Chapter 8
I was only background noise at The Boisdale, something to keep the diners from hearing dishes dropped in the kitchen. I shouldn’t have been nervous. It was just a regular gig with the usual musicians, competing as normal with the clattering of cutlery and brays and whinnies of the middle classes. Yet I was sweating like the goalkeeper in a penalty shootout. Because The Musician was there. Thank God it was my last song.
The first time I sang for money I got so nervous that I tripped over the mic stand and fell off the stage. Only my self-esteem was bruised, and I got an enthusiastic round of applause for my gymnastic talents. I didn’t even know anyone in that audience. If I had, I might have followed up with an encore, vomiting on the front row.
I felt a little vomity as I prepared to saunter as casually as humanly possible to The Musician’s table. Sitting with him was a man wearing sunglasses. It was near midnight. Indoors. He didn’t appear to be blind. There was no white stick, no dozy Labrador at his feet. Excess arrogance rather than lack of vision seemed to be the reason for the shades.
As I stepped off the stage, the booking manager’s wave caught my eye. I was more than happy for the detour, and the extra time to compose myself.
‘Hi, B., nice set,’ he said, smiling. He was a nice man, though we didn’t usually chat much. ‘I just wanted to let you know that we’re thinking of making a few changes. To the programme. This recession, you know, it’s cutting into business quite a lot, so, well, we’ll be running all-instrumental jazz evenings for a bit. I just wanted to let you know, in case you wondered why we weren’t booking you. It’s not you, you’re great and we’ve really enjoyed having you here. It’s just, well, we need to cut back, for now, and assess where we are.’
He looked terribly embarrassed to have resorted to the old ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech. I felt myself shaking. But shocked as I was, I still felt sorry for him.
‘Wow, okay, well, thanks for telling me. I’ll be sad not to play here, but I understand. Are you able to keep the rest of the guys?’ Given that the band’s combined age exceeded that of the United States, I wasn’t hopeful that they’d find new employment.
‘Oh, yes, they’re okay, thank you for asking. Here, I’ve got your cheque. Really, B., thanks so much.’ He kissed my cheek, handing me my last music-related pay cheque. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Well, all right, em, thanks for having me. And yes, I’d like a glass of Rioja please. You know what? Make that a vodka and tonic.’
‘Double?’
‘Please.’
I was officially an out-of-work musician. Finally it had happened. My musical aspirations had withered into sultanas. It was an uncomfortable realisation to accommodate after more than two decades of thinking of myself in a certain way, of being validated as a singer, by having a manager, by getting gigs. But really, I should have noticed my incredible shrinking musical persona before. It had been ten years since I had a manager or worked regularly. Was I really that delusional? Yes, I was. That’s what made the booking manager’s news such a kick in the gut – the distance between where I was, and where I thought I’d been. Small steps back up the ladder seemed possible. But Evel Knievel would have struggled to make the leap I was going to have to make if I really wanted to succeed. And it struck me as I stood there watching the musicians pack up that I did want it. I really wanted it, so much so that it made it hard to breathe. I’d lost something that was part of me. That realisation kind of put talking to The Musician into perspective. I felt ill for a whole new reason.
‘This is a surprise,’ I said to him as I approached their table.
‘Yeah, hope you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘We were around here and I remembered you were gigging. Can you sit with us for a bit?’
He sounded drunk as he introduced me to his friend. ‘Sure,’ I said, sitting beside The Musician. ‘I’m finished now.’
‘You’re talented,’ he said, leaning in to me. His kiss tasted of something sweet. Whisky? ‘Great voice!’
