15
WHEN NINA AND I got downstairs Flo had stopped crying and cleaned herself up, and was eating toast and jam, evidently determined to pretend that nothing had happened.
‘Any coffee?’ Nina asked innocently, but I knew from her tone she was only needling.
Flo looked up miserably, and her lip wobbled again.
‘I … I forgot, remember? But I promise I’ll get some today when we go to the shooting range.’
‘What?’ We both stared at Flo, who gave a watery smile.
‘Yeah, I wanted it to be a surprise. We’re going clay-pigeon shooting.’
I gave a short, shocked laugh. Nina didn’t move.
‘Seriously?’
‘Of course. Why?’
‘Because … it’s just like … a hen night? Shooting?’
‘I thought it would be fun. My cousin went on his stag.’
‘Yes, but …’ Nina trailed off and I could see the thoughts running through her head as clearly as if they were written on her forehead in ticker tape: Why can’t we go to a bloody spa and then clubbing like normal people? But then again, she can’t possibly make us wear pink feather boas at a shooting range, right? So it could be worse.
I wondered, too, if she was thinking of Colombia. Of the gunshot wounds she’d treated there not so long ago.
‘Um … OK,’ she said at last.
‘They’re just like clay plates,’ Flo was saying earnestly. ‘So you don’t need to worry if you’re veggie or anti blood sports.’
‘I’m not veggie.’
‘I know. But if you were.’
‘I’m not veggie.’ Nina rolled her eyes and made her way over to the bread bin, looking for more bread to toast.
‘I thought we’d have a spot of brunch here – with some games maybe? I’ve done a quiz!’
Nina winced theatrically.
‘And then we can head out after that. And come back here for drinks and curry.’
‘Curry?’ We all turned to see Tom padding downstairs in his pyjamas and an open dressing gown, rubbing his eyes. His pyjama bottoms were knotted very low, barely above his hipbones, and there was an impressive amount of buff muscle on display.
‘Tim, hate to tell you, you forgot your shirt,’ Nina said. ‘I think you should put it on. You don’t want to tempt poor Nora beyond what she can bear.’
I threw a toast crust at her. She dodged, and it hit Flo.
‘Oops, sorry Flo.’
‘Stop it you two!’ Flo scolded. Tom only yawned, but he belted up his dressing gown and winked at me.
‘What’s the plan for today then?’ he asked as he took a piece of toast from the plate Flo shoved at him.
‘Shooting,’ Nina said, deadpan. Tom’s eyebrows nearly disappeared beneath his hair.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Shooting. Apparently that’s Flo’s idea of a jolly.’
Flo gave Nina a look, not quite sure if she was having the piss taken out of her or not.
‘Clay-pigeon shooting actually,’ she said defiantly. ‘It’s fun!’
‘OK.’ Tom chewed his toast and looked round the table. ‘Am I the last one up? Oh – no. Melanie’s still asleep, I presume?’
‘Melanie—’ Flo began indignantly, but at that moment Clare came in from the living room and answered, raising her voice firmly above Flo’s.
‘Melanie had to go,’ she said. ‘Family stuff. Don’t worry, Tom, either me or Nina will give you a lift back to Newcastle. But the good news is, it means we can all fit in the same car now, so we don’t have to worry about navigating – I’ll drive, and Flo can direct, as she knows where it is.’
‘Great,’ Nina said. ‘Super. We can all sing “Ten Green Bottles” and fight in the back seat. I can hardly wait.’
‘OK, so I think it’s time for the quiz,’ Flo said. She craned round in her seat to look at me, Nina and Tom in the back. I was crushed in the middle and feeling car sick already, not helped by Tom’s headily overpowering aftershave. Or maybe it was Clare’s perfume. It was hard to tell in the confined space. I wanted to open a window but it was snowing outside, and the heater was on full blast.
‘It’s Clare vs you guys,’ Flo continued. ‘Fingers on buzzers please for round one.’
‘Wait, wait,’ Nina shouted. ‘A quiz on what, and what’s the prize?’
