Bookends (5 page)

‘Lucy,’ he said, standing in the doorway, his own cheeks flushed with the cold. ‘I…’

And Lucy beamed at him, without saying anything, and just like in a Hollywood movie they moved towards one another as if in slow motion. Josh bent his head to kiss her just as the front door slammed and they jumped apart guiltily, before their lips had a chance to meet.

‘Josh?’ Venetia’s voice rang through the house as Josh came to the door, the flush of cold rapidly becoming a flush of guilt. He turned round and looked at Lucy, who gave him a sad smile of regret and picked up the blankets again. Josh froze in the doorway, pulled between the two women, not knowing what to do.

But how was he to know Lucy was his future and Venetia his past? All he knew was that he didn’t really care if he never saw Venetia again, and he couldn’t get Lucy out of his mind. And he’d come so close! To kissing those lips! Oh, Christ. How could he let her get away?

He did let her get away. Didn’t have a choice because he didn’t have a chance to find her on her own again, but before they left Josh scribbled Lucy a note, left his phone number in London, and shoved it under a pillow, knowing that Venetia wouldn’t find it, but that Lucy, on making the bed, undoubtedly would.

Josh waited until they returned home before telling Venetia it was over. She seemed upset at the time, but a week later she was going out with a stockbroker called William, so evidently he hadn’t broken her heart, and Josh then spent the next few weeks trying to get over Lucy.

She didn’t phone. For the first couple of weeks every time the phone rang he’d leap on top of it, praying it was her, and then he tried to forget about her as he got on with his life and continued half-heartedly dating the identikit Venetias.

Eight weeks later Josh was at work when the receptionist buzzed him and told him to come down to collect a delivery that had to be signed for personally. He came down to be greeted by Lucy’s sparkly eyes, and the rest, as they say, is history.

‘Cath! So lovely to see you. Look at you, you look as fresh as a daisy in that sumptuous sweater. Sit! Sit! What are you having? Red? White? Or vodka? Gin?’ Lucy bubbles away as she manoeuvres me into a chair, bustling away to open another bottle of red and pour me a glass.

‘Where’s that wicked Si? Not corrupting my Maxy I hope. Josh!’ She screams, ‘Come and be sociable! Oh God. So rude. You haven’t met,’ and finally she stops to take a breath and grins at us.

‘Cath. Dan. Dan. Cath.’

We smile warmly at one another, and I hope that this will not be one of those awkward evenings where strangers make small talk and ask questions like, ‘How long have you known Josh and Lucy?’

‘We’re all on the course together,’ Lucy explains, ‘Dan lives in Camden and he gave me a lift, so it was the least I could do.

‘Here,’ says Lucy, thrusting a knife into my hand. ‘You’re on cucumber duty.’ Dan is given red peppers, which might be an odd way of treating your dinner guests, but it breaks the ice and within minutes we are all laughing like old friends.

‘I’m missing out on all the fun, aren’t I?’ says Si, rushing into the room behind Josh. ‘Lucy, darling. You look gorgeous.’ Si sweeps Lucy into a big hug, and Lucy blushes, gesturing at her faded apron, her hair tied back with a fraying old scrunchy. ‘I look terrible,’ she says, but she’s delighted, as she always is, when Si compliments her.

‘Hello. I’m Si.’ He grins cheerfully at Dan, leaning over his shoulder to grab a piece of red pepper.

‘Oi!’ I dart over, covering Dan’s pile of peppers protectively, hunger making me, as always, incredibly territorial about food. ‘Hands off.’

‘You can’t speak to me like that,’ Si says, in mock horror. ‘You’re not even in charge of peppers. If I’m not mistaken, you’re doing the cucumbers, so M.Y.O.B.’

‘I’ve got my hands full with one child, thank you very much,’ Lucy says, grimacing. ‘I don’t need another two this evening.’

‘It wasn’t me, it was her.’ Si pours himself a glass of red wine, grinning at Dan, who’s laughing at this ridiculous exchange, before going to the stove and lifting lids off pots and sniffing.

I wish I could be more like Si at times. I know how insecure he is deep down, as insecure as the rest of us, and yet he has this ability to meet complete strangers and instantly put them at ease, make them feel as if they have known, and loved, Si for ever. Most of the time I think it’s because he can be so childlike, so naughty, and it reminds us of when we were children, of what it was like to have no inhibitions.

He wanders over to the fridge and busies himself doing something, while the rest of us keep chopping.

‘So how is the course?’ I throw into the room.

Lucy and Dan groan at the same time.

