Going Home (17 page)

‘Hi,’ I said, in a normal voice, though my heart was thumping. ‘Come in. I’m sorry it’s so cold. Hi, Miles.’ I kissed his cheek. ‘Hi, David, lovely to see you.’ I kissed his cheek too, but I didn’t look at him. Then I stood back and smiled brightly. Miles grinned so kindly that I wanted to hug him. Behind him, David stood awkwardly.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘I would say, can I take your coats but you might be better to keep them on.’

‘Don’t worry, we’re jumpered up,’ said Miles. ‘Here’s some wine, and some flowers.’ He took off his coat.

‘Great,’ I said. ‘Well – David, it’s not like you don’t know where the bedroom is! Would you mind popping the coats in there and, Miles, can you come with me and open the wine?’

Miles flashed me a look of surprise and inwardly I congratulated myself. David, startled, disappeared with the coats down the corridor. I licked my lips, my mouth was dry, and smiled at Miles. ‘Come with me, darling. Can you be wine person this evening if I put you in charge of the corkscrew?’

‘Course,’ said Miles, and winked for which I loved him. We went into the kitchen.

While we were in there, I heard David saying hello to my sister and Tom. After a few seconds of stony silence he came in. ‘You got rid of the Puddlesmasher.’

‘He’s being dry-cleaned.’

The Puddlesmasher was a long, floppy, penguin-like toy I’d had since I was very small. He used to be my mother’s, and there is an adorable picture of her when she’s tiny, with curly hair, in a little spotted dress, clutching him and smiling toothily at the camera. He’s black and white with peachy pink webbed feet, and usually hung on a hook above my bed. That sounds like I’m the kind of girl who has a large pink armchair bursting with cuddly toys and uses Forever Friends stationery. I am not. It’s just that the Puddlesmasher’s great. David always thought he was hilarious.

‘Right,’ said Miles, as David and I stared at each other, unsure what to say next. ‘Who wants some wine?’

‘Me, please,’ we said simultaneously.

I regrouped mentally as I took my glass. Be firm. You’re doing really well. Don’t let him feel sorry for you. ‘Thanks so much for coming,’ I said to him. ‘Can you give me Spanish Brian’s number now, before we forget about it? Imagine if you left and we’d forgotten the whole point of you coming over.’

‘Yes, absolutely,’ David said, clearly trying not to goggle at my marvellous insouciance. ‘Do you – can I have a pen and paper? Better still, why don’t I just call him now for you?’

‘Oh, would you mind?’ I said airily. ‘That’s really sweet of you. Here’s the phone. Do you mind going into the hall to talk to him? Thanks.’

David disappeared again. I shut the door on him and turned to the others. ‘Pour me some more wine, will you, Jess? And, Tom, S Club 7’s finished. Press play again and let’s have it from the beginning, shall we?’

We made a strange group that night, and it was sad, when I thought about how it would otherwise have been. It was sad to see David, Tom and Jess standing in my sitting room chatting awkwardly about David’s flight over.

‘So, David, where do you live now?’ Jess said politely, as I handed round crisps and olives.

‘Greenwich Village,’ David said. ‘In an apartment building.’

‘Is that where you’ve always been?’ Tom asked, equally politely.

‘Yes,’ David said. ‘It’s a great neighbourhood. I can walk to work – that’s the beauty of Manhattan.’

‘Right,’ said Tom. ‘How interesting.’

I could have said lots of things, as I offered the olives to David and stole a glance at him. Like, do you remember that gorgeous day we walked all the way from your apartment in Jane Street up to Central Park, from the south to the north of the island, and how we stopped and had a burger half-way in a crusty old diner by the Empire State Building, between two Persian-carpet shops? And if you do remember that, what do you think about it now? He smiled briefly at me, as he took an olive, then asked Jess about her course. I went into the kitchen and started to lay the table.

Miles was in there, humming softly and pouring wine. There was something reassuringly familiar about his bulk. ‘OK there? Shall I take more glasses out?’ I asked.

‘Sure,’ said Miles. ‘They’re lovely. I found them in the back of the cupboard. Are they antique? Crystal? Where did you get them?’

‘Er,’ I said.

Miles looked back at them too. ‘Oh, God, David gave them to you on your anniversary, didn’t he?’ he said. ‘Shit, Lizzy, I’m so sorry.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘They’re nice, and I never use them. Leave it.’

‘No way,’ said Miles, opening and shutting cupboard doors. ‘God, I’m an idiot.’

‘You’re not!’ I said. ‘Don’t – oh, OK. Yes, that’s it, there.’

Miles emerged, red-faced, clutching a box. ‘Here we go. What vintage are these?’

