‘So what are you up to these days?’ Sara placed a mineral water for herself and a glass of wine for Isla on the table and sat down, smoothing her dress over crossed legs.
‘I’m a freelance writer and photographer.’
‘Really? Wow, that’s utterly amazing. What sort of writing?’
‘Travel.’ Isla shrugged. ‘I’m a photographer primarily, but I write too.’
Sara reached forward and pressed a hand on Isla’s arm. ‘You know I reckon I’ve got a novel in me,’ she said, removing her hand, and leaning back in her chair. ‘They say everyone has, don’t they? Have you?’
Isla shook her head. ‘God, no, I couldn’t write fiction. I’m not very imaginative.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Although I dream that my travel journal will be published one day.’
‘How exciting. Tell me more.’ Sara sipped her water, her eyes on Isla.
‘Well, OK then, but stop me if I bore you.’
‘Yep, promise I will.’
‘Well, it’s about travel, obviously.’
‘Obviously.’ Sara smiled.
‘And it’s a blend of the quirky and traditional places I’ve been to.’
‘Intriguing.’
‘I hope so. I loved researching and photographing unusual places, which hopefully contrast with those everyone wants to see. Like I adored the Colosseum in Rome, but was equally thrilled by the Torre Argentina.’
‘Never heard of it.’ Sara’s eyes were fully focused on Isla, her elbows now on the table, hands propping up her chin.
‘Well, it’s an excavation that includes the Theatre of Pompey, where Caesar was killed.’ She felt a tingle of excitement as she talked about what she loved. ‘But, for me, the best part was that it’s home for over two hundred of Rome’s stray cats.’
‘That’s incredible.’
‘I know. They’re all cared for there. It’s amazing. I took loads of photographs.’ Her voice brightened further as she spoke, and memories of her trip with Jack woke her endorphins. This was her passion. She glanced towards the entrance. ‘I had hoped to meet Ben Martin. I think he’s in publishing.’
Sara nodded, and leant back once more. ‘I heard that along the grapevine too. He owns his own publishing company, apparently.’ She looked towards the entrance too. ‘Fingers crossed he comes and signs you on the spot.’
Isla laughed. ‘Unlikely, but maybe he could point me in the right direction. Give me a bit of advice, perhaps.’ She paused to take a sip of her drink. ‘Anyway, that’s enough about me. What about you? What have you been up to all these years?’
Sara straightened her shoulders. ‘Well, I’m a chemist. No surprise there. I work for Tomlins Pharmaceuticals in London, and I have a tiny apartment near Finsbury Park, although I’m not living there at the moment.’
‘Sounds like a great job.’ Isla smiled, as she took in Sara’s perfect face once more. ‘I still can’t get over how different you look,’ she said.
A grin sliced across Sara’s face. ‘It’s down to a good diet, a personal trainer and a great hairdresser.’ She touched her hair, and gave a confident laugh.
Isla found herself staring. Surely there’s more to it than that. She must have had work done – perfect nose, lips with just the right amount of plumpness, amazing breasts. But then how hard had she really looked at Sara Pembroke at university? In fact, she could barely bring her to mind.
‘So do you see any of the old uni lot?’ Sara asked. She was looking down at her hands, seeming to admire her manicured fingernails.
Isla shook her head. ‘Not really. Although I see Roxanne. Do you remember her?’
‘God, yes.’ Sara looked up, and snagged her into a stare. ‘If I’m honest, I never did like her.’ She leant closer. ‘I can’t believe you still see her.’ There was a hint of concern in her voice. ‘I’m surprised you still trust her after . . . ’
‘She’s still my best friend,’ Isla cut in, before Sara could go on. She picked up her wine, and took a long sip. ‘We see a lot of each other.’
Sara put up her hands, as though waving white flags. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Ignore me.’ She looked at her watch. ‘You know, I have the feeling we’ve been stood up.’ She glanced towards the entrance again. ‘Odd that none of them have arrived yet, don’t you think?’
