Too Close For Comfort (30 page)

I wanted to avoid the comparison game, but sadly that level of spiritual self-mastery was beyond me. I’d only seen Rowena once before – at that party of Saffron’s – and
Lysette had deliberately avoided introducing us. She was wearing a blandly elegant long black dress – in fact most people who hadn’t been offered Kimberley’s cast-offs were
wearing long – her auburn hair swept up in a chignon. I wanted to call it ginger, but it would have been a misrepresentation. Her brown eyes scoped the room, a certain nervous energy to her.
She was perfectly attractive: nothing more, nothing less. I stopped myself analysing any further, spared both of us the indignity of trying to tally up our scores. He didn’t deserve it, and
my heartbroken teenage assumptions about the kind of woman who would hold his heart in a way I couldn’t were irrelevant now. Being around him felt like a game of snakes and ladders, my adult
self prone to slithering downwards into some kind of teenage mental hellhole. Right at that moment Jim glanced over, caught me looking at Rowena. His smile as he approached was a smug one.

‘You’re looking well!’ he said.

‘I look like an overcooked sausage,’ I said. ‘It’s Kimberley’s dress, and it’s about two sizes too small.’ I stuck out my hand, unnecessarily formal.
‘Hello, I’m Mia,’ I said to Rowena. ‘Lovely to meet you.’

‘Well, you look like a very classy sausage,’ said Jim, his words overlapping with Rowena’s.

‘I’m Jim’s wife,’ she said, as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious. ‘Rowena. You’re Lysette’s friend from London, aren’t you?’

I could see in her face, in the determined tilt of her jaw, that she knew full well that I had once been far more than that.

‘I am, yes.’

Jim’s smug smile was yet to evaporate: I had a feeling he was actually enjoying the awkwardness. How long could Lysette take to get back? I raised my glass to my lips, transferring it to
my left hand in a pathetic attempt to ward off any hostility with a flash of my engagement ring.

‘So, Mia’s the investigation’s secret weapon,’ said Jim. ‘She’s right in there, finding out what everyone’s been up to.’

Rowena’s eyes narrowed.

‘I’m not at all,’ I said, trying not to sound defensive. ‘I’ve just been offering a bit of support to people where I can. It’s such a horrible thing
that’s happened.’

‘Yes, so I’ve heard,’ said Rowena, her tone knowing. ‘That poor little boy.’

She’d obviously heard about a very specific sliver of my work. Who from? Would Lysette really be bringing me up to her? I discreetly swivelled my gaze, willing her to come back and save
me, but there was no sign of her. The grand chamber was filling fast, a mass of satin and velvet. Plummy voices bounced off the stone walls, champagne flowing into eagerly tilted glasses.

‘I like him very much,’ I said.

‘Mia to the rescue!’ said Jim, dinner-jacketed arm flung forwards like a superhero mid-flight. A long-suffering look swept across Rowena’s face, then swiftly disappeared.

‘He’s an odd one, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘I’m sure he’ll miss you once you’ve gone.’

Was she reassuring herself or warning me?

‘I don’t know about that,’ I said. ‘He’s barely seen me.’

There was a grinding pause.

‘We should say some hellos,’ said Rowena eventually, her hand still tightly entwined with Jim’s. ‘Lovely to finally meet you, Mia,’ she said, without any
discernible warmth. Her eyes lingered a beat longer, making the same split-second calculations I’d already run: the grandes dames of feminism would surely have despaired of us. She led Jim
away, missed him turning to mouth an unnecessary apology to me as they were swallowed up by the crowd.

There was still no sign of Lysette. Helena and her husband were deep in a conversation with another couple and I felt too unsettled by my uncomfortable encounter with Rowena to go and crash it.
As I considered my options, I heard the clink of metal against glass: Nigel was stepping onto a stage that was set up at the far end of the room. He scanned the crowd as he did so, the setting sun
streaming through the stained-glass windows behind him. He looked almost biblical, a prophet giving his very own sermon on the mount.

‘So sorry to intrude on what’s already proving to be a sparkling evening,’ he said.

Kimberley and Lysette were hurrying back now, bright-eyed and conspiratorial. Nigel’s eyes settled on them a second and from the set of his face I could tell that Kimberley’s
presence was what he’d been scanning for before he began.

‘The fact that you’re here, that you’ve taken time out of your busy lives to think about lives so much less fortunate than ours, is a source of great comfort and
pride.’

