ONE DAY(67)

‘Where?’

He extended his arm until his finger was two inches from her mouth. ‘Just. There.’

‘Can’t take me anywhere!’ She ran the point of her pink tongue back and forth across her teeth. ‘Better?’ she grinned.

‘Much.’ He smiled and stepped away, then turned back to her.

‘Just out of interest,’ he said, ‘what time do you finish here tonight?’

The oysters had arrived, lying glossy and alien on their bed of melting ice. Emma had been passing the time by drinking heavily, with the fixed smile of someone who’s been left alone and really doesn’t mind at all. Finally she saw him weaving across the restaurant a little unsteadily. He bundled into the booth.

‘I thought you’d fallen in!’ This was something that her granny used to say. She was using her grandmother’s material.

‘Sorry,’ he said, but nothing more. They began on the oysters. ‘So listen, there’s a party later tonight. My mate Oliver, who I play poker with. I’ve told you about him.’ He tipped the oyster into his mouth. ‘He’s a baronet.’

Emma felt sea-water dribble down her wrist. ‘And what’s that got to do with anything?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Him being a baronet.’

‘I’m just saying, he’s a nice bloke. Lemon on that?’

‘No thank you.’ She swallowed the thing, still trying to work out if she had been invited to the party or just informed that a party was taking place. ‘So where is this party then?’ she said.

‘Holland Park. Massive great house.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

Still not sure. Was he inviting her, or excusing himself early? She ate another oyster.

‘You’re very welcome to come along,’ he said finally, reaching for the Tabasco sauce.

‘Am I?’

‘Absolutely,’ he said. She watched as he unblocked the sticky neck of the Tabasco bottle with the tine of his fork. ‘It’s just you won’t know anyone there, that’s all.’

Clearly she was not invited. ‘I’ll know you,’ she said weakly.

‘Yes, I suppose so. And Suki! Suki will be there.’

‘Isn’t she filming in Scarborough?’

‘They’re driving her back tonight.’

‘She’s doing very well, isn’t she?’

‘Well, we both are,’ he said, quickly and a little too loud.

She decided to let it pass. ‘Yes. That’s that what I meant. You both are.’ She picked up an oyster, then put it back. ‘I really like Suki,’ she said, though she had met her only once, at an intimidating Studio 54-themed party in a private club in Hoxton. And Emma had liked her, though she couldn’t escape the feeling that Suki treated her as rather quaint, one of Dexter’s homely, old-style friends, as if she were only at the party because she’d won the phone-in competition.

He necked another oyster. ‘She’s great, isn’t she? Suki.’

‘Yes, she is. How’s it going with you two?’

‘Oh alright. Bit tricky, you know, being in the public eye all the time . . .’

‘Tell me about it!’ said Emma, but he didn’t seem to hear.

‘And I sometimes feel like I’m going out with this public address system, but it’s great. Really. You know the best thing about the relationship?’

‘Go on.’

‘She knows what it’s like. Being on the telly. She understands.’

‘Dexter – that is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.’

And there she goes again, he thought, the snippy little comments. ‘Well it’s true,’ he shrugged and decided that as soon as he could pay the bill, their evening would be over. As if as an afterthought, he added, ‘So, this party. I’m just worried about you getting home, that’s all.’

‘Walthamstow’s not Mars, Dex, it’s just North East London. It supports human life.’

‘I know!’

‘It’s on the Victoria Line!’

‘But it’s just a long way on public transport, and the party won’t get going ’til midnight. You’ll arrive and then you’ll have to go. Unless I give you money for the cab—’

‘I do have money, they do pay me.’

‘Holland Park to Walthamstow though?’

‘If it’s awkward for me to come—’

‘It’s not! It’s not awkward. I want you to come. Let’s decide later, shall we?’ and without excusing himself he went to the toilet again, taking his glass with him as if he had another table in there. Emma sat and drank glass after glass of wine and continued to simmer, building to a steady rolling boil.

And so the pleasure wore on. He returned just as the main courses arrived. Emma examined her beer-battered haddock with minted pea puree. The thick pale chips had been machine-cut into perfect oblongs and were stacked up like building blocks with the battered fish teetering precariously on top, six inches off the plate, as if it might hurl itself into the pool of thick green gloop below. What was that game? The stacked wooden blocks? Carefully, she extracted a chip from the top of the pile. Hard and cold inside.

‘How’s the King of Comedy?’ Since returning from the toilet, Dexter’s tone had become even more belligerent and provoking.