‘A quiz on James of course,’ Clare said from the front seat, amused. ‘Right, Flops?’
‘Of course!’ Flo said. She was laughing. I felt more and more like vomiting. ‘Prize … I don’t know. Glory? Oh, no, I’ve got it. The losing team can wear these for the rest of the day!’
She dug around in her rucksack and brought out a handful of skimpy underwear, emblazoned with the slogan I ♥ JAMES COOPER on the bum.
I felt every muscle in my body go stiff with anger. Nina coughed, and glanced at me sympathetically.
‘Um, Flo …’ she said diffidently, but Flo ploughed on.
‘Don’t worry! Over trousers I mean – or on your head or something. Right, first question. This is for Team Backseat, with a bonus point to Clare for any that you fail to get that she guesses correctly. What is James’s middle name?’
I shut my eyes against the car sickness and listened to Nina and Tom arguing over it.
‘Pretty sure it begins with a C,’ Tom was saying. ‘So I’m thinking, Chris?’
Karl. With a K.
‘It’s not,’ Nina insisted. ‘It’s something to do with Russia. His dad was a professor of Russian politics. Theodor. Or what’s Stalin’s first name?’
‘Joseph. But I’m sure it’s not Joseph. Besides, who’d name their kid after Stalin?’
‘OK not Stalin then. Name another famous Russian.’
I gritted my teeth. Karl.
‘Dostoevsky? Lenin? Marx?’
‘Marx!’ Nina shouted. ‘It’s Karl. I’m sure of it.’
In spite of my growing nausea, I had to crack a smile at her competitiveness. Nina was incapable of losing at anything – an argument, a board game – she often said it was the reason she didn’t do any competitive sport, because she couldn’t bear losing to someone, even if that someone was Usain Bolt.
‘Is that your final answer?’ Flo asked seriously. My eyes were still closed but I felt Nina nodding vigorously beside me.
‘Karl. With a K.’
‘Correct! Question two. What is James’s star sign?’
‘He’s old in the year,’ Nina said straight off. ‘I remember that. He’s definitely September or October.’
‘No, I think it’s August,’ Tom said. ‘I’m sure it’s August.’
They bickered amicably back and forth, swapping evidence, until Nina said, ‘Nora, what do you – wait, are you OK? Your face is a bit green.’
‘I’m feeling a bit sick,’ I said shortly.
‘Oh, God.’ Nina recoiled almost physically, though there was a limit to how far she could get away from me in the narrow back seat. ‘Someone open a window. Tom. Tom, wind yours down too.’ She nudged me in the ribs and said, ‘Open your eyes. Looking at the road helps – it’s something to do with giving the brain the information that you’re travelling.’
Reluctantly I opened my eyes. Flo was grinning in the front seat. Clare was driving along calmly, and I could see in the rear-view mirror that she had an amused smile on her face. She caught my eye for a fleeting moment, and the smile twitched. For a moment – just a moment – I wanted to slap her across her perfect, beautiful cheekbone.
‘I’m sure it’s August,’ Tom said again. ‘I remember going to the Proms with him and Bruce one year.’
‘Oh for crying out loud,’ I snapped. ‘It’s 20th September. I’ve no idea what sign that is.’
‘Virgo,’ Tom said instantly. He didn’t seem to hold my shortness of temper against me. ‘Are you sure about the date, Nora?’
I nodded.
‘OK, Virgo. That’s our answer.’
‘Two points to Team Backseat Drivers!’ Flo said delightedly. ‘Clare you will have some catching up to do. Next question: what is James’s favourite food?’
I wanted to shut my eyes, but I didn’t dare. This was torture.
I looked down at my lap, away from Clare, and pushed my nails into my palm, trying to distract myself from the nausea, and the memories that were crowding in unbidden. I had a sharp, flashing picture of James, sprawled on his bed after school eating his way through a bowl of clementines. He loved those things. For a moment the scent was sharp in my nostrils – the sweet tang of the oil, the smell of his room – of tumbled sheets and him. I used to love clementines – love the smell of them on his fingers, finding the peel in his pocket. I never touch them now.
