He snorts. ‘Well, if you call working as a sales assistant in a clothes shop “fashion”, then yes, I suppose she does. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t care what anyone does for a living, it’s just the pretence that gets to me. She wouldn’t even have told me; it was just a slip of the tongue on her part when she was talking about meeting me after work.’
‘But that flat in Kensington… how does she afford that if she works in a clothes shop? It must be worth millions.’
He looks at me strangely. ‘You don’t know her very well, do you?’
‘Of course I don’t,’ I say, surprised. ‘I hadn’t seen her for over twenty-five years until the other week.’
‘Aah,’ he breathes. ‘She didn’t tell me that. She implied that you were old friends who were still in regular touch.’
‘No, not at all.’ Why would Sophie have wanted to give Pete that impression? ‘So how does she afford it?’
‘Simple. It’s not hers,’ Pete says. ‘Belongs to some friend of hers who really does have a high-flying job, works away a lot in Hong Kong. Sophie house-sits for her when she’s away.’
‘Ohhh.’ The note of glee in my own voice makes me uneasy. I take a glug of warm wine to try and keep the schadenfreude at bay, but it stings as it fizzes down my throat and sits burning in my stomach. So all is not as it seems in Sophie’s world. No wonder she looked so shifty when I asked her if she lived there alone.
‘I wonder why she told you,’ I say.
‘Well, once she’d made the slip-up about her job, she could hardly claim to be able to afford that place. And I think maybe…’ he trails off, his cheeks reddening.
‘Maybe what?’
‘Well, if she thought there was a future for us, she wouldn’t have been able to sustain the lie, would she? Her friend’s due home from Hong Kong next week so she’ll be back to her one-bed flat in Croydon.’
I half-laugh, not because there’s anything particularly wrong with Croydon, but because of the contrast it presents with the elegant Georgian facades of South Kensington. I’m about to ask more when I feel a hand on my elbow, and turn to see Sam. The smile fades from my face. Up until now I’ve been feeling quite proud of how I coped with seeing him, but his fingers are a red-hot poker on my skin and I step back, folding my arms across my body.
Sam smiles at Pete. ‘I’m so sorry, can I borrow her for a minute?’
Pete can offer no defence against the charm offensive that is Sam Parker.
‘Oh, sure, OK.’ He walks off stiffly, having no option but to head back to Sophie.
Sam turns back to me, and my confidence oozes away with every second that passes. I’m drunk now, my defences lower, and I’m struggling to maintain a calm exterior, desperate not to let him see the effect he can still have on me. I try to relax, deliberately allowing my arm to return to my side; take a slow sip of my drink. I can feel the heat and hustle of the crowd around me, but it’s all at a slight remove. The room has shrunk to the two of us, held in our own private atmosphere where the air is cooler and the silences longer, and what we don’t say has more power than our spoken words.
‘So you know then.’ I force myself to speak normally. ‘About this Maria thing.’
‘Yes.’ He looks at me, puzzled. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You knew, didn’t you, when you dropped Henry off on Saturday?’
‘Sophie said you knew then as well. She said she’d already phoned you,’ I say, knowing I sound like a petulant child.
‘Yes, I did, but I thought if you didn’t want to talk to me about it I should respect that. It must have been horrible for you.’
He looks genuinely troubled and upset for me and with a stab of pain I remember the other side of him, how kind he can be. In many ways I am stronger and even happier without him, and I’ve coped better than I ever imagined I would on my own; but there are times when it would be wonderful not to be responsible for everything, when I would give up all I’ve gained just to have someone to take the burden of everyday life from me. Sometimes I’m not even sure if what I remember of our relationship is the truth, or whether time and distance has warped my perception. I don’t even know if there is such a thing as the truth when it comes to relationships, or only versions of it, shaped by love and fear and the way we lie to ourselves and others.
‘Have you heard anything more?’ he says. ‘From whoever set up the page, I mean?’
‘No.’ I don’t want to let Sam in any more than I have to. It’s bad enough that he knows about this. I don’t want it to be the way he seeps back into my life.
‘And are there… has she friend-requested anyone else?’
‘Just one. Nathan Drinkwater.’
‘Who is that, do you know?’ he says.
‘I’ve no idea. It’s not someone from school, is it?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of him. Look, Louise, you know I’ve always stood by you over this, don’t you? I helped you, I was the only one who understood.’
He’s right, and it’s why I miss him so much still, despite everything. He is about to say more, but his attention is caught by Pete and Sophie across the hall, who appear to be arguing. She’s laughing but he doesn’t seem to be enjoying the joke; in fact he looks to be getting angrier and angrier. Sam eyes them with interest.
‘Anyway, I just wanted to say I don’t think you should mention anything to Tim about this Facebook thing if he turns up,’ Sam says. ‘It would be too upsetting for him.’
‘I wasn’t going to, Sam. What do you think I am, some complete emotional dunce?’ I’m back on the defensive. I’d forgotten what conversation with him could be like. Like being pulled from a deep sleep straight up onto your toes, skipping around like a boxer, constantly alert for the next jab.
‘No, of course not. Sorry, it was silly of me. I know you wouldn’t do something like that.’ There’s a silence while he seems to be weighing something up.
‘It’s great to see you properly, Louise. How are you? Are you doing OK?’
He puts a hand on my arm again.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, taking a step back, wine slopping from my glass and running down my wrist. I’m not so drunk that I’ve totally lost Polly’s voice in my head, telling me to keep my guard up, not let him see any vulnerability. I swap my glass to the other hand and raise my wrist to my mouth to lick the wine, stop it running any further down my arm and onto my dress. Then I see Sam’s eyes on my tongue and I stop, lowering my hand, the wine cold and sticky on my skin. He takes a step towards me and opens his mouth to speak, when there’s a commotion on the other side of the room. Pete throws up a hand in what looks like disgust, Sophie flinching dramatically as if he were going to hit her, and strides off, out of the hall. Sophie glares after him, her face alive with rage and humiliation.
‘I’d better go and see if Sophie’s OK.’ I need to get out of this conversation before things get out of control, before I start to lose myself.