‘Oh, it is. Gorgeous part of the world.’
‘So how did you actually meet?’ I said.
Ian looked bashful. ‘I saved his life, actually.’
‘Blimey,’ I said.
Gibbo overheard us, and slapped Ian on the back. ‘He sure did!’ he exclaimed. ‘I was hanging out at a café by the beach, drinking a beer. Then suddenly I turn dark purple and go rigid. They think I’m dead, right? And Ian – he’s a doctor, thank God – he just happened to be there. Otherwise I’d have been a goner. He bent down, reached into my throat and – ‘ he leaned forward, and said in sepulchre-like tones – ‘and he pulled out a bit of rope that big – I was choking to death. Had a knot in it. This size.’ He held his hands six inches apart.
Ian nodded modestly.
I was confused. ‘But, Gibbo, why didn’t you notice you’d swallowed it?’
‘Who knows?’ said Gibbo with interest. ‘Who knows. Ah, mate, great to have you here!’ he said, and slapped Ian on the back again.
Miles caught my eye as he shifted back on to the bench and handed Jess and me a martini each. ‘Classic,’ he murmured. ‘Vintage Walter situation.’
‘Shut up,’ I said, but I couldn’t help smiling.
‘How are you?’ said Miles. ‘Still on for tomorrow?’
‘Sure am,’ I said. ‘Where were you thinking of going?’
‘Well, it’s going to be pretty nice weather, apparently, so I thought Richmond Park. I’ve got a big rug and I can pick up some food on the way. We can go for a bit of a stroll afterwards. How does that sound?’
I looked round the crowded bar, filling up with ever more bejewelled, skinny men and women, then at Gibbo, Bozzer and Tom, who were chatting together, and Jess, talking to Ian and his mate Phil. ‘That sounds great,’ I said. ‘Here’s to tomorrow.’
‘Definitely,’ said Miles.
So we all sat there, an odd collection of people if ever there was one, as the old Italian waiters circled and polite bubbles of early-evening conversation drifted around us.
‘Well, what a week,’ Tom said, stretching out his feet. ‘How are we all, after last weekend’s revelations?’
‘I still can’t believe it,’ said Jess, and sipped her martini gloomily.
‘Me either,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve been calling Mike all week, but I haven’t heard a thing from him. Bastard.’
‘What’s it going to be like at the wedding?’ Jess said. ‘He’ll still come, won’t he?’
‘I’m sure he will,’ I said. ‘You know our family. We’ll all smile and pretend everything’s fine. And—’
‘What?’ Tom said.
‘Well, he should be there, shouldn’t he?’
‘I don’t see why,’ said Tom coldly.
‘He should see what he’s done,’ I said.
‘I suppose,’ Tom agreed. ‘But, still, it doesn’t make you look forward to it, particularly.’
‘Why?’ said Jess.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘we’re moving out four days later. The bloody packing cases’ll be everywhere, and Mike, and we’ll be pretending everything’s OK. And – and—’
‘And David, too,’ said Jess. ‘He’ll be there.’
‘Perhaps he won’t,’ I said hopefully.
‘He is coming,’ said Miles. ‘He’s flying in the day before. He’s going to see Dad in Spain afterwards. He and Chin are close, aren’t they? Sorry.’
‘Of course,’ Tom said. ‘I’d forgotten.’
‘Oh, great,’ I said, although I knew this was true. Like most of my family, Chin thought David was the bee’s knees. They liked long walks, too. Ugh, some people.
‘Well, you can have a reckoning with him,’ Tom said consolingly. ‘Get really drunk and tell him what a wanker he is.’
‘Ye-es,’ I said. ‘But I’d rather do it with a devastatingly handsome new boyfriend on my arm. I tried to bribe Jaden to come but he’s back in LA. And anyway,’ I said, remembering the conversation I’d had with him earlier in the week, ‘he was really annoying about it. He said I was being negative about the past and trapping myself in a holding booth.’ I made a pshaw noise. ‘God, he’s so hilarious sometimes.’
‘I think he’s right,’ Tom said.
‘Shut up!’ I said. ‘What does it even mean?’
‘It means you’re stuck in a rut and you won’t try new things. You just keep going back to some point in your past and blaming it for everything,’ Tom said helpfully.