‘Panang curry?’ Tom said uncertainly, and Flo pulled face.
‘Almost – but I can only give you half a point for that. Panang with …?’
‘Tofu,’ Tom said promptly. Flo nodded.
‘Three points! Two more questions to go before Clare’s round. Question four – which play was James’s West End debut?’
‘West End in what sense?’ Tom asked. ‘I mean are you counting the National as West End? Because personally I wouldn’t.’
There was some muttered discussion between Flo and Clare in the front seat and Flo turned back round.
‘OK, let me rephrase that as London debut.’
I Googled James once. Only once. Google was spattered with images of him – pictures of him in costume, on stage, publicity stills, shots of him smiling at charity functions and opening nights. The ones I couldn’t bear were the ones where he was looking directly at the camera, directly out of the screen, at me. When I scrolled down to one where he was naked on stage, in Equus, I had closed the browser with shaking hands, as if I’d stumbled on something violent or obscene.
Tom and Nina were conferring over the top of my head.
‘We think it was as an understudy in The History Boys,’ Nina said at last. Flo sucked in her breath.
‘Ooooh! Close. I’m sorry – that was his second role. Over to Clare?’
‘Vincent in Brixton,’ Clare said. ‘One point to me.’
‘Never heard of it,’ Nina said. Tom leaned across me and punched her.
‘It won the Laurence Olivier Award for Best New Play! And a Tony Award.’
‘Never heard of that either. Who’s Tony?’
‘Jesus!’ Tom threw up his hands. ‘I’m in a car with a bleeding philistine.’
‘OK,’ Flo said loudly, talking over them. ‘Fifth and final question before we hand over to Clare for her round. When and where did James propose to Clare?’
I shut my eyes again, listening to the chorus of protest from Tom and Nina.
‘That’s not fair!’
‘They should at least be things that Clare has a chance of not knowing.’
‘He proposed on her birthday,’ Tom said, ‘I know that. Because they came to lunch with me and Bruce the next day and Clare was flashing that ring. Where is it, Clare?’
‘Oh, I—’ I heard Clare shift in the driving seat and fumble the gear change as we took a junction too fast. ‘I left it at home. To tell you the truth I’ve not got used to wearing it yet and I keep panicking I’m going to lose it.’
‘As for where …’ I could hear the frown in Tom’s voice. ‘I’m going to go for a pure punt and say, J. Sheekey?’
‘Ooh, so close!’ Flo sucked in her breath. ‘Birthday was right but it was in the bar at the Southbank. Sorry, half a point there. So that’s … three and a half points, and a point and a half to Clare.’
‘Some of those were fixes,’ Tom grumbled. ‘But we’ll get our revenge.’
‘Right, round two, question one to Clare. What was James’s first pet called?’
‘Blimey.’ Clare sounded stumped. ‘I think it was a hamster but I honestly don’t know.’
‘Backseat team?’
‘No idea,’ Nina said. ‘Nora?’
She had the grace to sound awkward, as if she knew how painful this all was. I did know. But I was damned if I was telling them. I only shook my head.
‘A guinea pig called Mindy. Nul points. Question two. Who is James’s ideal celebrity woman?’
Clare burst out laughing. ‘OK, for self-respect I’m going to say the person who looks most like me. Which is … God, who do I look like? Christ. You always sound delusional whatever you say. OK, he likes strong women, funny women. I’m going to say … Billie Piper.’
‘You don’t look anything like Billie Piper!’ Nina objected. ‘Well, except that you’re both blonde.’
‘Well it’s not Billie Piper,’ Flo said. ‘It’s—’ she consulted her piece of paper. ‘Jees, I have no idea who this is: Jean, how do you say that? Morrow? Clare?’
‘Never heard of her either. Is she a stage actress, Tom?’
‘Right here,’ Flo interjected and we rounded the corner with a sickening swing.