‘It was fine,’ says Lucy.

‘Until Jeremy,’ says Dan.

‘And now we can’t wait until the bloody thing’s over,’ finishes Lucy.

‘Jeremy?’ I ask.

‘Jeremy,’ says Josh, in the tone of voice that says I ought to know who Jeremy is. ‘Jeremy the class bore,’ he continues, rolling his eyes, evidently having heard more than enough about him from Lucy. ‘Who monopolizes every group session by talking about himself, having temper tantrums if he feels he’s being ignored.’

‘Oh, that sounds so mean,’ says Lucy. ‘I feel awful talking about him behind his back. It’s not right. We actually shouldn’t be doing this.’

‘You’re right.’ Dan sounds contrite, for about two seconds. ‘But fuck it. He is a major pain in the arse.’

Lucy remembers something, jumps up, checks her recipe book, and pushes Si out of the way to get to the fridge. She pulls the butter out, then stops as she closes the fridge door and squints at a point on the upper left side of the door.

‘Si!’ She shrieks with laughter as Si skulks over to the table, trying to look innocent. ‘Luscious Sexy Smells Excite My Potent a r m p I t s’

‘Armpits?’ Josh looks bemused. ‘That magnetic poetry kit doesn’t have the word “armpits”.’

‘I spelt it out myself,’ Si says proudly, and within seconds we are all clamouring round the fridge trying to out-do one another with ridiculously flowery poems, when the sound of concentration is broken by a wail.

‘Daaaaaaaddy!’ comes Max’s shriek from upstairs, followed by a deafening silence. Then: ‘Caaaaan youuuuu cooooome and wiiiiiiipe my bottttttttttttom?’ Josh raises his eyebrows and leaves the room as the rest of us scream with laughter.

‘God. So embarrassing. He’s only just started using the loo on a regular basis, and Josh keeps showing him what to do, but he always wants one of us to do it,’ Lucy explains, stifling a laugh.

‘Quite right too. He doesn’t want to get his hands dirty, and who can blame him,’ grins Si. ‘I hope those hands will be washed before they come anywhere near me.’

‘Don’t be so insensitive,’ I chastise. ‘You love Max, and if you love Max then you love
everything
about Max, and if you love
everything
about Max then you love his poo.’

‘No.’ Si shakes his head solemnly. ‘My love does not stretch as far as to encompass poo.’

‘Come on, then, guys, who’s going to set the table?’ Lucy hands me the cutlery, glasses to Dan, and napkins to Si, who instantly arranges them into little swans, prompting much oohing and aahing from Lucy, who has witnessed this many times before, but is just as amazed each time she sees it done.

‘It’s so pretty I don’t want to undo it,’ she says, placing it gently down on her plate.

The five of us sit down and help ourselves to Caesar salad.

‘Bugger.’ Lucy jumps up and runs to the oven, bringing out a familiar-looking silver loaf.

‘Lucy, I love you!’ Si blows her Parmesany kisses from the other side of the table. ‘You never forget.’

‘Si, I only do this for you, you know. I’d never
dream
of serving garlic bread to anyone else. It’s just so seventies.’

‘Seventies is in again now,’ says Josh, shaking his head at Si, who’s already eaten one piece and is now licking the dripping butter off his fingers. ‘So as usual Si’s one step ahead of us all.’

‘God, do you remember that seventies party Portia had?’ Josh laughs. ‘When you and Cath set fire to my afro wig?’

‘It practically stuck to your head.’ I smile at the memory. ‘I haven’t thought about that in years.’

‘Portia,’ says Dan. ‘I know a Portia. What’s her surname?’

‘Fairley,’ say Si, Josh and I simultaneously.

Dan smiles as the rest of the table freezes. ‘I knew that wasn’t a common name. How do you all know Portia?’

How can a name, a name from the past that should have no power at all any more, still have such an impact on the three people in this room that knew her way back when? Time seems to stand still, and I’m too lost in memories to notice that Josh and Si are diving into those memories at the same time.

And the thing is, I can’t help but wonder if she’s forgiven us. I forgave her, forgave her for breaking Josh’s heart, a long time ago. I figured that she must have had her reasons, that she wasn’t doing it intentionally, but I’ve always wondered whether she has forgiven us for abandoning her friendship as a result.

And ten years on, none of us expected to hear her name in the comfort of this kitchen.

‘We were at university together,’ I eventually tell a bemused Dan, because he can see his words have had some effect, only he is not sure what it is. I smooth out my voice, careful of the tone, doing my best to keep the excitement contained. ‘And you? How do you know Portia?’