‘Well, it’s not bloody true,’ I said crossly. ‘You don’t know the first thing about it.’
‘Oh, yes? Give me an example of something new you’re doing, then,’ said Tom.
‘Well, I’m moving to LA in two months’ time,’ I said conversationally.
Jess started.
‘What did you say?’ Miles said, at my elbow.
‘I said,’ I took a deep breath, ‘I’m moving to LA. I’ve got a job out there. For a year. I just want to – to try something new. See what’s out there.’
Tom floored me. ‘That’s a brilliant idea. Lucky you.’ He kissed me. ‘I’m going to miss you so much. Can I come and stay? God, I’m proud of you.’
Miles raised his glass to me.
‘So am I,’ Jess said. ‘But, oh, Lizzy, I’m going to miss you. Can I come and stay too? Can you rent a house by the beach?’
‘I’m going to live with Jaden for a bit,’ I said. ‘His apartment is by the beach. It’ll be for a couple of months till I find somewhere. So I’ve got one friend there, which makes life easier.’
‘Cool!’ said Jess.
‘It’ll be great,’ said Tom. ‘God, this is weird. You’re going to LA!’
‘I know!’ I said. ‘I’m so glad you’re pleased. I haven’t told Mum and Dad yet – I don’t know what they’ll think.’
‘They’ll think it’s a great idea,’ Miles said, ‘and they’ll be so proud of you, too.’
I was shaking a bit: I hadn’t realized it would be such a big deal to tell the others, and I was taken aback by how quickly they had embraced it. Perhaps they’d been longing to get shot of me, I thought gloomily.
Tom and Jess were discussing the best time for them to visit when Miles touched my shoulder. ‘So, this is really happening?’ he murmured into my ear.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘I’m going to miss you, Lizzy.’
‘Well, me too,’ I said. ‘It’ll be weird not seeing you for ages. Especially after this last year when we’ve been friends the way we used to be before – well, before David. And now this.’
‘Well, it’s good in that respect,’ said Miles, gazing into his drink.
‘How?’ I asked, as Gibbo came over and squatted beside Tom and Jess.
‘Well, it draws a line under you and David, doesn’t it? And you need that. You’ll come back after a year and it’ll seem like ancient history. At the moment you’re still raw.’
‘I’m not, really,’ I said frankly. ‘I’m over him now. I just – I thought he was the one. And it takes time to realise that you were wrong about something like that. Jaden helped me do that, actually. It all seems like a million years ago now.’
‘Really?’ Miles said curiously.
‘Really,’ I said. ‘For example, for a long time I saw you simply as David’s brother. But for the last couple of months – well, I don’t look at you like that now. I see you. Miles. My friend. You’re a better friend to me than David ever was.’
‘I hope so,’ said Miles. ‘Let’s talk about it more tomorrow. I think Gibbo wants us to go now.’
‘Righty-ho, then,’ I said.
Tom stood up officiously. ‘Right, people, let’s get moving,’ he said, and everyone got up to put on their coats. ‘OK, get up, put your coats on. Now, where are the tickets? And where’s my wallet? I must go to the loo. Can you hurry up, those of you who need to use the facilities before we go, please? We’ll meet back here.’
‘We’re all ready,’ said Jess, as Miles passed me my coat. ‘It’s just you.�
�
‘Right,’ said Tom, and dashed off.
Gibbo appeared between me and Jess. He tapped Miles’s shoulder and gestured that he should step to one side. ‘You don’t mind, do you, mate?’ he said, linking his arms through Jess’s and mine. ‘Well, this is what I call a pretty bonzer night out,’ he said, as we walked out of the bar. ‘Off with my soon-to-be nieces for some real twenties musical action. Rock on, Tommy.’
‘Yes,’ Miles murmured behind us, as we went out into the early April evening. ‘Vintage Walter situation.’
TWENTY-FIVE
It’s fair to say that the Gibbo’s Friends and soon-to-be relatives Wish Him Bon Voyage night was an unqualified success. Bozzer taught Tom how to wolf-whistle in the interval of Chicago, and he proved such a natural that he was cautioned by the ushers in the applause after ‘Give ‘Em The Old Razzle Dazzle’. Frank and Miles discovered a mutual love of racing, and spent the rest of the evening discussing form and swapping tips. Gibbo and Jess burnt a hefty sum on sweets at the bar and ate them, enraptured by the show – Gibbo because of the flesh on display, Jess because it was short and the plot wasn’t too complicated: after eight she tends to fall asleep if she sits in one place for too long. Tom and I whooped and cheered whenever Michael Greco appeared. I’m ashamed to say that Tom ‘I wasn’t officially gay this time last year’ disgraced us by standing up during the curtain call, shouting, ‘Beppe! Here!’ and pointing at himself.