The two of them had planted themselves to the left of the stage, and now Lysette was vigorously beckoning me over. Part of me wanted to ignore her, punish her for abandoning me for a good
fifteen minutes, but it was too churlish. I breathed in the crowd as I squeezed my way through the nest of their tightly packed bodies. I couldn’t really imagine Patrick in this stiff
environment – I knew how ludicrous and alien he’d find it. It made me only half wish he was here, a fact that made me prickle with unease.

Nigel’s words washed over me as I wriggled my way through the crush of rapt guests.

‘These children – facing a fate that’s almost unimaginable – could be our children,’ he was saying. ‘And every one of us would walk through fire if they
were.’ I thought of those mean-spirited little boys, wondered if they really felt like their gilded, accomplished parents would walk through fire on their behalf?

I arrived next to Lysette, but she barely seemed to notice me. Her left hand was wrapped around Kimberley’s, her eyes locked on Nigel. My unease sharpened. What was this? Was that kiss
Kimberley gave me in the bathroom nothing but a Little Copping version of hello?

‘So I ask you to dig deep. To shake out your purses and wallets until they’re raining money!’ He raised his hands, fire in his eyes. ‘Come on, Cambridge, let’s
start a tsunami.’ The crowd whooped and cheered. ‘Let’s show these families how much we care. Let’s raise our glasses and drop our cash. Here’s to a wonderful
night.’

Lysette and Kimberley were cheering with the best of them, stamping their feet at each other in a frenzied huddle. I primly clapped, watching Nigel zigzagging through the adoring crowd towards
us. Ushers were trawling the room with buckets, people scribbling cheques and bundling in notes. Eventually he arrived at his wife’s side.

‘Well done, darling!’ said Kimberley, reaching upwards to plant an extravagant kiss on his lips. All eyes were on them and she knew it.

‘It seemed to do the job, didn’t it?’ he said, his face ablaze. His eyes kept scoping in the humming room, feeding off the pulsing energy.

‘Abso-fucking-lutely,’ said Lysette, smashing her flute against Kimberley’s. There was no doubt she was well on her way to the danger zone. As I looked at her, trying to keep
the worry out of my face, I caught Jim’s eye. He was staring at her too, but now his face melted into a slow smile. I gave a tight one back, deliberately returning to the conversation.

‘I’m definitely overdue a drink,’ said Nigel, a waitress magically appearing at his side. ‘You look in need of libation too, Mia. Can I oblige?’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And you totally deserve one – you did brilliantly up there.’

He plucked two glasses from the waitress’s tray, threw away a dazzling smile. She visibly coloured, then shuffled off, embarrassed. I felt an unexpected stab of sympathy for Kimberley
– I wasn’t sure how comfortable I’d be if Patrick’s off beat charm had that effect on other women. Nigel was good-looking, sure, but not so good-looking you’d double
take. It was about that mix of power and charisma, all shot through with a potent dose of self-belief.

‘He always does,’ said Kimberley, latticing her fingers through his and shaking out her cascading curls. ‘We’re really pleased you were able to come when the invitation
was
so
last minute. It’s just too bad Patrick couldn’t make it.’

It still felt weird, hearing his name coming out of her mouth. He felt so far away right now.

‘Absolutely,’ agreed Nigel. ‘You were very game, letting my wife clothe you. I must say, you’ve given that dress a whole new lease of life.’

I froze, not sure if my discomfort was an overreaction – an echo of a childhood spent calculating whether my father’s latest fawning ‘friend’ was something more dangerous
to me and my mum. No one else seemed to flinch.

‘Mia’s my oldest mate,’ said Lysette. ‘Of course she came. Helena!’ she shouted, the volume turned up too high. She waved enthusiastically, arm windmilling above
her head. ‘Helena!’

I was deeply relieved to have our awkward little quartet broken up. Helena dispensed warm hugs, introduced me to her comfortingly normal husband Chris, congratulated Nigel.

‘You look great,’ she said, and I decided to take her at her word, use it as a means to take Nigel’s comment as the straightforward compliment it was no doubt intended to
be.

‘So do you!’ I said. It was true that the black lace of her dress was stretched taut, but she looked womanly and rounded, her crimson lips and chunky gold jewellery adding to her
presence.

‘No Ged?’ Chris asked Lysette, and I saw her face crumple a little bit.

‘My boyfriend couldn’t make it either,’ I said quickly. ‘You’re very game, agreeing to get suited and booted.’

