Jane Green - Bookends

‘Have a lovely time, children,’ Si shouts as he climbs into his Beetle. ‘Oh, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!’ and with that he revs the engine and zooms off.

We drive through London, chatting quietly, although it’s hard to hear over the sound of the windscreen wipers swishing through the October rain. I twist my body in the passenger seat so I can look at James’s profile, and I marvel, despite not having done this for years, at how familiar this whole scenario is, how going on a date hasn’t changed since I was a teenager.

I remember twisting my body exactly like this to talk to dates before. I remember the whole feeling of sitting in a darkened car, filled with nerves, apprehension, excitement, because neither of you yet knows what the rest of the night will hold.

We seem to be driving for ever, on the Westway, down to Hammersmith, over to Putney, and eventually into Barnes, where James pulls over and parks the car, and we walk round the corner to a chic little French restaurant.

‘I hope this is okay,’ he says nervously. ‘I thought of somewhere big and trendy, but the problem with those places is you can hardly hear yourself think, and I used to come here a lot when I lived in Hammersmith and I thought it would be perfect and the food’s delicious.’

I realize that he’s talking so much through nerves, and the realization that he’s as nervous as I am makes me relax, and I smile my approval as we walk through the door.

We are shown to a corner table, secluded, discreet, and, although it is in Barnes, outside the trendy epicentre of London, the rest of the clientele look surprisingly smart, and I feel an overwhelming burst of gratitude to Si for doing a number on me, because I’m quite sure I would have been intimidated had I not had glossy locks and shining lips.

‘Is this okay?’

I smile at James. ‘Better than okay. It’s perfect. To be honest I avoid the big, trendy restaurants you mentioned like the plague. Si drags me to them once in a blue moon, but this is much more my scene. I can hear what you’re saying, for starters.’

‘Good. I’d offer you champagne, but you don’t strike me as a champagne type. What would you like to drink?’

‘What do you mean, not a champagne type? What kind of type do I strike you as, then? A few pints of beer?’ I start to laugh.

‘Nah.’ He looks horrified. ‘Not beer. Lager, perhaps.’ And from that point on, I start to relax.

Halfway through my second glass of wine I start to have a good time. Not that I wasn’t having one before, but the alcohol loosens my inhibitions, and the more we talk, the more James smiles at me, the more attractive I start to feel.

Although attractive isn’t quite enough. Actually, sitting here with the candlelight softly flickering on the table and James laughing at all my stupid jokes, I start to feel positively gorgeous.

And suddenly I realize what Lucy, and Portia, have been banging on about. I haven’t felt like this in years. In fact, I don’t think I’ve felt like this ever. I know I’m being funnier than I’ve been for ages, and that there is a real spark between us, something that I was perhaps vaguely aware of before, but tonight it seems to be growing into a flame after all.

And there seems to be so much to say. Neither of us can wipe the grins off our faces, and in our excitement our sentences are tumbling out, twisting and turning, overlapping, and it’s all I can do not to leap on the tabletop and start tapping out a dance of joy.

This is what it’s all about. This is what I’ve been missing out on. And Jesus Christ, no matter how much I love Si, Josh and Lucy, it’s not a patch on this .

I’m in the middle of telling James why Geminis should never be trusted, and he’s laughing even though he’s already admitted that he thinks all this star sign stuff is a load of rubbish, when the door of the restaurant opens, and I can just about see through the smoked glass someone handing their coat in, and, as I carry on talking, the someone steps into the restaurant and it’s Portia.

I stop in the middle of the story, and James turns round to see what I’m looking at. ‘I don’t believe it,’ I say, about to push my chair back and call her over. ‘It’s my friend Portia.’

I start to stand up as the door opens again, and Portia’s mystery date shakes the rain off his umbrella, and I smile to myself as I realize I’ll get to know a bit more about Portia’s private life, about which she seems to be so incredibly private.

The manager greets them effusively before leading them into the restaurant. Portia’s companion has his arm around her to guide her to the table, and she makes a joke, and they look at one another tenderly and laugh.

And when he looks at her I sit back down with a bump because the mystery man with his arm around Portia, looking at her with an extraordinary amount of tenderness and – dare I say it – love, is Josh.

‘Oh fuck,’ I whisper, unable to tear my eyes off them, even as they disappear into the back room. ‘He was bloody right.’

Extraordinary how magic can disappear in a split second. I, we, had been having such an incredible time, but the minute I see Josh and Portia together, my evening is ruined.

And poor James. It’s not his fault. I start trying to explain, but it’s too difficult and it hurts too much, and the only person I really want to talk to right now is Si, because he, after all, was the one who predicted this would happen right from the start.

So this is what she meant by giving herself a happier ending. This is why she kept asking the questions about Josh and Lucy. But Josh? I just can’t believe Josh would do this. I can’t believe he would treat Lucy like this. And if this can go wrong, this marriage, this partnership that seemed so perfect, then what in the hell hope is there for the rest of us?

‘I understand, don’t worry,’ James keeps saying when I tell him that we have to leave, and even though I don’t say why, he can see I’ve gone as white as a sheet.

He asks for the bill, and I’m so keen to get away from here, just in case they should come back through on the way to the loo or something, I forget all about the dilemma of should I offer, shouldn’t I, and just let James pay the bill, my mind far too distracted by other things.

As we walk out, James turns, and I can see that he spots Josh and Portia, and that he really does understand, that it isn’t just a meaningless platitude, and he looks at me sympathetically as I try to push away the feeling of dread that’s now looming.

And God, how different is this car journey from the one a couple of hours earlier. James tries to keep the conversation going, but my heart just isn’t in it, and after a while he gives up and switches the radio on.

We pull up outside my house and I know I ought to invite him in for coffee, to try to make amends, as the last part of the evening has disintegrated so badly, but the only thing I want to do right now is get on the phone and talk to Si, quickly, because he’s the only one who will know what to do.

‘Are you going to be okay?’ James says, and I nod. ‘You’re not going to do anything rash, are you?’ his voice slightly more nervous. ‘Like call Lucy or anything?’

‘God, no! I need to get this clear in my head first.’

‘You know, you might be wrong. It might just be a friendly supper.’

‘James, they were having dinner in Barnes when they both live in North London, and presumably they chose it because they didn’t think they’d see anyone they know. Plus I saw the way they looked at one another, and it’s just all so fucking obvious now.’ My voice starts to rise with anger, and I stop and take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down, even managing a smile for James’s sake.