‘It’s tails.’ Beth broke, scattering reds and yellows evenly across the baize. She was shorter than me, and took on one tiptoe shots I could make with both feet flat on the ground, and between shots she walked the perimeter of the table, viewing it from every angle.
‘Where are you living now?’ she said, like she was catching up with an old friend.
‘Clapham Common.’ I bounced a red off the bumper and into the far pocket. ‘Little top-floor flat.’
‘I had to move back in with my parents for a bit. Until I get used to being on my own again.’
‘And how’s that going?’ I loved my dad, but living in his house and reverting to his rules seemed intolerable.
‘I dunno, they mean well. But I didn’t have much choice. I had to stop working, so I can’t pay my own rent.’
Was there no area of her life he hadn’t ruined? ‘What did you do, before?’
‘I’ve never had a career, as such.’ I couldn’t work out whether her glance at my clothes was admiring or pitying. ‘After college I worked as an au pair all over Europe. Before Cornwall I was working in a bar, just while I was deciding what to do when I grew up,’ she smiled ruefully. ‘I tried to go back afterwards but I couldn’t hack it. Moving through the crowds like that. Bodies everywhere.’ She shrank in on herself. ‘You forget how much bigger they are. You don’t realise they’re built differently to us, how strong they are.’
I leaned the cue upright, ready to offer a hug. ‘Oh, Beth. I’m so sorry.’
‘Not your fault.’ Her shrug wasn’t fooling either of us, but she managed to gather herself. ‘So are you still with the same boyfriend from Cornwall?’
It felt safe to return to the table. ‘Kit, yup.’ The wine in the veins loosened the cue in my hand; my game seemed the better for it.
‘It’s serious, then?’
‘Technically,’ I closed one eye to line up my next shot, ‘he’s not my boyfriend, he’s my fiancé. Although I hate that word because it makes me think of some bimbo showing everyone her sparkler.’
‘Oh, no, Laura,’ said Beth, with such disappointment I wondered if she’d misheard me. ‘Don’t be snobbish or ashamed about love. It’s the thing, isn’t it? The thing in life.’ I handed her the cue and raised my eyebrows at her. ‘You probably wouldn’t think it to look at me because I’m not a typical girly girl, but I’ve always wanted that, since I was little. It’s not weak to want sex and companionship and to be a mum and all those things.’ She was right, I realised. I had always thought that the pleasure and comfort I took from my relationship with Kit was somehow . . . not cool. Beth bounced the cue off her palm distractedly. ‘I can’t ever imagine that happening now.’ Her easy confidence of seconds before had vanished. ‘He’s robbed me of all that. I feel like . . . a porcupine.’ She made her fingers into spikes, miming their growth all over her skin. ‘How’s any man ever going to get past all this?’
‘I really hope it’ll come.’ I sounded feeble at best, patronising at worst. Beth gave a grimace that turned into wide-eyed panic as the bell rang for last orders at the bar.
‘Oh, shitting hell,’ she said. ‘It’s never eleven o’clock? I’ve got about five minutes to get to Liverpool Street.’
‘Stay at ours.’ My offer was a reflex action, my only concern that Mac had not already commandeered the futon.
The noisy striplit Tube was too crowded for conversation, our carriage still standing room only by the time we got back to Clapham Common. I hated that station at the best of times; rather than two separate platforms, there’s one narrow runway straight up the middle, the trains running in deep gullies on either side. There’s no wall to lean back against for safety in the rush hour. Its menace only intensifies on the last train and Beth linked arms with me as if for protection as we walked the platform’s length.
The flat was dark save for the string of fairylights around the sitting-room bookshelf, Kit’s way of letting me know he’d gone to sleep. The bedroom door, as ever, was ajar; the wood had warped over the summers and no longer fitted its frame.
‘Pretty,’ said Beth, looking out over the balcony at the common below. In the dim light I made up the futon in silence, turning cushions into pillows and the throw into a bedspread.
I used to collect scented candles back then. They were hand-made, the scent was called Blood Roses, they were very expensive, and I never ran out because Kit got me one for birthdays, Christmas, Valentines and anniversaries; so relieved that he didn’t have to pass some female test of intuition and intimacy for the perfect gift that he didn’t baulk at the price tag. They also neutralised the smell from the kebab shop below. I lit one now for Beth. ‘Blow it out before bed,’ I said. ‘It saves you having to feel around for a light switch.’ The scent of roses that always lingered in that flat began to swell, like petals were being crushed under our noses. Beth inhaled it.
In our bedroom, Kit breathed out sleep and toothpaste. I fumbled in our shared wardrobe for something for Beth to sleep in and my hands closed around an old T-shirt, which I threw and she caught.
‘D’you need a toothbrush?’ I whispered. We kept a multipack in the bathroom cabinet for moments like this, ever since I found Mac using my toothbrush to clean white foam off his tongue.
‘You’re a mind-reader,’ she said.
While she brushed her teeth and changed, I glanced into the bag she’d left gaping on the futon. It was almost empty, save for a blue leather purse – she’d bought a new one since the Lizard – a Young Person’s Railcard and a creased copy of Sky magazine. There was also a clean pair of knickers tucked into a mesh pocket. I switched off the fairylights at the mains, then turned down the corner of the bed and left the Blood Roses candle burning for the girl who carried spare underwear around with her like the rest of us carry our keys.
Chapter 26
LAURA
19 March 2015