‘Ikea, 2001,’ I said. ‘Bought twelve, only six left now, three pounds for six.’

‘Bargain,’ said Miles. He flipped open the box, plucked out the glasses, flung the wine from the old glasses into the new ones, and slipped the cut-glass lead crystal goblets David had bought when we’d been in Paris into the wrong box. I knew they would stay there, traces of wine still in them, for a long time. He crouched, pushed the box into the back of the cupboard and stood up. ‘Right, Captain,’ he said. ‘Ready?’

‘Thanks,’ I said, and picked up the tray.

And that was sad, too.

‘This looks lovely,’ Tom said, as I brought out the platter of forlorn-looking food that unfortunately constituted the elegant Friday-night kitchen supper. We all looked at the meagre plate in silence.

‘I ate some of it by mistake,’ I said. ‘Really, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. So I’m not that hungry. I’ll just watch you eat.’ I couldn’t have eaten a thing anyway.

‘Come on, Lizzy, that’s ridiculous. I’ll feel terrible,’ said Jess.

‘Honestly,’ I said, panicking. ‘Please.’

‘If David wasn’t here, there’d be enough,’ Tom said pointedly. ‘Very true,’ David said. There was a silence. He looked at Tom, then poured himself a glass of wine, sat back and reached into his coat, which he had kept on. He pulled out two bags of Mini Cheddars. ‘I brought along my own supper,’ he said. ‘I remember this happening before.’

Miles frowned at him, but I knew what he was talking about. ‘The evening of the pie,’ I said.

‘Ye-es,’ said David, opening the bags of Mini Cheddars and pouring them into a mound at the side of the platter.

‘Oh, God, I remember!’ Tom said.

‘What happened?’ Miles asked.

‘Lizzy spent all afternoon making a pie – why didn’t it work, Liz?’ Tom asked.

‘When I put it into the oven all the pastry slid off and crumbled into the meat,’ I said, trying to make out like that was how cool people cooked pies.

‘So she threw it away, and – where did we go?’ Tom turned to David.

‘To that pub in Maida Vale with the Thai restaurant upstairs.’

‘God, yes,’ Tom said, punching David’s arm. ‘Anyway,’ he went on. ‘We got back to Lizzy’s after the pub, and some friend of hers from university – you were trying to set me up with her, weren’t you, Lizzy?’

‘No,’ I said, lying.

David laughed at me. ‘You were, Lizzy,’ he said. ‘Marina. You said they’d be perfect for each other because they both loved US sitcoms.’

‘God, yes,’ Tom said, and shuddered. David chuckled, and patted him sympathetically on the back.

I wondered whether he had been aware that Tom was gay all along, then knew, with a quiet, depressing certainty, that he had.

‘She draped herself all over David – she thought you were going out with me – and Georgy sat on the sofa and got pissed, and then Ash arrived with that girl he was seeing – Gemma? And then you threw the pie in the bin and screamed, and all we had to eat was the green salad she’d made to go with it,’ he finished, looking around the table.

‘Yes,’ said David. He nodded gravely at me, but his smile was amused. ‘And then you made me go out to the corner shop and buy some Twiglets and – ironically – some Mini Cheddars. So it was serendipitous that I brought some this evening, I think.’

‘It’s not serendipitous,’ Tom scoffed. ‘You’ve got a good memory, that’s all. You don’t go out with Lizzy if you want to stuff your face all day. Either she’s got there before you or she’s thrown it away.’

‘That’s not why I went out with her, certainly,’ David said, and laughed. It was a nice laugh, somehow acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation. As if he had said, ‘it was ages ago. Look how mature we can all be about it now.’

And that was sad, too.

After that it wasn’t awkward. I laughed and joked – we all did. Miles flirted outrageously with me, which was great, and Tom was friendly and nice to David. Only in the brief pauses, as someone passed the food or asked for another glass of wine, did the masks start to slip.

As alcohol relaxed me I found my part easier to play. And Miles can rise to any social challenge. He has small talk in abundance, and can chat lightly on any subject under the sun.

‘So, Tom,’ he said, leaning forward, eyes glittering above his red wine, ‘had any dates lately?’

We’d just finished the main course (a handful of Mini Cheddars each, some bread, one artichoke, and a minuscule slice of bresaola, alas), and had spent the last ten minutes arguing over Tom’s choice of stag night for Gibbo. He wanted to take him on a group outing to
Singalonga Sound of Music
, and we were trying to persuade him that this was a terrible idea, which he strongly disputed.

Tom pushed his plate away, and dabbed at his mouth
with a napkin (a square of kitchen roll). ‘Mind your own business,’ he said.