What a sucker I was for a talent-related compliment. Who wouldn’t be? It was miles better than an appearance-related one which, at least when uttered by a man, was often just verbal lubricant to slide you into bed. ‘Thanks. I can’t take too much credit for it. My mum’s a great singer.’ Actually, she was a marvel. Classically trained thanks to parents bent on having an operatic daughter, as a teen she sneaked around offering to sing for free in any seedy club that’d let her on stage. Few dives passed up free entertainment even when it bordered on child exploitation. By her early twenties she was a favourite amongst Chicago’s music lovers. She cut her first record on her twenty-fifth birthday, and many of her songs became embedded in the collective memory of an entire generation. It was ‘But For You’ that made her a national treasure, though. It was one of the enduring love anthems of the seventies, and Mum’s career rocketed from there. She still got asked in restaurants for her autograph. She pretended to be embarrassed but she loved it. Dad too. There wasn’t a man on the planet prouder of his wife than my dad.
‘I enjoyed your set,’ said Sunglasses. ‘You have quite a nice range, and real depth and timbre to your voice. It was really clear on that last song. Who represents you?’
‘Here?’ I asked, like I had managers scattered around other cities. ‘No one. I really just do this gig.’ Did. Past tense. I wasn’t about to disclose that, though.
The Musician said that Sunglasses was a manager, kicking my vomitometer into overdrive again. Sunglasses appraised me. ‘Why only here? You could work a lot more if you wanted to.’
If I’d wanted to. I bridled at the blame that implied. Like getting gigs was as easy as clicking my heels three times. Bookers didn’t exactly have me on speed dial. You had to bust your arse just to get a chance to get a gig…
Which meant I had no right to feel aggrieved. He was right. I hadn’t had more work because I hadn’t wanted it badly enough. Simple as that. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t just my music that had enjoyed the path of least resistance, was it? I also didn’t like working for foul Fiona. I could have found work away from her, but I didn’t. I let her keep booking me. And I probably hadn’t needed ten years to realise I wasn’t in love with Mattias. It was just easier not to rock the boat. And yes, Sunglasses, since you mention it, I could have put in the legwork to find more gigs and establish myself in London. But I didn’t. Was it too late now? ‘I really want to,’ I told him truthfully. ‘I just hope I can.’
‘Well, it takes time, yeah? I’m still building, and always looking for talent. I started mostly on the rap side but R&B is more my thing. Rap is a bit derivative, you know what I mean?’
I had no idea what he meant. ‘Yeah,’ I lied. ‘Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the set. Yours,’ I said to The Musician, drawing his attention back from the new twenty-two-year-old waitress, whose breasts seemed to have their own gravitational pull. ‘Is in a couple of weeks, right?’
‘Yeah, at the 606 Club. Hey, you were really good,’ he slurred again. ‘How about a drink?’ He noticed my glass. ‘I mean another drink? Or don’t you usually stay here after the set? We can go somewhere else.’ He clasped my hand and pulled it to his thigh. ‘Do you want to go somewhere else?’
‘What else is open? It’s a bit late now.’
‘My place is open.’ He nuzzled my neck. ‘How about that?’
‘Well, I do usually get out of here after my set.’ I was hedging, not answering his question directly. Evasive answers were the safety blanket of consultants. If I didn’t say yes, then I wasn’t explicitly agreeing to sleep with him. A sexual get-out clause, nothing to pin on me that’d hold up in court.
‘Great,’ he said. ‘Let’s go. We’re heading to my place for a drink,’ he told Sunglasses. ‘Want to come?’
‘Nah, you go ahead. I’ve got to meet friends up at King’s Cross. Have fun. B., nice to meet you. And I mean it. You could work more if you wanted to. Here,’ he pulled a card from his wallet. ‘Feel free to get in touch. I might know some people.’
As I put his card into my bag, I turned off my phone. There would be no awkward interruptions tonight. ‘Thanks! G’night!’ I very much doubted that he meant what he said. I’d met too many like him in the business, who promised the world then didn’t return your calls. Still, my thanks were sincere. It was nice to hear the compliments.