Afterwards we went to Miles’s club in Soho where we drank ourselves stupid: and a party was in full swing to celebrate the club’s first anniversary. A Party with a Disco. Gibbo did something so hilariously noteworthy we all separately wrote it down so we’d be able to remind Bozzer to mention it in his speech (I found my piece of paper the next day, I had written, ‘Gboo hands crypt ?? why!! For’ Thank god for Miles, he remembered.) So we danced ourselves stupid after that, and one of the last things I remember is Gibbo trying to samba with Frank, and Bozzer staring with un-natural intensity at Jess as I slid off the leather banquette and folded myself up neatly under the table.
So it was with a rather delicate gait and a hazy memory of the previous night’s events that I emerged from my flat the next day as Miles’s car purred outside on the cobbles. I raised my hand in greeting, then gingerly placed the rug, some bottles of water, Twiglets (emergency rations) and some radishes (I always keep them at the back of the fridge: excellent hangover cure, trust me) in the back of his open-top Mercedes, which I coveted with a deadly covetousness.
It was a lovely day, and if my stretch of the Edgware Road had had frivolous luxuries like trees and birds, the former would have been rudely green and the latter chirping merrily. Miles watched as I pulled unsuccessfully at the door handle and slumped weakly against the car. ‘I think I’m going to be ill,’ I said. ‘I can actually smell the wine going into my liver. How disgusting is that?’
Miles came round to my side of the car, opened the door and pushed me on to the seat. ‘No, you can smell the chicken liver pâté in the picnic hamper, you alky,’ he said.
‘I am going to be ill,’ I said, resting my head on the dashboard.
‘Lift your legs into the car, Lizzy.’ He shut my door. ‘What you need is another drink. I’ve got some fizz in the back and we’ll have a glass when we get there. Just sit back and enjoy the fresh air. It’ll do you good.’
I didn’t argue, even though the air where I live is 90 per cent lead and 10 per cent carbon monoxide and not fresh at all. Miles put on his shades and edged the car out on to the Edgware Road. ‘I just hope it was worth it,’ he said, as we hit the Westway.
‘What? Feeling like this? I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I can’t really remember the last part much. But what I do remember I really enjoyed.’
‘You looked like you were having fun.’ Miles was trying not to laugh. ‘You offered to give Frank a lapdance.’
‘I didn’t!’ I froze. ‘You’re lying!’
‘I wish I were. I don’t think he heard you, though. He was too busy gazing at Jess’s tits.’
‘Don’t be vulgar.’
‘He was. You slow-danced with Bozzer, then sat on Gibbo’s lap and told him you wished he was your blood relative, not Chin.’
Sadly, I remembered doing both of these things. ‘Oh, God.’
‘And you tried to kiss the barman when he gave you a free drink.’
‘I did, didn’t I?’
Disjointed memories of the evening flew at me, as if I was Tippi Hedren in The Birds. I shrank into my seat and closed my eyes to try to block them out, as Miles turned on Jonathan Ross and laughed callously at my shame.
We drove in silence for a while, listening to the radio. The sun shone as we headed west and I soon started to feel more human. As we turned off the Upper Richmond Road towards the park, I sat up again and took a sip of water. ‘Argh,’ I said.
‘How are you feeling?’ said Miles.
‘Better,’ I said ruefully. ‘How about you? Aren’t you at all hung-over? You were getting through the wine like – like a hot fish through butter.’
‘Speak English, Lizzy,’ said Miles, patiently. ‘You’re still making no sense. Talking of which, how much sense were you talking last night?’
‘Er…’ I said warily. ‘I don’t know. Depends. What did I say?’
‘You said…well, you said some interesting things when you were drunk.’ Miles paused, giving me ample time to reflect on what I might have disclosed on a number of potentially embarrassing topics.
‘Don’t. Tell me.’
