Jane Green - Bookends

‘Because you’ve had to imagine us these last few years?’

Portia looks bemused but is poised enough not to look embarrassed; she simply raises an eyebrow as a question.

‘I should say I’m angry, but actually I’m rather flattered, because Steen is gorgeous.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Well, it’s us, isn’t it?’

Portia laughs. ‘God, you wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve heard people say they know it’s about them. Si, I hate to disappoint, but they are fiction.’

‘Portia, we’re not stupid,’ I interject gently at this point, not wanting to push the point, because what if we are all wrong? Although I know we’re not.

‘But it’s fiction,’ she repeats, refusing to admit anything, doubtless for fear of being sued.

‘Anyway,’ I say brightly, ‘you’ve done so well. We had no idea the show was yours.’

‘Thank you,’ she smiles. ‘I haven’t done too badly.’ She looks around the room and says, ‘Josh must be here. I’d love to see him.’

‘And Lucy, you haven’t even met Lucy,’ Si says protectively, shooting me a warning look. ‘You’ll love her. Let’s go and find them.’

I’ve always been fascinated by memory. Fascinated by the fact that you can avoid thinking about the past for years and years, and then something will trigger a memory, and you find yourself swept back to times you are absolutely certain you have forgotten.

As I lead Portia through the room, towards Lucy, and Josh, I remember Elizabeth. I remember Portia entwining Josh like a snake, before cruelly dumping him, and I think of Lucy’s shining face and bright eyes.

And as I walk I thank God that these ten years have passed, and that Portia is not, presumably, the insecure girl she was at eighteen, and that Josh and Lucy are the strongest couple you could ever hope to find.

I say I thank God, but lying in bed, later that night, I realized that I was actually praying.

By the time the three of us manage to reach the other side of the room, the party has thinned considerably. People have come, as they said they would, to show their support and have now moved on to feed families, step into local restaurants, and even, in a few cases, grab a minicab and whizz up to the West End to continue drinking in one of the trendy bars in Soho.

And yet, despite the thinning numbers, it is clear that Portia is known. I see one of the journalists from the local press turn to a colleague and whisper, pointing Portia out, and I notice other people nudging each other as we pass.

How did we possibly manage to miss all this? Me, I could understand. Lucy and Josh I could certainly understand, but Si? How could Si not have known how famous Portia is?

Lucy is perched on one of the stools at the bar, talking animatedly to Keith, a reporter from the Kilburn Herald , and, as I walk past, Lucy grabs me and pulls me over.

‘This is Cath,’ she says, ‘and this is Keith, who’s promised to write lovely things about us, haven’t you, Keith?’

Keith smiles, and disappears to find another drink.

‘Lucy,’ I say, as Si and Portia stand behind me, waiting to be introduced. ‘There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.’

‘More people?’ Lucy laughs, looking behind me at Si. ‘I thought I’d met everyone in this room.’

‘Not everyone,’ Portia steps forward, her right hand extended, and Lucy beams at her and shakes her hand.

‘I’m Portia. And you must be Lucy.’

‘Now this,’ Lucy says, her gentle face breaking into a broad smile, ‘is truly a surprise.’ Lucy pats the stool next to her and Portia obediently sits down, her posture, her poise, her elegantly crossed legs making Lucy appear rounder and plumper than ever, but Lucy wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t care: too intrigued by this apparition from a past she never knew.

‘So do you like my bookshop, Portia? Do you think it will be a huge success?’

‘Yes and yes. I think it’s wonderful,’ Portia says. ‘Although I haven’t been here long. Just long enough to see Cath, and Si, and now to meet you. You’re not what I expected.’

Lucy, to her credit, doesn’t ask what Portia might have expected. She just smiles and says, ‘And you, Portia, are far more beautiful, now that you have actually appeared in the flesh. Has my Josh seen you yet? He’ll be, well, I don’t know. Thrilled? Certainly. Speechless? Far more likely. Shall we go and find him?’ and Lucy stands up, links her arm through Portia’s and leads her off, as Si and I stand there watching them, open-mouthed.

‘What do you reckon?’

‘What do you mean?’ I look at Si in surprise.

‘Is she or isn’t she up to something?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Si. Why do you always have to be so bloody negative and pessimistic when it comes to Portia?’ Which perhaps isn’t entirely fair, given that it’s been ten years since we’ve seen her, but it is true that after that night with Elizabeth, none of us managed to ever quite trust her again.

He looks at me as if he’s about to say something, then shakes his head, as if to dislodge the thought. ‘Come on. Let’s go and see the reunion.’

We cross the room to find Lucy beaming at Josh, who does, as she predicted, look shell-shocked. In fact it would be fair to say that he is completely lost for words, and Lucy appears to be making conversation for both of them.

‘Do you know what would be lovely?’ she says, surveying the room. ‘A proper reunion. We’re all dying to know everything you’ve been doing, and I’d love to get to know you properly. Would you come to our house for supper one night, Portia?’

Portia nods and I realize that she probably doesn’t know quite what to make of Lucy, that Lucy is not someone she knows how to handle, because even in the short space of time since they have been introduced, it is clear that Lucy is not intimidated by anyone, and certainly not by Portia.

And that, as I remember, is, or certainly was, the one thing of which Portia could always be certain, and the one thing that gave her that slight aloofness. Portia could be as giggly and girly as the rest of us, but that wasn’t her natural demeanour, and in an instant she could switch to the cool, calm sophisticate, a manner that seemed to suit her far better.

But how could she not respond to Lucy? Lucy is so warm, so welcoming, Portia cannot help but be swept away by her charm, and she tells Lucy that supper sounds wonderful and that she can’t believe it’s been ten years, and that there is so much to catch up on.

Josh doesn’t really say anything, but then again he doesn’t need to, and once Lucy has pressed their phone number into Portia’s hand, and Portia has handed over a thick cream business card of her own, Josh shakes Portia’s hand awkwardly and says he’ll look forward to seeing her during the week. And then he excuses himself to help clear up.

Portia turns to Si.

Si has been watching this from a distance, observing as if it were a play. ‘Come on you,’ she says, nudging him. ‘What’s been happening in your life? Tell me everything.’

The three of us go to one of the leather sofas, recently vacated, and collapse gratefully on it as Si starts talking to Portia about work. She is fascinated, and it doesn’t take long before they find people in common, television and film being so closely linked, and Si apologizes repeatedly for not realizing what she was doing, quite how known she had become.

And, as cautious as Si has been, I can see him loosen up, warm to his theme, and the more he talks the more Portia concentrates, and you could honestly believe that she has never in her life met anyone more fascinating than Si.