When The Musician said ‘my place’, I had a certain image. Of an actual flat. I didn’t envision myself sitting on an unmade bed in a filthy room with a mini sink full of glasses in the corner. He lived in a bedsit. In a grotty walk-up in a dangerous-looking part of Zone 2. ‘Er, sorry it’s a bit of a tip. Can I get you a drink?’ He unearthed an open bottle of whisky from under a pile of jumpers and rooted around in the sink for a non-infectious glass.
What had I got myself into? ‘Just a small one, please. I’m not much of a whisky drinker.’
‘I developed a taste for it when I lived in Asia. They say there’s nothing more British than an Englishman abroad. We went to the FCC every day when I lived in Phnom Penh.’
‘You lived in Cambodia?’
‘Yeah, I thought I told you that. I worked with Oxfam there in ’97 and ’98.’
‘But wasn’t there a war on?’ I was sure it was no holiday destination in the nineties.
He chuckled. ‘Well, yeah. If everything is good in a country, then you don’t need Oxfam to be there. It was desperate. It was one of the most fulfilling, life-affirming things I’ve ever done.’
The Musician’s cool factor definitely trumped his seedy abode. What were a few unwashed dishes and the risk of dysentery against humanitarianism like that?
‘I admire you. I wouldn’t have risked my life to help like that.’
‘Well, when I signed up it just seemed like an adventure, a lark. I was only twenty. But then I got there and saw the devastation and the suffering and I realised that it was something I really wanted to try to make better.’
He managed to look bashful and smutty at the same time.
‘Come here.’ He pushed a pile of clothes, shoes and dishes off the bed and pulled me down. He really was very sexy, and he knew what he was doing. I’d forgotten how thrilling it was to be in bed with a new man, not knowing exactly what sensations were coming next. Even kissing him was exciting. ‘Do you like this?’ He asked.
‘Yes. I like it.’ Please, not the running commentary again.
‘And this?’
Definitely. Since I’d become acquainted with his playbook I felt more relaxed. It was even possible that we were going to score a few goals. I could only hope. Own goals were getting tedious.
‘Tell me what you like, B.’
‘This. This is fine.’ I was never a big bedroom talker. It always seemed a bit contrived to narrate one’s actions in bed when we wouldn’t do so in real life. Nobody sat at the breakfast table and said, ‘I’m going to spoon this cereal into my mouth now.’ I didn’t need anybody discussing my Corn Flakes, thank you very much.
‘No, tell me. What do you like. Say it.’
It was one thing to encourage his chatter, but to make up my own? I pretended not to hear him, hoping he’d forget his line of questioning. He wasn’t paying much attention anyway. Like our first time, he was rushing things a bit, gearing up for the big finish. After a few minutes he shouted, ‘Tell me you want me to f*ck you!’
‘Okay.’
‘Say it.’
I couldn’t. I was getting the giggles. Which was not appealing in a sexual partner.
He stared into my eyes. ‘I want to do what feels good to you.’
I’d have thanked him if I didn’t fear it coming out in a guffaw punctuated by a snort.
‘Can you come?’
‘Nope.’
‘Okay.’ After thirty seconds of concerted effort he collapsed on top of me. Fait accompli. It served me right for being honest. Why couldn’t men understand that just because we weren’t on the way to an orgasm, it didn’t mean we weren’t enjoying the sex? It was like asking a woman in the bath whether she was going to fall asleep and if she said no, reaching over and pulling the plug. It didn’t mean, I wanted to tell him, that we wanted to get out of the tub. Maybe I should have told him. Perhaps I’d have done womankind an enormous service by imparting this wisdom. If he told two friends, and they told two friends, et cetera, it might become common knowledge, a sea change in sexual relations. Or else he’d be offended and never want to see me again. I zipped my lip.
‘You probably want to get a good night’s sleep,’ he said once he’d cooled down.
‘Yeah, I’m wiped out.’ Performing always took it out of me. I hoped he didn’t snore. Or hog the covers, or do that melodramatic I’m-so-uncomfortable-with-you-in-the-bed flip-flop when he turned over.
