Greenwich Park(17)

I had been planning to make a toast, to the babies. But as soon as I fill his glass, Daniel brings it straight to his mouth, draining nearly half the wine in one go. For a few moments there is quiet, just the scrape of silverware against dinner plates, the snap of the fire, the faint sound of music from a party in one of the other gardens on the hill. The candles flicker darkly in the smoked-glass lanterns.

I glance at Rory. He is sipping his wine, cheerfully piling mouthfuls of tart and salad onto his fork. I kick him under the table. He looks at me blankly. I glare at him.

‘This is lovely, darling,’ he says loudly.

There is a murmur of assent.

‘It’s super easy. Loads more if you want it.’

It is cooler now – perhaps eating outdoors was a mistake. But no one mentions the temperature. No one is saying anything at all. The evening feels like it has blown off course. I wonder how to steer it back. I glare at Rory again until he catches my eye.

Rory looks up, flicking his head straight and pressing his hands on the table, as if the conversation is only just beginning now that he has started to pay attention to it.

‘So. I hope you guys are coming to my little birthday dinner?’



I sigh. The birthday dinner is going to be anything but little. He just keeps inviting people. I think Rory thinks that things like dinners just happen on their own. But then, I suppose, why wouldn’t he?

‘Oh, definitely,’ says Helen, looking up and beaming. ‘We’re looking forward to it.’

‘Good,’ Rory beams back. ‘I saw our baby brother the other day, Helen. Asked him to come along too.’

Helen pauses for a moment, her cutlery mid-air.

‘You saw Charlie?’

‘Yeah, we thought we’d try going to one of these DJ nights he’s always inviting us to. It was rather fun, wasn’t it, darling?’

Helen raises her eyebrows and looks at me.

‘Yes, they dragged me along too.’ I smile. Roll my eyes in exaggerated forbearance. Hopefully Helen won’t be too cross that none of us mentioned it to her. She’d have hated it, but she also hates to be left out.

‘Yeah, we took the client,’ Rory is saying. ‘It was great, actually. Wasn’t it, Daniel?’

Daniel shrugs. Helen is frowning – she obviously wasn’t told about this outing, much less invited. In any case, she always seems uncomfortable when anyone mentions Charlie. I don’t think she can understand why, when he is nearly thirty, her little brother is still living in some sort of scruffy flat in Hackney, working as a DJ in a club the authorities have repeatedly threatened to shut down.

He’s a bit of a hopeless case, really, Charlie. A few years ago, he casually fathered a daughter with some Swedish girl, whose name I can’t remember. Then, last year, there was some trouble with the police – drugs, I think it was. I seem to remember Helen had to bail him out. I’m not sure of the details.

Now, apparently, he and Katie are back together. I wonder how Helen feels about that. She hasn’t mentioned Katie in a while.

‘Oh, well. It’ll be nice to see Charlie.’ Helen laughs hesitantly.

I fix my face in an expression of equanimity. ‘How’s Katie doing these days?’

Helen frowns. ‘Actually, I haven’t seen her much lately,’ she says. I glance at Helen’s pained expression. It sounds like she and Katie have had some sort of falling-out.

‘I imagine she must be busy with her work,’ I offer. Katie is a journalist on a national newspaper – not a particularly upmarket one. She never tires of telling us all how busy she is.

‘Yes. She has been busy, I think,’ Helen nods, gratefully. ‘She’s up in Cambridge, covering that awful court case with the …’ Helen stops, blushes. ‘Well. I’m sure we’ve all read about it.’

There is an exchange of grimaces. I drop my fork, pick up my napkin and press it to my mouth. Trust Katie to introduce inedible thoughts into a pleasant evening, even when she’s not actually invited.

All of us know the case Helen means – there has been little else in the papers this week. The two accused of rape are both former public schoolboys, and – to add extra tabloid appeal – one is the son of a former Cabinet minister, and the other the son of some earl or other. The victim was young, a drunken eighteen-year-old student, in her first week at the university. There has been blanket coverage, with the boys’ families and their privileged upbringings referenced endlessly. Their parents have been photographed daily on the steps of the court, their mothers’ eyes haunted, their fathers’ faces a picture of blank devastation. I’m sure I’m not the only person at the table who is already sick of hearing about it.

‘Weird, isn’t it?’ Helen says carefully. ‘How … similar it all sounds.’

For a moment, no one speaks. I glance at Daniel. He is staring at Rory.

Rory clears his throat. ‘More drinks, anyone? Another Seedlip thingy, Helen?’

‘Let me get them,’ Helen says. ‘I need to go to the bathroom anyway.’ She hauls herself up, with an effort. Daniel is gazing into space, barely seeming to notice. Rory reaches to help her.

‘Thanks,’ Helen mutters.

I smile at Rory, pleased he has changed the subject, that he is looking after Helen. He stands, winks at me, takes my glass and follows Helen into the kitchen.