‘Come on,’ Miles pressed him. ‘I want to know you’re laying waste the gay scene in London, that you spend every leisure hour applying false eyelashes and glitter and rushing out into Soho.’

‘No,’ said Tom, shortly. ‘I was at work yesterday till one o’clock in the morning, and the night before that till three. Tell me how I’m supposed to pull when I’m working hours like that.’

‘You could always try trawling the men’s loos in the office – you never know what you might come across.’ Miles pursed his lips in a
faux
-camp way and smiled.

‘Shut up, Miles,’ David said.

Tom didn’t seem to mind. ‘Is that how you get your dates, Miles? Good for you, my friend. Needs must, eh?’

Miles laughed. ‘Fuck off, Walter.’

Tom turned to David and said something about a bar in Soho that Jess had found recently and Miles swivelled to face me. ‘OK?’ he said, in a jokey tone.

I glanced round to see if the others were listening. ‘I’m fine. It’s weird, though.’

Under the table, he patted my hand surreptitiously. ‘It must be. Look, I’m so sorry about bringing him tonight. I forced you into a corner, I shouldn’t have done that whole thing with the plumber – it was really inconsiderate.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said, putting my hand on his. ‘It’s nice to see him again, under normal circs, too. Well, kind of normal circs.’

The conversation from the other side of the table suddenly became animated and Tom said something funny to David, pointing his finger and laughing.

‘How are you feeling about it now?’ Miles asked. ‘Like it’s all for the best? Or like it was a big mistake?’

‘Er…Bit of both, really,’ I said noncommittally. ‘What’s done is done, and there’s no going back.’

‘And do you
really
think that?’ said Miles, quietly.

The others erupted again. ‘You fell out of the cab!’ David yelled at Tom.

Jess threw back her head and laughed. ‘He did! You’re right, he did!’ she said. ‘Lizzy,’ she appealed to me, ‘didn’t Tom fall out of the cab the night we all went to that cheesy Sloanes’ club in South Ken?’

‘I bloody never did,’ said Tom, crossly.

‘You did, I’m afraid,’ said David, patting him comfortingly on the back and smiling broadly. ‘Let me refresh your memory. You hailed the cab and we all queued to get in, and you climbed in first and opened the other door and fell straight out on the other side.’ He turned to me. I sat up straight and Miles’s hand slid off my leg. ‘Didn’t he, Liz?’

‘You did, Tom,’ I agreed. ‘You rolled into some iron railings and you said, “Where am I?”’

‘I completely dispute that,’ said Tom.

‘Tough,’ said David. His eyes met mine. ‘We were witnesses. Lizzy had to take you back to our flat, remember? Her flat, I mean.’

I nodded, smiling at them both. ‘That is also true.’ I slumped back in my chair, feeling slightly sick as I remembered how things had been and how they were now.

Miles turned to me again as the others carried on chatting. ‘Anyway, my love, I’m going to take you out to supper next week to apologize for bringing my horrible brother.’

‘You don’t have to,’ I said.

‘No, I don’t,’ Miles said, ‘but I want to.’

‘It wasn’t your fault. It’s – well, it’s David’s fault, I suppose, then mine, and so on, but not yours, well—’

Miles interrupted. ‘I insist. What are friends for?’

‘OK, then,’ I said. ‘Nice. Where?’

‘You
are
ticklish!’ Tom screeched. ‘Jess, you bloody liar, you so are ticklish! Everywhere!’

‘I’m so absolutely not,’ replied Jess.

‘This great new members’ club in Covent Garden I’ve just joined,’ Miles said, running his fingers up and down the stem of his wine glass, trying to ignore the others. ‘Ha. David tried to get in last year and they wouldn’t have him. Membership full. But I got in. He’s gutted.’

‘Revenge is sweet,’ I said, as David grabbed Jess in a neck-lock and tickled her till she screamed.

‘Does anyone want any coffee?’ I said after pudding (a few fondant fancies), as I pushed back my chair with a plate in each hand.

‘Peppermint tea for me, please,’ said Jess.

‘Coffee,’ said Tom, lighting another cigarette. I wedged the salad bowl under my arm. ‘Coming right up,’ I said. ‘David, how about you?’ I knew what he’d say, just as I knew he loved Colmans and hated grainy mustard. Just as I knew he loved ham and his favourite meal was steak with béarnaise sauce.

He looked tired and a little drunk. Bearing in mind the lack of food and the abundance of alcohol this was no surprise. ‘Coffee, please. No milk,’ he said. He pulled the bowl from under my arm. ‘Don’t carry that, Lizzy.’