‘I’ll get you a minicab, then.’
‘Er, okay.’ Was that how it was done now? No sleepovers. No strings. Was I meant to say anything about seeing him again? Or thank him or something? Frederick was right. I needed an etiquette lesson. We kissed at the door. No mention was made of a next time.
Frederick was awake and aggravatingly chipper as I staggered from my room the next morning seeking caffeine. ‘B.! Have you been f*cking??’ He had one of my blackhead strips on his nose. And on his forehead, and his chin.
‘Fred, you’re always so subtle. Those are just for your nose, you know.’
‘I know, but you’re out of your clay mask. You left me no choice. And you didn’t answer my question, darling, which means that you have been f*cking. Do tell. Spare me no details.’
‘I’ll do no such thing. It’s none of your business.’
He put his arm around me as I flounced next to him on the sofa. ‘Spoilsport. I’d tell you.’
‘I don’t think I want the details of your sex life.’
‘Jealous?’
‘Nauseous. Actually, I do have one question.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, you do need to change condoms during a session.’
‘What? No, no, not that. Although, really?’
‘Why, of course. Hasn’t he? I suppose it’s not necessary if he’s not lasting more than a few minutes. Is that what you want to ask me about, sweetheart? Because there are techniques, you know, to prolong things.’
‘Ugh, no, Frederick, please don’t say another word!’ Deep breath. ‘I want to know about the etiquette, afterwards. You know, when you’re leaving.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, first of all, is it normal not to spend the night?’
‘Give me context,’ he said, examining the content of his pores on the strip. ‘Ew, look!’
‘No thanks, that’s disgusting. It’s our second time sleeping together.’
‘Are you exclusive?’
‘I’m not sleeping with anyone else.’
‘Have you agreed not to see other people?’ I shook my head. ‘Then you’re not exclusive. And no, it’s not expected that you’d spend the night.’
‘But isn’t there an element of common courtesy involved in sex any more?’ I felt there should be, given that we’re courteous when crazy people talk to us at bus stops, and we haven’t even seen their bits.
‘If you’re not exclusive, then it’s just sex. He’s not going to stay unless he’s horny and wants to sleep with you in the morning. If he doesn’t, then he’s probably getting it regularly somewhere else.’
The idea of other women preceding me in that less-than-pristine bed made me queasy. ‘You’re making me feel great, Fred.’
‘Sorry, hon. You’ve got to remember how a man thinks. It’s about sex. He comes, he conquers, he leaves. Don’t expect to play happy families.’
‘I don’t expect happy families! I expect common decency. When Mattias and I first got together, I stayed the night. There wasn’t any question about me leaving. I thought that was normal.’
‘He was just too polite to get you to leave.’ He looked truly sorry to burst my bubble. ‘And speaking of the Swedish meatball, he phoned about half an hour ago. Something about your mobile not working? He needs you to call back about the ballet tonight. Are we dating him now?’
‘No, we’re not dating him. He’s taking their new clients to see Swan Lake. He probably just wants to know what to wear.’
‘And he’s mistaken you for Gok Wan?’
‘No, I–’
Faith’s attempt to play a tune on the door buzzer interrupted us. Saved by the bell. ‘Come up, Faith, I’m not quite ready,’ I said to the box.
‘You’re in your pyjamas,’ Frederick said.
‘I said I’m not ready. Please let her in. I’ll get dressed.’
‘Do something with that hair as well.’ He wagged his finger at my head.
Frederick was right about one thing. Dating had changed, and I wasn’t equipped for this brave new world. Without wishing to sound like my mother, in my day men were subtler about sleeping around. They at least pretended monogamy, if only for the night. This was all a bit transactional and I feared I didn’t have the right currency.
My phone danced with messages as soon as I switched it on. Musician: 0. Mattias: 2. Not the result I’d hoped for. But given that Mattias sounded panicky by the second call, I phoned him back.
