‘I don’t know. He’s picking me up. He said he wanted to go somewhere fun.’
‘Go to a discotheque.’
‘Ooh, I’d love to go somewhere like that,’ said Sophie. ‘Do you know any?’
‘I like the Scotch,’ said Diane.
‘I don’t know what that is,’ said Sophie.
‘The Scotch of St James. It’s quite classy.’
‘Not too with-it?’
‘Not for you. And he’s famous. People forgive you a lot if you’re famous.’
Sophie used the same groan.
‘Will you call me afterwards? I’ll be dying to know how it goes.’
Sophie told her that she would, and she meant it too. It hadn’t really occurred to her before that, while she had a lot of things she hadn’t ever anticipated getting her hands on, she didn’t have any friends.
At first they were told that Maurice – or Sophie, she supposed, but the man on the door was working on the presumption that this was the gentleman’s business – had to pay three guineas for a temporary membership of the Scotch of St James, but then a couple of girls queuing up behind them asked for their autographs and suddenly they were both made honorary members. This immediate recognition made them both nervous, but once they were inside they were ignored. There was something almost studiedly self-conscious about this lack of attention, Sophie felt, as if they were being told that they weren’t famous enough, or were famous for the wrong kind of thing. All the girls looked like Diane, skinny and dark, short skirts, panda eye make-up, and all the men looked like guitarists or maybe even singers in a pop group. Sophie had dressed up, but Maurice, bless him, was wearing a suit and tie. Sophie couldn’t shake the feeling that she was dating Diane’s Uncle Maurice from Redcar, although it was a very nice suit that Maurice was wearing.
There was dancing downstairs and a bar upstairs, and smoke, noise and tartan everywhere. The tartan seemed to explain the name of the club, or the name of the club seemed to explain the tartan, but neither explanation was very satisfactory. They went upstairs, because not even Sophie could walk straight in off the street and begin dancing. She sat down at a table in the corner, and after they’d waited a few minutes for someone to take their drinks order, Maurice went up to the bar.
A handsome young man with very long hair and wearing a loud striped blazer replaced Maurice in seconds.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Keith.’
Sophie smiled at him, but didn’t introduce herself.
‘We’re friends, am I right?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Sophie.
‘Oh. But … We’re not, you know. Not friends.’
‘I don’t think we’re not-friends,’ said Sophie. ‘I just think that we don’t know each other.’
‘Good. That’s a relief to me.’
‘How would we be not-friends?’
‘I’ll tell you the truth,’ said Keith. ‘Sometimes it turns out I’ve met a bird before and one thing has led to another and then because of my busy lifestyle I’ve not really seen her again.’
‘Not really? What does “really” mean?’
Keith laughed.
‘You’re right. “Really” means “never”.’
‘I think I get the gist anyway,’ said Sophie.
‘Don’t let it put you off,’ said Keith.
‘Oh, no,’ said Sophie. ‘You sound like a dream date.’
Keith stared at her again.
‘But we are friends, aren’t we?’
‘No,’ said Sophie. ‘But I don’t think we’re not-friends.’
‘I just got déjà vu,’ said Keith. ‘I feel like I’ve stood in this exact spot having this exact conversation. Have you ever had that?’
‘I got it just now. Just this second.’
‘My mum and dad,’ said Keith suddenly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘My mum and dad like you, but I don’t know how they know you. Or how I know they know you. And like you.’
He seemed genuinely perplexed. Sophie understood what her relationship with Keith’s parents consisted of, but saw no reason why she had to go into it.
‘I don’t blame them, by the way. You’re gorgeous.’
‘Thank you.’
Maurice came back with their drinks, but Keith didn’t move.
‘My friend has come back now,’ said Sophie gently. ‘It was nice talking to you.’
Keith looked up at Maurice.
‘Him?’ he said to Sophie. ‘Really?’ He stood up and peered into Maurice’s face as if it were a mirror and he was looking for pimples. ‘How old is he?’