Sweet Sorrow(73)

‘It is,’ she said and we perched on the edge of a tubful of cacti and took in the scene. ‘I feel like Daisy Buchanan.’

‘Who’s Daisy Buchanan?’

‘She’s Jay Gatsby’s first love. He becomes a millionaire and throws these amazing wild parties, just so Daisy’ll fall in love with him again and leave her husband. I won’t tell you what happens, but it’s very sad. And sort of annoying too.’

‘I’ll read it next,’ I said. I would read every book, see every film, listen to every song that Fran had ever mentioned.

‘Christ, I needed a party. I feel bad about the others though. We mustn’t let on. I hate cliques. Except, you know, when I’m invited to join a clique, in which case cliques are great. Did you have them at Merton Grange? Cliques.’

‘’Course. We didn’t use the word “clique”.’

‘Were you in one?’

‘Sort of. Just a gang of boys really.’

‘Yeah, that’s what Colin said. He said your lot sort of ruled the school.’

‘Did he?’

‘And Lucy too. Except she said they used to call her stuff. Like – what was it? Number Forty-two. Like on a Chinese menu, which doesn’t even make sense, given that she’s Vietnamese. Or her parents are.’

This much was true. She had been called Forty-two almost conversationally, more often than her real name. And then there was Boat Girl and Viet-Cong and, for reasons I’d never really understood, Buddha, and while I couldn’t recall ever using those names myself, I knew that I’d not objected.

‘And what did Colin say?’

‘He said he got the gay-wimp stuff.’

‘I didn’t say those things—’

‘They didn’t say you did.’ Fran put her hand on mine. ‘You think I’m telling you off. I’m not telling you off.’

‘I never said any of that.’

‘I know. She just said some of the boys did.’

‘That was mainly Lloyd and Fox.’

‘And Harper, too. I remember, because I’d heard you talk about him.’

‘He’s my friend, that doesn’t mean he can’t be a dick.’

‘I know.’

‘And Lloyd’s not really a friend, he’s just a friend of a friend, he just hangs around with us. He’s not even talking to me at the moment. I’m not sure if any of them are.’

‘Really? Why not?’

‘I sort of threw a pool ball at his head. Really hard.’

She laughed. ‘Did you miss?’

‘Yeah. But I didn’t mean to.’

‘Why?’

‘Something he said to me.’ I shrugged. ‘He says stuff.’

‘Well, it’s a shame you missed because he sounds like a real prick.’ She laughed. ‘Sorry. Sorry.’

‘No, it’s fair enough.’ A moment passed. ‘When did you and Lucy have this conversation?’

‘Doesn’t matter. And you mustn’t get annoyed with Lucy, she wasn’t telling tales. The only reason it came up was …’

‘Go on.’

‘She said she liked you more now. She said when you turned up with me that first time, she really hated your guts, because of all the … stuff at school. But you weren’t who she thought you were.’

‘It was another time. Different person,’ I said, feeling that this was true.

‘I’m really not trying to be pious or preachy, I can be a bitch too – trust me, I really can.’ She sipped the drink, winced and laughed. ‘I just wanted to be sure that if we were going to do this thing, that I hadn’t got you wrong. That’s all. Let’s forget about it.’

Do this thing, she’d said and continued talking. I wasn’t able to take it in. Do this— ‘… should really mingle …’

Thing, this thing …

‘… and get a different drink. Tequila’s never a good idea.’

What ‘thing’?

‘… even in Mexico, I bet they’re all, have you got something soft?’

‘What “thing”?’ I said.

‘“Thing”?’

‘You said “if we’re going to do this thing”, this “thing”, but what thing?’

I felt her press her arm against mine. ‘You know what thing.’

‘But say it.’

She laughed, stretched her legs and pointed her toes. ‘It’s not something you say, it’s something you do,’ and I knew then that we would kiss later that night, and that it was only a question of getting it right – that small matter – and kissing by the book. ‘Come on …’

‘You haven’t got me wrong,’ I said.

‘No. I didn’t think I had. Let’s go inside. See what else they’ve got to drink.’

She took my arm and we passed through the other guests, who smiled and nodded, amused and indulgent, as if we were children who’d come down in pyjamas to join the party, to light the grown-ups’ cigarettes and sip their drinks. I practised my alibi: Geography, Geography at Sheffield. Yes, it’s a great uni! I am excited, very, thank you very much. Through sliding glass doors, into a kitchen, glass on every side like an aquarium, with the sink and surfaces in the middle of the room, a mystifying thing, and all the pots and pans and implements dangling artfully from hooks like elaborate percussion. On polished black marble, the bartender was lining up more cocktails, red and orange and green like pastel traffic lights, and we took two of the red ones while his back was turned and, a safe distance away, brought our faces down to meet the rims. They tasted of rocket lollies from the ice-cream van and we carried them carefully down glass steps into a living room, sunken like an excavation and once again glass-walled and I wondered what Mr Harper, the Conservatory King, would make of it. ‘It’s just one big bloody great conservatory!’