Miles is the kind of man for whom parking spaces magically appear. We pulled into one he spotted in a tree-lined street exactly like the one we had lived in before Keeper House. He switched off the engine and turned to look at me. ‘OK. You said you’d slept with that dorky American.’
‘Oh.’
‘Is it true?’ Miles took off his shades and opened the door.
‘Not sure,’ I said, stumbling out.
‘What’s his name again?’ Miles said, opening the boot and taking out the hamper. ‘Jonquil? Jabba?’
‘It’s Jaden – and be nice.’
‘You clearly are.’ Miles leaned into the boot so his voice was muffled. ‘Isn’t he a bit of a wanker, Lizzy? What the hell were you doing with him?’
‘Er…’ I was thrown by this. ‘Well, he’s a bit strange, but he’s not a wanker.’
‘Yes, he is,’ Miles said, standing up. ‘Come on, let’s go. I know the perfect spot.’
‘Right,’ I said, pissed off. I stood in the middle of the road. ‘Er, Miles, shut up about Jaden, OK? I don’t care what you think of him, but don’t be rude about him to me.’
Miles had walked on ahead but he stopped, turned, and saw the look on my face. ‘Sorry, Lizzy,’ he said awkwardly.
‘That’s OK. Just…you know.’
‘I was out of order. I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Fine,’ I said, relieved. I unbent a little more – he looked shaken. ‘And I’m not going out with him. We’re just good friends. Who have sex. Occasionally. He’s nice.’
We were at the entrance to the park. A little boy on a fat-tyred bike zoomed between us and ahead the land fell away into a haze of grey and green, carved up with white paths.
‘It’s this way.’
We set off, cutting through the middle. Miles was silent for a while as we walked. Then he said, ‘So, are the two of you not…’ He tipped his head to one side and winked lasciviously, ‘wna-wna any more?’
I laughed. ‘No, we’re not. It wasn’t really about that, although it was pretty great…whatever, you know what I mean.’
Miles sighed. ‘Again, no, I have no idea what you mean, but I get the gist. So will you…wna-wna in LA with Jaden?’
‘No!’ I said. ‘Well, I might, but on a strictly now-and-again basis. Is that all?’
‘Sorry,’ said Miles. ‘I’m just jealous.’
‘Of course you are,’ I said. ‘That reminds me. I tried to snog you l
ast night, didn’t I? How embarrassing. I’m so sorry.’
‘Here’s the spot,’ said Miles, obviously not listening. ‘Let’s get comfortable. I’ll pour you a drink.’
Miles threw the rug amid the long grass and the sun beat down. I put on my floppy straw hat and lay on the ground. Miles had certainly come prepared: there was a cool box with bottled water, orange juice and the afore-mentioned champagne, and one of those old-fashioned wicker hampers, with a checked lining and dear little sets of plates and cutlery, stuffed with sandwiches, crisps, pork pies, the pâté and my favourite Scotch eggs. We munched happily for a while. I could hear children playing in the distance, and the rushing sound of the wind in the bracken all around us. The grass was long enough to hide in, and there was something curiously comforting about that.
After we’d demolished most of the picnic, I started packing away the things while Miles lay back and smoked a cigarette. ‘Thanks so much, Miles. That was perfect,’ I said, as I sat down beside him again.
‘Have some more champagne,’ Miles said, sitting up. ‘Come on, it’s the last bit.’
‘I shouldn’t really,’ I said – it had gone straight to my head.
‘You know you want to,’ Miles said. ‘Come on – how many times in one week does a girl decide she’s moving to the other side of the world?’
‘Oh, go on, then,’ I said. We clinked glasses and sat in perfect harmony for a couple of minutes. I looked at Miles out of the corner of my eye. It was surprising, sometimes, how very much like David he looked, although his hair was longer and wavier and he was shorter. I thought about Jess, how people always said we were similar, and how we both thought that was rubbish. Perhaps it was true, though. I tried to picture what Jess would look like with my hair and vice versa. Then I wondered what we would look like with Mum’s short, curly hair. Then I realized I was wasting time in drunken, pointless speculation, and turned to Miles to tell him, only to find he was fast asleep. I touched his shoulder, but he didn’t move, so I pushed him harder.
He half opened one eye. ‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Hello. Sorry, you were asleep, and I woke you.’
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