Funny Girl(65)

There was dancing downstairs and a bar upstairs, and smoke, noise and tartan everywhere. The tartan seemed to explain the name of the club, or the name of the club seemed to explain the tartan, but neither explanation was very satisfactory. They went upstairs, because not even Sophie could walk straight in off the street and begin dancing. She sat down at a table in the corner, and after they’d waited a few minutes for someone to take their drinks order, Maurice went up to the bar.

A handsome young man with very long hair and wearing a loud striped blazer replaced Maurice in seconds.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Keith.’

Sophie smiled at him, but didn’t introduce herself.

‘We’re friends, am I right?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Sophie.

‘Oh. But … We’re not, you know. Not friends.’

‘I don’t think we’re not-friends,’ said Sophie. ‘I just think that we don’t know each other.’

‘Good. That’s a relief to me.’

‘How would we be not-friends?’

‘I’ll tell you the truth,’ said Keith. ‘Sometimes it turns out I’ve met a bird before and one thing has led to another and then because of my busy lifestyle I’ve not really seen her again.’

‘Not really? What does “really” mean?’

Keith laughed.

‘You’re right. “Really” means “never”.’

‘I think I get the gist anyway,’ said Sophie.

‘Don’t let it put you off,’ said Keith.

‘Oh, no,’ said Sophie. ‘You sound like a dream date.’

Keith stared at her again.

‘But we are friends, aren’t we?’

‘No,’ said Sophie. ‘But I don’t think we’re not-friends.’

‘I just got déjà vu,’ said Keith. ‘I feel like I’ve stood in this exact spot having this exact conversation. Have you ever had that?’

‘I got it just now. Just this second.’

‘My mum and dad,’ said Keith suddenly.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘My mum and dad like you, but I don’t know how they know you. Or how I know they know you. And like you.’

He seemed genuinely perplexed. Sophie understood what her relationship with Keith’s parents consisted of, but saw no reason why she had to go into it.

‘I don’t blame them, by the way. You’re gorgeous.’

‘Thank you.’

Maurice came back with their drinks, but Keith didn’t move.

‘My friend has come back now,’ said Sophie gently. ‘It was nice talking to you.’

Keith looked up at Maurice.

‘Him?’ he said to Sophie. ‘Really?’ He stood up and peered into Maurice’s face as if it were a mirror and he was looking for pimples. ‘How old is he?’

‘Do you mind?’ said Maurice.

Sophie managed to suppress the temptation to laugh. It would have been disloyal and unfair. And though Maurice was at least ten years older than Keith, it wasn’t the age difference Keith was referring to, she didn’t think; it was something else. Maurice seemed to belong to another time altogether. He looked like a magician who appeared in variety shows, while everyone else in the club looked as though they lived in a world that had just been specially invented for them. She didn’t want to sound like her father, who’d spent his entire visit shaking his head at just about everybody under the age of twenty-five, but Keith and all the other faces in the Scotch of St James were a little like Clive’s face: unmarked by life somehow. She’d wanted to live in a city that felt young, but now she was beginning to wonder whether there wasn’t something rather shifty about these people, as if they’d got away with something.

‘I think you should clear off now, Sunny Jim,’ said Maurice.

‘Mr Magic!’ said Keith. ‘Fuck me! Show us some magic, Mr Magic!’

Maurice looked confused and a little frightened, Sophie thought.

‘I can’t do tricks in a discotheque,’ he said eventually.

‘Why not?’ said Keith.

‘Did you come with anyone, Keith?’ said Sophie. ‘Because perhaps you should go and look for them. They’ll be worried about you.’

But she’d said too much. The sound of her voice sparked something in the recesses of Keith’s memory.