Isla let Sara’s comment go. The last thing she wanted was to bicker with a woman she barely knew. ‘Mmm,’ she said, screwing up her nose. ‘Especially as Trevor left a comment on my Facebook status earlier, saying he was looking forward to seeing me again.’
‘Did he? Oh dear, I hope he’s OK.’ Sara’s perfectly made-up eyes widened. ‘You don’t think something awful has happened to him, do you? Maybe he’s been in an accident.’
Isla cheeks burned. It hadn’t occurred to her to worry about him.
‘Tell you what, I’ll send him a private message.’ Sara pulled out her phone, and within seconds her fingers danced across the screen. ‘I haven’t seen him since uni, have you?’ She looked up.
‘Once, briefly, a few months back.’
‘You went out with him, didn’t you?’
Isla nodded. ‘For a while.’
‘He was in most of my classes.’ Sara put her phone on the table. ‘We studied for the same degree, and got on well. It’s a shame we lost contact. I was looking forward to seeing him again.’
‘Are you married?’ Isla asked. She’d spotted the ring on Sara’s wedding finger when she first walked in, but it had taken more wine to loosen her tongue enough to ask her.
‘Oh this.’ Sara touched the ring and, with a faraway look in her eyes, shook her head. ‘I get a lot of come-ons when I go out – the downside of looking like this.’ She laughed, and turned the ring around her finger several times. ‘Not that it puts some men off – they still think they can try it on.’ She paused. ‘This was my mother’s ring. She died a while back.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Isla could only imagine how awful it would be to lose her own mum.
‘It was over a year ago,’ Sara said. ‘We weren’t that close, if I’m honest. I was more upset for Dad. They were a perfect couple, so in love. He depends on me now. We’re really close.’
A vague memory of Sara arriving at university with her mother, an upright, stern-looking woman, drifted in. But it vanished as quickly as it came.
‘Still, it couldn’t have been easy for you.’ Unsure what else to say, Isla took another gulp of her drink and swallowed.
‘Life can be hard at times.’
Isla looked into Sara’s eyes wondering if she had read about what happened to her in Australia. It was in all the papers at the time – on the news. But then she wasn’t about to bring it up.
Sara looked about her. ‘I wonder where Veronica and Ben are. Weird, if they don’t come, after agreeing to.’ She shrugged. ‘Although in some ways, I’m not surprised they haven’t turned up. Veronica was utterly self-absorbed at uni. Do you remember? I can’t imagine her wanting to see me again.’ She picked up her phone. ‘Still no reply from Trevor. He hasn’t even read my message. Has he contacted you?’
Isla felt a shiver run through her body. It was becoming awkward. She didn’t care any more whether they turned up or not, and the bar had filled up with diners and drinkers. It was far too noisy.
She tugged out her phone, and shook her head. ‘No nothing,’ she said, looking at Sara, who was fiddling with her phone.
‘Hey, you should take a selfie of us, and put it on Facebook,’ Sara said, her blue eyes brightening once more. ‘We can smile, as though we’re enjoying ourselves.’
As though we’re enjoying ourselves? So Sara wasn’t having fun either, despite her perky expression.
‘It will make them jealous when they see it,’ she continued, excitement in her voice. ‘They’ll wish they’d come. Come on, let’s do it.’ She nudged her chair closer, her perfume tickling Isla’s senses, and she flicked her hair forward over her shoulders.
‘OK,’ Isla said, feeling she had no choice. She fumbled with her phone, before leaning in, and raised her mobile in the air in front of them. Their heads touched, as the camera flashed.
Together they looked at the picture. ‘Ooh don’t we look good,’ Sara said, with a laugh, watching as Isla added it to her timeline.
Great fun in Cambridge with old uni friend, Sara Pembroke. Good to catch up.
It sounded ridiculous. But maybe Sara was right. If the others saw it, they might regret not coming. Except Ben and Veronica weren’t even her friends on social media. And frankly she didn’t care if they were jealous or not. It all felt rather silly.