‘Ah, B., thanks for calling. You know your phone was off last night?’
‘I know. I had my gig.’ I’d told him that at least twice.
‘Oh, right. Did it go well?’
‘It was okay, except they’re not going to book me any more. They’re cutting back, apparently.’ Thinking about it again made me feel sick. I wasn’t a singer any more.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. But you’ll get other gigs. Are you upset? Do you want to talk about it?’
I had minus twenty minutes to get ready. ‘No, that’s okay. What’s up?’
‘I have a very last-minute favour to ask. Is there any chance you can join me at the ballet tonight? Mark was supposed to go, but his wife broke her arm and he doesn’t want to leave her alone with the baby. She can’t lift anything and her mother can’t get here for a few days. And Alex is on holiday. You’d be helping us out a lot, since we can’t return the ticket. And you know how cheap Mark is. He asked me if you’d take the ticket.’
‘Well, I suppose I could. I don’t have plans tonight. Sure, yes, I can come. But I insist on paying for the ticket.’
‘Of course you’d pay for the ticket. I’m not asking you out.’
I felt foolish. ‘Right, yes, good.’
‘So I’ll meet you at seven at the Royal Opera House?’
‘Sure, okay, see you then.’ What the heck. I liked ballet, and it must be killing Mattias’ boss to think of the ticket going to waste. It wasn’t like he usually splurged on corporate entertainment. I think they once packed sandwiches for an excursion to Regent’s Park.
When I returned to the living room, Fred was eyeing up Faith like she was, well, like she was a man. ‘B! Where have you been hiding this gorgeous woman? I cannot believe we haven’t met before this.’
‘B. never said you were so cute!’ She said.
‘Perhaps she wants to keep me to herself–’
‘No,’ I said, nipping their adorathon in the bud. ‘I’m quite happy to share. Frederick, this is my beautiful friend Faith. Faith, the spectacular Fred. Everybody happy now? Let’s go.’
‘Why doesn’t Frederick join us? If you don’t have other plans. We’re cooking our own lunch! Though hopefully that really means we’re watching professional chefs cook our lunch for us. It’s okay for him to come along isn’t it, B.?’
‘But it’s our girls’ night.’
‘It’s eleven a.m.,’ Fred pointed out.
‘Then it’s our girls’ morning. I’ll have to call the school to see if they can add one more person.’
‘Didn’t Clare text you?’ Faith asked. ‘She’s ill. Stomach bug. Frederick can take her place.’
‘Again? She must have picked something up in Barcelona. She should have it checked.’ There was something unsettlingly six-degrees-of-separation in the possibility that The Musician might eventually study my friend’s poo. Lately she’d spent more time in the loo at work than she had in the office. I wouldn’t have minded but we were in the midst of the last tidy-up on the project. That meant rushing around doing everything that we’d told the clients we’d already done. Without Clare to deflect Fiona’s vitriol, we all suffered. ‘Since we’ve already reserved her spot, Fred, interested in coming?’ It was a rhetorical question. He was already searching for his wallet, which he liked to hide around the flat so he could accuse me of moving it. We loved this game, we did.
‘Couldn’t be more interested, darling. Lead the way.’
Some women collect shoes, or first editions, or unusual handbags. Faith was a collector of men. And like all dedicated enthusiasts, she loved each new addition as if it were her own offspring. Unlike dedicated enthusiasts, she expected these occasionally inanimate objects to love her back. I pulled her aside as Frederick stopped to get cash.
‘Faith, Frederick’s–’
‘So adorable! Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘No, I was going to say gay.’
‘He is not!’
‘Is.’
‘B., there’s no way he’s gay. Did you see the way he looked at me?’
‘It’s the same way he looks at cashmere and Häagen-Dazs. Faith, trust me, he’s gay.’
‘Has he told you that?’ She reapplied her lipstick.
‘No, he’s so far in the closet he’s behind the suitcases. But he is. He waxes.’
