting it so fucking wrong.
Finally, after what seems like ten minutes, but is probably about ten seconds, she nods and releases my hand.
I smile. ‘Go back downstairs. I’ll be right behind you.’
She nods again and walks away without glancing back.
Laurie has grown up when I wasn’t looking. It’s time for me to do the same.