‘Add me on Facebook,’ Sara said, as her phone bleeped. ‘It’s a text from my dad,’ she said, looking at the screen, and losing her smile. Her eyes moistened, and the bright happy image she’d been portraying seemed to dissolve in front of Isla’s eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Do you mind if I reply to this? He’ll only worry if I don’t. He’s so dependent on me.’
‘Not at all,’ Isla said, draining her glass of wine and deliberating whether to go to the bar for another. She stopped herself. Once Sara had finished texting, Isla would suggest they called it a night. She’d already had three glasses of wine on an empty stomach, and needed to head home. It was almost ten.
Isla opened Facebook once more. Several people had liked the photo of her and Sara, and there were a couple of comments.
Jack Green: Hope you’re having a great time. You two could be sisters! XXX
Roxanne Furaha: Say hi to Sara from me XXX
Isla smiled, but it didn’t last. A private message had appeared in her inbox. It was from Trevor.
Hi, Isla, I got as far as the door and saw you sitting there in your brown skirt suit, but couldn’t find the courage to come over. But I want to see you again. Maybe another time. Trevor X
‘Are you OK, Isla?’ Sara was saying. Her lips moved but her words sounded far away, quiet under the thud of Isla’s heartbeat and the noise of the bar.
‘I’m not sure.’ Isla’s eyes flitted around the bar, zooming in on faces, focusing for a moment, and then moving on, over and over. Had Trevor been in the bar? Had he been watching from a distance? Her skin prickled, and she snapped the band on her wrist. Why had he mentioned what she was wearing?
She put her phone away, hand shaking, and looked at Sara. Should she tell her what Trevor had said in his message? That he’d been there.
‘I should probably head for home,’ she said, deciding against it. She barely knew her after all. She rubbed the tips of her fingers over the rubber band on her wrist once more, resisting the urge to ping it. ‘I need to get to the station.’
‘Oh, OK, no worries.’ Sara pulled her jacket from the back of her chair, and slipped it on. It was clear she’d had enough too. She was putting up no resistance. ‘Maybe we could share a taxi to the station. I’ve got to go that way too.’
‘Yes.’ Isla paused, still feeling stunned, her body trembling.
‘My stop is Newmarket. I’ve been staying there with my father for the past six months. He’s been so low since Mum died. But he says me being there for him helps.’ She sighed. ‘I do what I can.’
‘It must be so hard.’ Isla wished her words didn’t feel so hollow. She was trying to be a good person, and fought to keep focus on Sara. But Trevor’s message was set on repeat inside her head, making her dizzy. Was she over-reacting? He’d been perfectly nice on the train.
‘Yes it’s hard at times,’ Sara was saying.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thanks. I suppose I thought if I went to stay with him for a bit, I could help, but I can’t stay much longer. The commute into London is so tiring.’ She sucked in a sigh.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Isla repeated. It sounded generic, but she couldn’t think what else to say. She could hardly pull her into a hug.
‘Anyway . . . as Chandler says in Friends.’ Sara threw Isla what felt like a fake smile. ‘Where are you heading?’
‘Letchworth. It’s just a few stops, not far.’
At the station, Sara air-kissed Isla’s cheeks. ‘We must keep in touch,’ she said, pulling out her phone. ‘Shall we swap numbers?’
‘OK,’ Isla said, trying to disguise the reluctance in her voice. She was relieved as her train approached, and time had run out. She’d dodged the exchange. But Sara was so insistent – looked so keen – that she found herself rummaging in her bag for one of her cards. She’d had them made in the hope it would give her a more professional image, but rarely used them. ‘Text or email me,’ she said, handing it to her, as she stepped onto the train.
There were lots of ‘We must do this agains’ and ‘It’s been fantastics’ as the doors closed. But, when the train pulled away, and Sara waving became a memory, Isla felt relieved to be going home.
She would never do it again. It had all been a terrible mistake. The past was better left in the past.