‘I appreciate a bit of man-scaping. Don’t worry about me, B., really, I’ll read the signals. Ready?’ She sang as Frederick approached, linking his arm through hers.
‘For you, darling, always.’
As glad as I was to see Faith’s glass half full again, Frederick might prove one sip too far.
How many chefs did it take to put out a tea towel? Just the one, as it turned out, and he didn’t look happy to play fire brigade.
‘Well, that was a bit of a drama,’ said Faith, unfazed at having set the kitchen alight. ‘Who’d have thought it’d go up like that? They should use inflammable cloths.’
‘They do, Schatzi.’
‘Well, obviously they don’t or it wouldn’t have caught fire.’
‘Never mind,’ said Kat patiently. ‘You must be more careful when you cook.’
‘But I don’t cook!’
‘That’s obvious,’ mumbled the middle-aged woman beside us, who hadn’t defrosted her face in nearly two hours.
‘Listen,’ I said to the kitchen harpy. ‘Just because my friend made a mistake doesn’t give you the right to be rude to her. We’re all here to learn.’ Reluctantly she went back to her measuring cups.
‘Thanks, B.,’ said Faith. ‘But she’s right, I think it’s pretty clear that I’m not cut out for kitchen work.’
‘None of us are, except Kat.’
Kat grinned at me. ‘I do love cooking. Thanks, B., this was a great idea.’
‘Glad you’re enjoying it. I have to agree with Faith, though. I think it’s best that we all understand our roles in the food chain. You make the soufflé, I’ll make the reservations. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ said Kat.
‘I’m bored now,’ Faith said. ‘I’ll sit out the rest if that’s okay. Call me when lunch is ready. It will be ready soon, right? I have to go to the salon at three.’
‘Ooh, that sounds nice!’ Frederick said.
‘It won’t be. It’s for an assignment. I’m reporting on the experience of getting a Hollywood.’
‘What’s a Hollywood?’ Kat asked.
‘Faith’s going to have her lady garden waxed off,’ I said. ‘You do suffer for your art, Faith.’
‘Don’t I know it. This afternoon I’m paying money to let some sadist pull off all my pubic hair. The depths to which I’ll sink know no bounds. Still, it beats a desk job. I’ll be over there contemplating baldness if anyone wants me.’
‘I’ll join you,’ Frederick offered, glaring at our dour neighbour, who looked delighted to have overheard our discussion of nether fleeces.
‘They seem to like each other,’ Kat said, watching them trot to a bench on the other side of the industrial kitchen. ‘They only met this morning?’
‘Uh-huh. I don’t know why I never noticed it before. They’re two halves of the same person. Eerie, isn’t it?’
‘It’s nice when your friends like each other. Like us, our little group. Maybe Frederick is destined to become one of the girls.’
‘Exactly, one of the girls! He is gay, right? I’m not imagining things?’
‘You keep saying that, but I don’t think so. I think he’s simply debonair, like that man who decorates. The one with the giant cuffs and collars and the feathered hair.’
‘Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen?’
‘Exactly. He’s a dandy, that’s all.’
‘Hmm, I don’t know. That’s what he says, but Kat, he is such a girl.’
‘He doesn’t look like a girl.’ She nodded towards the bench where Faith and Frederick were pawing each other like grooming chimps. This had the potential for unhappy ending written all over it. We never, ever introduced Faith to anyone we knew, not after the fiasco with Kat’s brother-in-law.
I got to the opera house a few minutes early, just as sunset was adding its finishing touches to the March sky. Mattias was already there. ‘You look lovely,’ he said, appraising my dress.
‘Thanks, you clean up okay too.’ Urban planners weren’t known for their cutting-edge fashion, so any attempts to clothe themselves were to be encouraged. Mattias wore his only suit. We’d picked it out for our first wedding together. He’d sat in gum on the bus ride to the church and I spent a good part of the reception with my hand clenched full of ice against his backside, trying to dislodge it.
