Truly Madly Guilty(28)

But now they just looked steadily at each other and then away again, as if levity were against the new rules for life where they trod so very carefully, where they checked and double-checked, where they knew better than to relax, even for a moment.

The waiter continued on his torturous way, and Clementine distracted herself by playing the Brahms excerpt in her head while using her forearm as a pretend fingerboard under the tablecloth. The Brahms had lots of mini-phrases linked in one extended line. It needed to have that beautiful lyrical feel. Was Ainsley right? Was she focusing too much on technical perfection? ‘If you concentrate on the music the technical problems often solve themselves,’ Marianne used to tell her, but Clementine had come to believe she’d taken that advice too much to heart in every aspect of her life. She needed to be focused, to be disciplined, to clean up as she went, to pay her bills on time and follow the rules and grow the f*ck up.

‘… with a beef and goats’ cheese parfait!’ The waiter finished his recital in the jubilant rush of a carol singer chorusing, and a partridge in a pear tree!

‘All sounds delicious,’ said Sam.

‘Do you want me to go back over anything?’ said the waiter.

‘Absolutely not,’ said Sam, and Clementine nearly laughed out loud. He’d always been good at delivering a dry, straight-faced line.

‘Right. So, you have a think, and in the meantime I’ll just check on your –’ The waiter looked at Clementine.

‘Shiraz,’ supplied Clementine. ‘Pepper Tree shiraz.’

‘Too easy.’ The waiter snapped his fingers, jaunty with relief now that he’d got through the specials.

‘So,’ said Sam, after the waiter had gone.

‘So,’ said Clementine.

‘What are you having?’ Sam lifted the menu in front of him like a newspaper.

‘Not sure,’ said Clementine, picking up her own menu. ‘It all looks good.’

She needed to make a joke. A joke about the waiter. The specials. The non-arrival of the drinks. The girl behind the bar still obliviously polishing glasses. There was so much potential material. For a moment, it felt as though everything rested on this. If she could just make the right joke right now she would save the night, save their marriage. Something about the girl taking a Buddhist approach to her job? Mindfully polishing her wineglasses? If only she’d mindfully pour their drinks? Dear God, when did she become the sort of person who mentally rehearsed flippant remarks?

Someone laughed in the restaurant. A man’s laugh. A deep, distinctive baritone laugh.

Clementine’s heart lurched. Sam’s head jerked up from the menu.

Not Vid. Not here. Not tonight.





chapter fifteen There it was again. Inappropriately loud for this soft-carpeted place.

Clementine swung her head to watch three men making their way through the restaurant. They all bore a superficial resemblance to Vid: the big, bullet heads, giant shoulders, proud stomachs and that European way of walking, not quite a swagger.

But none of them was Vid.

Clementine exhaled. The man laughed again, but it didn’t have the particular tone or depth of Vid’s laugh at all.

She turned back to Sam. He had closed his menu and let it fall back against his chest.

‘I thought it was Vid,’ he said. ‘It sounded exactly like him.’

‘I know,’ said Clementine. ‘I thought it was him too.’

‘Jesus. I just didn’t want to see him.’ He took the menu and placed it back on the table. He pressed his hand to his collarbone. ‘I thought I was going to have a heart attack.’

‘I know,’ said Clementine again. ‘Me too.’

Sam leaned forward, his elbows on the table. ‘It just brought it all back.’ He sounded close to tears. ‘Just seeing his face would –’

‘The Margaret River shiraz!’

Their young waiter triumphantly presented the bottle like a prize.

It was the wrong wine but Clementine couldn’t bear to see his face crumple. ‘That’s it!’ she said in a ‘well done you!’ tone.

The waiter poured them overly generous glasses of wine, one hand behind his back. Red droplets stained the crisp white tablecloth. It might have been safer for him to use two hands.

‘Are you ready to order?’ the waiter beamed at them, flushed with success.

‘Just a few more minutes,’ said Clementine.

‘Of course! Too easy!’ The waiter backed away.

Sam lifted his glass. His hand shook.

‘I thought I saw Vid in the audience at the symphony the other night,’ said Clementine. ‘It gave me such a shock, I forgot to come in. It’s lucky Ainsley was my stand partner.’

Sam gulped a large mouthful of wine. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips. ‘So you didn’t want to see him?’ he said roughly.

‘Well of course I didn’t want to see him. It would have been …’ Clementine couldn’t come up with the right word. She lifted her own glass. There was no tremor in her hand. She’d learned to control a shaking bow arm without beta-blockers, even while her heart thumped with excruciating stage fright.

Sam grunted. He re-opened his menu but she could tell he wasn’t reading it. He was busy reassembling himself, smoothing out his face, becoming bland again.