He looked like a man who was used to a suit, but not in a pompous way. He had laughter lines round his eyes, a bit of a paunch under his dress shirt. I got an immediate sense of him being
comfortable in his own skin.

‘I just do what I’m told,’ he laughed, looking fondly at Helena, but his attention came too late. She’d been sucked away by Kimberley, by the deadly vortex of her
attention. Lysette was also orphaned, pain blooming in her face now she’d been denied a distraction from Sarah’s absence.

‘I need some water,’ I said quietly. ‘Come and find it with me?’

She nodded, and we slipped off. It was childish, but I felt like I’d achieved something by spiriting her away from Kimberley. I grabbed a glass, then pulled her towards a stone bench,
built into the curved wall. It felt tucked away, the cacophony of voices bouncing off the domed ceiling and reverberating around us.

‘Are you OK?’ I said. ‘That guy was hideous – grabbing at us like that. I know . . .’

I didn’t finish the sentence, aware I was a stuck record. Besides, I didn’t know. Not really.

‘He was grabbing at
you
,’ she said, morose. Her eyes scanned the room, an expression of bitterness on her face. ‘I didn’t matter at
all.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘I knew Sarah better than anyone.’

Their circle of two. All of us – even Kimberley – were now the consolation prize.

‘Better than Joshua?’ I said lightly. I was needling her, I knew I was.

‘Way better,’ she said, emphatic. ‘It’s different, isn’t it? Men just don’t get it a lot of the time.’

The words felt burdened with meaning, overripe. She’d always been so relaxed with Ged, accepting of both of their imperfections; in the years before I’d met Patrick, I’d envied
them that ease.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I think it’s dangerous if we start thinking of them as a different species. I’m not sure they are from Mars, really.’ A look of
irritation scudded across her face. ‘I’m not saying it’s easy. I need to put some serious work in with Patrick when I get home.’

‘You’ve always got a curriculum, haven’t you?’ she said, and I tried not to feel stung. The trust between us was still so shaky: it had that juddering quality that might
or might not signal an earthquake.

‘I try to make an effort with things,’ I said, my voice high and unnatural.

‘I need to make an effort with Ged,’ she said, her shoulders suddenly drooping. ‘It’s not good between us, Mia. Hasn’t been for ages.’

I felt a wash of guilt – all those months I hadn’t noticed how troubled she was. Her problems with Ged – they were only a fragment of a bigger whole. And I was fast running out
of time to see the big picture.

‘Is it about money? I know you’re really strapped . . .’

‘I know I owe you that money,’ she said, snappy in a way that smacked of shame. ‘I will get it back to you.’

‘It’s not important . . .’ As I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. It was the official version of my feelings, presented to cause minimum upset.

‘The way it’s been between us – that’s why I’ve needed my friends so much. Not having Sarah . . .’ Her eyes filled. ‘Thanks for putting up with
me.’

‘I’m not putting up with you,’ I said. ‘You’re – you’re my friend.’ Now it was my words which were too pregnant with meaning. ‘And you and
Ged – he really loves you, Lys. Friends are a different thing. We’d wind each other up too if we permanently had to share a bathroom.’ A painful, wrenching memory of her asking me
to leave – the twist of her face as she did it. I couldn’t risk venturing back there. ‘Though it’s true I wouldn’t leave the loo seat up and pee around the
side,’ I added, my smile forced.

She shrugged her shoulders, a discomfort about her.

‘Kimberley thinks you don’t like her,’ she said quickly.

Of course. A passive-aggressive masterstroke.

‘Really?’

‘She’s worried she’s upset you.’

‘Right,’ I said, trying to quell the heat building up inside me. I looked out into the hubbub, buying myself a few precious seconds. My eyes alighted on Jake, expertly choreographing
a fleet of waiting staff. They were filing out of the kitchens, canapés piled high on silver trays, fanning out into the crowd like synchronised swimmers. Increasingly tipsy guests grabbed
at the tasty morsels, barely looking at the human beings delivering them. ‘So why does she think that?’

‘She thought you were a bit weird with her in the car. And you didn’t really say thank you for the dress. Don’t worry – I smoothed it over. I told her it was my fault
– you were upset I’d shot my mouth off about the baby stuff. It’s fine.’ It was absolutely not fine. I bit my lip, my mouth forming itself into a grim line. ‘Maybe
just say thank you later. If you get the chance.’