‘Jeanne Moreau,’ Tom said. ‘She’s a French actress. She was in that Truffaut film. Jules et Jim, I think it was. But I didn’t know she was James’s favourite actress.’
‘Well, I’d hardly call her a celebrity,’ Clare grumbled as we lurched over a humpback bridge and picked up speed. The sick feeling rose again. ‘Next question.’
‘What is James’s favourite designer clothes label?’
Favourite designer clothes label? The James I’d known would have laughed at the very suggestion. I wondered if it was a trick question and Clare was about to say Oxfam.
Clare tapped her fingers on the wheel, thinking. ‘I’m stuck between Alexander McQueen,’ she said at last, ‘and Comme des Garçons. But I’m going to go for … McQueen. Mainly because he actually wears McQueen.’
Jesus wept.
‘Correct!’ Flo said. ‘Well, it actually says “If we’re talking people I think are cool, then probably Vivienne Westwood, but if you mean designers I wear, then McQueen.” So I think that counts. Question four, which body part—’ she began to laugh ‘—did James accidentally slice off aged ten in a woodwork lesson?’
‘He took a chunk off his knuckle,’ Clare said instantly. ‘The scar’s still there.’
I squeezed my eyes tighter shut. I remembered that scar so well, a white circle on the knuckle of his little finger, and a long silver line tracing up the outside of his wrist, pale against his tan. I remembered kissing my way along that line, up his forearm, to the soft crook of his elbow, and James lying there, stiff and shaking, trying not to laugh as my lips brushed the ticklish soft skin of his inner arm.
‘Correct!’ Flo said. ‘You’re doing well. Levelled up. It’s three and a half all round. So this final one is the decider. If Clare gets this, she wins and you lot wear the pants. So, drum roll please. At what age did James lose his virginity?’
Nausea rose up in my throat and I opened my eyes.
‘Stop the c-car.’
‘What?’ Clare glanced at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘Jesus, Lee, you’re green.’
‘Stop the car,’ I put a hand over my mouth. ‘I’m going …’ I couldn’t say any more. I pressed my lips together, breathing through my nose as Clare bumped to a hasty halt, and then I scrambled out across Nina’s lap and stood on the snowy verge, hands on knees, shivering with the strange aftermath of nausea.
‘Are you OK?’ I heard Flo’s anxious voice behind me. ‘Want me to do anything?’
I couldn’t speak. I just shook my head vehemently, wishing she’d go away. Wishing they’d all go away.
‘Are you all right, Lee?’ Clare’s voice floated out of the window.
Nora, I thought, viciously, you stupid bitch. But I said nothing. Just waited for my shuddering breathing to go back to normal, and the sickness to subside.
‘Are you OK, Nora?’ It was Nina, beside me, her hand on my shoulder. I nodded, and then slowly straightened up, taking a long, shaky breath. The cold air stung the inside of my lungs, but it was a clear, cleansing cold, a relief after the hot stuffiness of the car.
‘Yeah. Sorry. I just went a bit … I think it was sitting in the back seat.’
‘I think it was Flo’s fucking nauseating quiz,’ Nina said. She didn’t bother to lower her voice and I winced on Flo’s behalf and glanced behind me apologetically, but either she didn’t hear, or she didn’t care. She was chatting away to Clare unconcernedly. ‘Flo,’ Nina said, turning back to the car, ‘I think Nora should sit in the front, is that OK?’
‘Oh yeah! Totally, totally fine. Totally. Nora, you poor thing! You should have said if you were feeling rubbish.’
‘I’m OK,’ I said stiffly, but I took the front seat that Flo had vacated and slid in beside Clare. She flashed me a sympathetic look and when Flo said enthusiastically from the back seat, ‘Right! Back to the quiz!’ Clare interjected.
‘I think we’ll just call it a draw, yeah, Flops? Maybe we’ve all had enough quiz for the moment.’
‘Oh.’ Flo’s face fell, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Whoever’s fault this whole mess was, it wasn’t hers. Her only crime was trying to be a good friend to Clare.