Jane Green - Bookends

‘But you know,’ Lucy says, doling out second helpings, which Josh and I eagerly accept, but Portia declines, whispering it was delicious, but she’s just too full, ‘I’m not sure that insecurity is a good-enough excuse for that sort of behaviour. We’re all insecure, and I really think he’s old enough to have discovered the reasons behind his insecurity, and do something about them.’

‘Darling,’ Josh says affectionately, ‘not everyone is a budding psychotherapist. He probably doesn’t even care what the reasons are.’

‘I bet I can tell you what the reasons are,’ Portia says suddenly. ‘At least some of them.’

‘Go on.’ I’m fascinated.

‘I watch people all the time, it’s how I do my job, and there were some obvious clues. First, he speaks in very polished tones. Too polished. If you listened closely there were some definite northern inflections, and after I’d asked him he confessed – reluctantly – that he was from Yorkshire.’

We’re all very impressed and stay silent for her to continue.

‘Before that he said his father was a bigwig at one of the City banks, and changed the subject when I asked which one. And then a while later he said that since he’s been living in London, for the last ten years, he’s been going home to his parents for the odd weekend and helping his dad with his accounts.

‘So his father clearly doesn’t work in the City. He’s probably a dentist or something, in a sleepy northern village outside Leeds, and Will thinks that in order to run with the fast crowd in London, which is what he so obviously wants to do, he has to make up a pack of lies that he thinks will impress people.’

‘That’s the problem with lying,’ Lucy says. ‘You can never remember what you’ve said.’

‘You’re amazing,’ Josh says, as Portia gives a self-satisfied smile.

‘No. It’s amazing what you learn about people when you look for the right signs.’

‘But at the end of the day, even if he’s from a family who didn’t have a bean, it doesn’t give him the right to be arrogant, superior and, well, as Josh put it, a prick.’ I think about using the noun that Alison Bailey had used, but even among such good friends I can’t do it.

‘True,’ Portia says. ‘But I think he’s terrified of people discovering who he really is and where he’s really from.’

‘Okay, clever clogs.’ I give Portia a challenging smile. ‘You’re proving to be the witch tonight. Is Si going to stay with him for ever?’

‘I have a feeling,’ she says with a sigh, ‘that it won’t be long before we all find out.’

Despite such an inauspicious start, the party at Josh and Lucy’s ends up being one of the better ones. Si and I are there for dinner all the time, but somehow having a new person completely changes the dynamic, and I truly find it one of the most refreshing and interesting evenings I’ve had in ages. In fact, probably the nicest evening I’ve had since, well, since that evening with James.

My only concern is Si, and the first thing I do when I step through my front door, even though it’s almost one o’clock in the morning, is pick up the phone and call to see if he’s okay.

And of course I’m not surprised that his phone is picked up by his answering machine, and I leave a brief message, asking if he’s okay and telling him that he can call me anytime if he needs me, because I’m praying that Will hasn’t taken it out on him.

I don’t hear from him until the next day, and then at around eleven a.m. I get a sheepish phone call.

‘It’s me.’

‘I know,’ I say, surprised he’s taken so long. ‘How are you?’

‘Embarrassed,’ he admits. ‘I know I’ve got to phone Josh and Lucy and apologize, but I don’t know what to say to them.’

‘Why are you apologizing? It’s your arse of a boyfriend who should be saying sorry. And before you start justifying him, he behaved appallingly.’

‘I know.’ And he does know, because I have never heard Si sound this contrite before. ‘But he won’t apologize. He doesn’t think he needs to, because he’ll never be seeing any of you again.’

‘Charming. I take it he liked us as much as we liked him, then?’

‘More, possibly. Except for Portia, whom he raved about all night, but then again she is a semi-celebrity, which seems to turn him on somewhat.’ His voice sounds slightly bitter.

‘So I take it all is not rosy in the garden of Eden?’

‘God, I don’t know, Cath.’ He lets out a deep sigh. ‘I thought it was just you, being difficult, but last night I saw a completely different side to Will. I went back to his flat, and he basically ignored me the whole night, and I was appalled by his behaviour at Josh and Lucy’s. I just don’t understand it.’

‘You mean you didn’t try to talk about it once you’d left? That’s not like you, Si.’

‘I couldn’t. He was in such a foul mood that I just sat there very quietly and then we went to bed.’

‘Si, what are you doing with him?’

‘He’s not all bad, you know, Cath. He can be incredibly sweet and loving, but…’ and he stops and sighs again.

‘So it’s not over yet?’

‘Not until the fat lady sings.’ And with a sad smile that I can picture as he speaks, we say goodbye.

And when I get home that evening there is a message from Lucy, a message from Portia, three messages from Si, and finally, as I’m expecting a fourth message from Si, I hear James’s voice on the machine.

‘Hi, umm, Cath. It’s James. Look, I’m not sure what I’ve done to upset you, but whatever it is I’m really, really sorry. I’d really like it if you called me…’ and he leaves the number. I replay the message a few times, trying to work out if there is a subliminal message lurking in between the lines, or if perhaps I can pick something up from the tone of his voice, but there’s nothing.

I kick off my shoes and wander into the kitchen, flicking the kettle on and opening my fridge to see if there’s anything vaguely edible. Luckily there is a tub of houmous, and an open pack of thin cheese slices with only the top one having gone hard and orange thanks to my inability to wrap food properly. I take them out and go to the cupboard, where I discover an open pack of rice crackers shoved right at the very back – God knows where they came from, as I’m sure I’d never buy anything that healthy for myself – and then I head back to the fridge just in case something delicious has materialized in the short time it’s taken me to open the cupboard door.

Nope. I didn’t miss anything, so I make myself a coffee and take it into the living room with the food to think about James and whether I should call him back. The problem is, I think, as I take a bite of rice cracker that’s so old it’s now soft and pliable, that I actually do quite like James.

The problem is that if I were to even contemplate getting involved with anyone at this time in my life, James is probably exactly the sort of man I’d choose.

But the bigger problem is that I can’t get involved. I can’t go through all the shit that Si’s going through now with Will – the hassle of introducing someone to all my friends and praying that they’ll like him and that he’ll like them. Although I suppose that bit’s already been taken care of with James.

Look at me. I’m sprawled on the sofa, one leg flung over the back, crap sit-coms that I’d never admit to watching blaring from the television screen, and I’m cramming soft rice cakes topped with plastic-effect cheese and a healthy dollop of houmous (scooped from the tub by my finger, I’ll have you know) on the top. I’m slurping the coffee because it’s too hot, and the only reason I can do any of this is because I’m on my own.