Sweet Sorrow(74)

The sides of the living area were terraced like the Roman senate in gladiator films, the steps scattered with cushions and rugs on which the senators reclined, and here was Helen, arms clasped around a bowl of crisps as if protecting her child, and Alex telling a story, the crowd leaning in, smiling, laughing. Confidence and talent weren’t entirely the same thing – Miles was the most brash boy I’d ever met, and pure ham – but there seemed to be some connection and I wondered, what must that be like, to have the full attention of the crowd rather than wadding your words into the gaps in other people’s speech? The music was softer in here, an Ibizan bossa nova, and we were happy to stand a little way off and sip our drinks, sophisticates, and listen— ‘My friends!’ said Alex suddenly. ‘Come down here, don’t be shy.’ The audience turned to look at us. ‘This is our Juliet, the very talented Frances Fisher. This is our Benvolio, played by Mr Charles Lewis. Helen and I are trying to engineer a summer romance, isn’t that right, Helen?’

Fran rolled her eyes. ‘Alex, pack it in.’

‘But where’s Romeo?’ said a shaven-headed man, elegant, Chinese, in thick black spectacle frames and a black shirt. ‘Why aren’t you with your Romeo?’

‘Romeo’s not Juliet’s type,’ said Fran, taking a seat, and the man offered her his hand.

‘I’m Bruno,’ said the man.

‘Bruno, your house is beautiful.’

‘Thank you, I’ve been very lucky. You’re very welcome here. You’re …?’

‘Benvolio.’

‘Ah, the method approach! But in real life you’re …?’

‘Charlie.’

‘Charlie, Frances, are you both at college with this one?’

‘That’s right,’ said Fran.

‘Not me,’ I said, baulking at the lie.

‘Although we don’t know that yet,’ said Fran.

‘So what do you do now, Charlie?’

‘I work. Part-time.’

‘Where do you work, Charlie?’

‘Well, in a petrol station.’

‘Oh. Which one?’

‘The one on the bypass.’

‘I go there often. I was delighted the other day to win some very nice free tumblers.’

At least I’d not stolen his scratch cards. ‘Well, don’t put ice in them, they explode in your face.’

‘That’s wise counsel; I’ll bear it in mind. And next time I buy petrol—’

I thought I ought to move things on, try my interrogation technique and use his name. This was something older people liked.

‘So, what do you do, Bruno?’

‘I manufacture and distribute home computers,’ said Bruno, and I wasn’t sure where to go after that.

‘We’ve got a home computer,’ was the best I could do.

‘Oh? Which one?’

I named the model and brand. ‘Dad got it off the back of a newspaper.’

‘Yes, they’re our main rivals. We’re Wang Computers.’

‘It’s not very good. Yours are much better.’

‘The right thing to say. You’ll go far, Charlie. I’m delighted you could make it. You seem like a lovely couple.’

‘Oh, we’re not really a couple,’ said Fran.

‘We haven’t known each other very long,’ I said.

‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything. Look at you both. Get to it! No time to waste! Now – why is no one in the swimming pool?’

‘We weren’t sure if it was allowed,’ said Fran.

‘Of course it’s allowed. That’s what it’s for.’

‘And I don’t have a costume,’ said Helen.

‘Good God! Why are the young so prudish?’ said Bruno, and drained his glass. ‘Now, I’m going to go and push someone in,’ and he bounded up the terraced steps and out into the garden. Alex and Helen, grinning widely, clambered towards us.

‘Alex,’ said Fran, laughing, ‘are you sure he’s okay with us?’

‘Of course. Just don’t let on about this …’

He held out his fist and beckoned us closer, then opened his fingers as if he’d caught some rare bug. In his palm, a small pill, mottled and fat. ‘I’m prepared to split it four ways. It’ll hardly do anything, but who’s in?’

We looked at each other for one moment like musketeers, then Alex nipped the pill between his teeth and we each took a tiny fragment, like the loose grouting from bathroom tiles, chalky and damp with spit. We each washed it down with our cocktail. It was hard to believe something so small could taste so foul, like a blast of hairspray directly on the tongue, and so we drank more of the cocktail that tasted of lollies and went to find the heart of the party.





Queen Mab


The pill had no effect, and we confirmed this to each other every ten minutes or so.

Except that now the music seemed to sound amazing. With a dreary fustiness that we passed off as integrity, my friends and I had always been hostile to dance music, because anything without guitars had no craft, was boring and repetitive, just bang-bang-bang. Harper’s den was not a place to dance, it was somewhere to nod and bite our lower lips.