He took my proffered cash when he handed me my ticket. ‘Thanks. I really owe you one,’ he said. ‘Though it’s not exactly hardship duty to see Swan Lake, and the clients are very nice.’ He steered me towards the foyer where we were to meet them.
I didn’t point out that, ballet or not, nice clients or not, I was still giving up my Saturday night. I didn’t point it out because my alternative was watching Britain’s Got Talent with Frederick. He didn’t need to know that sniping at teenagers’ off-tune singing had become the highlight of my social life.
He was right, though, it was an easy assignment. The clients were perfectly friendly, and we had only a few minutes to kill in small talk before we were transported into Tchaikovsky’s magical world. The score made me cry, as it always did. Especially that haunting clarinet at the start of act two.
‘Wasn’t that wonderful!’ The client’s wife enthused during the interval. ‘Mattias, thank you again for inviting us. Do you two go to the ballet often?’
I was about to set the record straight when Mattias said, ‘Not as often as we’d like to. It’s a rare treat, and fantastic to see such talent, isn’t it? What did you think, B.? Did you know that B. is a musician too?’ He draped an arm over my shoulder and squeezed me to him. ‘She’s a singer.’
They made appreciative noises and bound me tightly in their well-meaning questions. I caught Mattias’ eye but he looked away. Cheeky sod. He knew I couldn’t set the record straight about us without making everyone uncomfortable. Fine by me. My anger was best served cold. And away from the public gaze.
‘Mattias,’ I said as soon as we’d said goodbye to the clients. ‘Why did you say that about us going to the ballet? You implied that we were still together.’
‘Would you rather I tell people I hardly know that you dumped me because I wasn’t romantic enough for you?’
I was taken aback by his anger. ‘I–’
He shook his head. ‘I’m only kidding. I know that wasn’t the reason. It just didn’t seem appropriate to go into all that. It was easier to answer their question the way they expected. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to do that. Will you let me buy you a drink as an apology?’
He elbowed me gently, like he used to do to jostle me out of a grumpy mood. It was very hard to hold on to righteous indignation in the face of such peaceful disarmament. As he well knew. ‘No, I need to go.’ Better not to risk another easy, comfortable night that would only give him the wrong idea. No matter how easy and comfortable it would be to stay. This was a nice evening, just two friends going to the ballet together. ‘Thanks again for inviting me along. I really enjoyed it.’
‘Just one drink?’
I ignored his disappointment. ‘No, thanks. I’ll head home. I was at a cooking class with the girls today. I’m exhausted, really. Walk me to the Tube?’
He smiled at the mention of my friends as we wound our way through Covent Garden’s crowds. ‘How is everyone? I miss getting all the details. Has Faith found a suitable boyfriend yet?’
What a gossip he was. ‘No, not yet, but she’s as hopeful as ever. Today she seemed to hit it off with my flatmate, and she thinks he’s gorgeous.’ His face went taut. ‘But she’s barking up the wrong tree because, as you know, he doesn’t like girls.’ When I first moved in with Fred, I made sure that Mattias knew I wasn’t moving in with a potential lover. It was hard enough for him without that added worry. ‘Besides, unleashing her on any of my friends would be a disaster. Remember James’ brother.’
‘I’d rather not, thanks. James is still bitter that she told everyone.’ We’d arrived at the station. ‘Thanks, B., this was fun. I hope we can do it again sometime.’ He kissed me on the cheek. Very close to my mouth. ‘Keep Faith away from your flatmate if you can. You won’t want to know that much detail about him, trust me.’
I couldn’t agree more. Everyone enjoyed the titillation of hearing about a friend’s date’s failings, unless they also involved a friend. In the case of Kat’s brother-in-law, it was even more uncomfortable when said failing involved an anatomical, ehem, shortcoming. Though Kat swore it wasn’t one that ran in the family. I’d been very relieved to hear that, given that James was my idea of the perfect man.