‘She bought my old flat,’ he laughs, entirely unaware of the silent reaction her name has caused.

‘Where?’ I ask, suddenly desperate to know what’s happened to her, if her life has fulfilled her expectations, if destiny has, as we all assumed, been kind to her.

‘Sutherland Avenue,’ says Dan. ‘Nice flat. I miss it. Wish I didn’t have to sell but there it is. Give up your job in the City for psychotherapy and bach pad goes with it, I’m afraid.’ He shrugs and smiles at Si and Lucy, who offer him sympathetic smiles in return.

‘She was always terribly beautiful at university,’ Si says dreamily. ‘One of those girls whose life was perfect. She had money, class, beauty, kindness. Born with a golden spoon in her mouth. We followed her career as a journalist for a while, but lost track. Do you know what she’s up to now?’

‘Sure,’ says Dan. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t know. Haven’t you seen that series on TV?’ He mentions the name of a series we all love. A weekly drama that follows the lives of a group of thirty-somethings, and before Dan says anything I suddenly realize that she is the writer. She could not be anything other than the writer because, and I know it is ridiculous that this should not have occurred to me before, because all of the characters are based on us.

I look at the others and see Josh’s mouth hanging open, Si’s eyes wide with shock, both having had the same realization.

‘Oh my God, she writes it!’ Si finally snorts, half in wonderment, half aghast.

‘She doesn’t just write it,’ Dan says. ‘She apparently came up with the concept, sold it to the network, does all the writing and storylining, and to top it all has sold it on to seventeen countries worldwide. She’s making a fortune.’

Si looks at Josh, his lower lip still somewhere near his knees, and coughs, attempting to regain some composure. ‘Excuse me, can you pass the salt please,
Jacob
.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ says Lucy, ‘they’re not u – ’ and she stops, because in the split second it took for her to verbalize that thought, she had another. A memory. She remembered the characters.

The central character in the series is Mercedes (good joke, I thought). Mercedes is the wealthy daughter of a millionaire who has spent her life struggling for independence. Mercedes looks like she ought to be a bitch. But of course she’s not. She’s adorable, although she can’t seem to find a man who looks beyond the physical, who is really interested in getting to know her.

There’s Jacob, world-weary, kind, but rather weak, who’s married to Lisa, an overbearing Sloane who’s too busy shopping and lunching to take much care of their toddler, Marty, who tends to turn up at Jacob’s office on a daily basis.

Steen is the perfect gay best friend, who keeps the laughs coming in with his curt one-liners.

And Mark. Gorgeous, sensitive Mark, who loves Mercedes unrequitedly, for he is far too nice for Mercedes to love in return, and he, of course, could only be Matt, Portia’s boyfriend from university.

And then, I realize with horror, there’s Katy. Katy, who is plain, dowdy, but completely self-obsessed. Katy who only wears black. Or occasionally sludge-green. Katy, whose hair looks like it could house a few hundred sparrows in it if they were really stuck for accommodation.

Lucy suddenly chokes, and we all look at one another in panic, terrified she’s choked with shock, but she has a sip of water and then starts laughing. And laughing. And laughing.

‘It’s hysterical,’ she says, as we slowly see the funny side. ‘You’re Katy!’ and she points at me and goes off into peals of laughter again, almost falling off her chair, arms weak with mirth.

‘You can laugh,’ I say in a nasty tone. ‘She hasn’t even met you. She’s obviously just heard that Josh married someone who’s name begins with an L, who has a son whose name begins with an M. I’m Katy, for God’s sake. Katy, who’s a selfish cow. I can’t believe she’d do that to me.’

‘Are you sure about this?’ Dan says, looking more than a little worried about how this information has gone down. ‘Are you sure the characters are you?’

‘Look at us,’ says Josh with a shrug.

‘I’m happy,’ Si says brightly. ‘Steen’s gorgeous.’

‘Don’t you mind?’ says Dan suddenly. ‘Don’t you mind that someone whom you knew has written your life stories down and shown them to thousands of people?’

‘Millions, according to the ratings,’ adds Josh. Quietly.

‘Not quite our life stories.’ Lucy gets up to check the pudding. ‘Josh really isn’t Jacob, or Jacob Josh. Josh is far stronger than that. And Katy isn’t Cath. She’s gorgeous, for starters.’ She gives me a quick squeeze as she passes, which is supposed to make me feel better. And does, as it happens. ‘As for Steen’ – she eyes Si up and down – ‘Si’s far sweeter than Steen.’