Our Kind of Cruelty(10)

The guests did flinch when I said both words, Suzi’s colour rising up from her shirt to her taut, chicken-like neck. But V just smiled and winked at me when nobody was looking.

I must have sat at the table for longer than I realised after speaking to Suzi, because it was 2 p.m. by the time I set off on my paper errand. There was a newsagent’s close by but I thought a walk across the common would do me good and there was a pub which overlooked it that appeared nice. I bought the Observer and a pint and sat outside on a table close to the road. I checked my email on my phone, but my inbox was still empty. Instead I did what I’d been avoiding all morning and typed 24 Elizabeth Road, W8 into Google Maps. The house was just what I had expected: grand, white, imposing. I expanded the image, but I couldn’t make out anything beyond white shutters and dark rooms behind.

Next I googled V’s fiancé, Angus Metcalf, my hands shaking slightly against the keys, so I had to retype his name a few times. There were quite a few results, but I knew immediately which he was. Angus Metcalf of Metcalf, Blake, apparently the pre-eminent advertising company of our age, who had embraced the more cynical, ever-connected world we live in to come up with the most innovative, exciting and successful campaigns of the past decade. On the staff page was a black-and-white photograph of a rugged-looking man. He was smiling out at the camera, his eyes creased and his hair greying slightly at the temples. I suppose some people would have called him attractive, but I thought he was very simian-looking and I had to tear my mind away from imagining his ape-like hands on V’s body. His smile was too full, as if he was laughing at you rather than with you. I estimated him to be quite a bit older than us, early forties perhaps, which made me feel a bit better because he hadn’t retired yet and he must be approaching V’s magical number of forty-five, which would suggest she wasn’t that serious about him.

‘Mike.’

I looked up and Kaitlyn was standing in front of me on the street, a disgusting little dog in her arms. The thing was yapping at me and I would have dearly loved to kick it across the road. V said anyone who kept pets was mad and this seemed to prove the point.

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve just been walking Snowdrop.’ She laughed lightly. ‘Remember, I live here.’

‘Sorry, of course you do,’ I said, remembering our conversation from Friday evening.

‘God, what happened?’ She motioned to my eyebrow.

I reached up to the sore area of skin. ‘Oh, nothing. I walked into a door.’

Her forehead creased into a frown. ‘Are you here alone?’

‘Yes. Just reading the paper.’

‘Where’s Verity?’

I was slightly shocked to hear V’s name in Kaitlyn’s mouth and it took me a minute to remember everything I’d said to her. ‘At home. Making lunch.’

‘Oh, how nice.’ But she stayed standing where she was.

I stood up and drained my pint. ‘Anyway, better be off. I was only meant to be getting the paper.’ I held it up like an exhibit.

‘Oh yes, well. See you tomorrow.’ She put Snowdrop down and they moved away, all their long spindly legs marching on the pavement. I was relieved to see Kaitlyn was wearing trainers today and giving her poor feet some time off the vertiginous heels.

V says it is unfeminist to wear shoes in which you can’t run. Naturally she made an exception for when we were Craving, but then she said it didn’t count because she had me. Strong body, strong mind, V always said, and she is totally and completely right.

I went home and changed again into my running gear, setting off almost immediately back across the common, although I ended up going much further, getting lost in my movement, feeling my body move through the pain, and feeding off the adrenaline leaching into my muscles. It reminded me just how strong I am. Just how capable.

When I got home I made myself shower before checking my email. V doesn’t like workout sweat. She says it’s different from sex sweat and she used to scream if I came anywhere near her after a run. She definitely wouldn’t want me dripping on the sofa. And all in all it was the right thing to do, all of it, because when I finally sat with the laptop there was a reply from her, writ bold in my inbox.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Hi

Mike,

Lovely to hear from you. I’ve been meaning to get in touch. Actually I was going to write before we sent out the invites, but time spun away from me, as usual. I rang Elaine to get your address. She says she hasn’t seen you or your new house since you got back. She sounded a bit wistful actually, you know the way she does. You should ask her over.

I’m so glad you’re coming to the wedding. I was worried you might feel a bit put out by it all, but it sounds like things are good with you. (Do feel free to bring someone, by the way, if there is someone, that is.) I’m so happy that we can be friends. It all got a bit silly back there and we both said things we probably shouldn’t have. I definitely acted a bit like a spoilt brat. Meeting Angus has put everything into perspective for me and has made me grow up quite a lot.

I would love to come and see your new house sometime and you must come here for dinner. I am still at Calthorpe’s, still trying to override humans!

It’s all a bit manic at the moment, as you can imagine, but after the wedding we’ll set a date.