The Friends We Keep(74)

“Am I . . . allowed to ask about the father?” Maggie remembered Topher once saying that the father wasn’t involved, that he thought the father may not even have known that he had a son, and that Evvie never discussed it.

“You can ask,” said Evvie, “but that doesn’t mean there’s anything to tell. It was a long time ago, and at the time I thought it was a terrible mistake and would ruin my life, except for the fact that of course Jack has been the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“I hope I get to meet Jack one day,” said Maggie.

“If you’re ever in San Francisco, I’ll make sure it happens!” Evvie lied.

“How do you cope, with him being so far away? Haven’t you ever thought about moving there?”

“I have. I think about it all the time, but the truth is, San Francisco isn’t my place. I spent some time in LA when I was young and I hated it. I can’t see myself on the West Coast, even though I miss Jack hugely. I keep hoping he’ll come back to the New York area, but I don’t think it’s likely. I have to let him go. I have to fight every day not to drive him mad with texting, or phoning, or going to see him. He was always my happy place, especially when I was married to Lance, and in some ways that wasn’t a great thing for him. It gave him too much responsibility. It’s better that he’s far away. He needs to find his feet, build a life without feeling like he has to look after his mother.”

“It’s still so weird thinking of you as a mother,” said Maggie. “I still see you as a nineteen-year-old with furry slippers sipping giant mugs of hot chocolate and taking all those weird slimming pills.”

“You knew about those?”

“Of course I knew. We were worried as hell but figured you were old enough to look after yourself. Oh my lord, is that Topher?” Her face lit up as she called out his name, spying him at the front of the signing-in line.

“Get over here!” He gestured for them to come to the front, his American accent even more distinct than it was all those years ago when he let his Anglophile tendencies get the better of him, adopting a slight mid-Atlantic drawl.

“We can’t queue jump,” Maggie said, noting that everyone in front of them was turning to look at them.

“Of course you can. Get your asses over here now.”

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Maggie mouthed to Topher, following Evvie mutely to the front and pretending not to see people stare as Topher squeezed her arms and then flung his own around her.

“I am capable of much, much worse,” he murmured in her ear, and she instantly forgave him. He hugged Evvie as they all signed their names in the book, then walked into the big room, heading straight for the bar, but pausing as Topher held them back.

“God, this is all a bit sad,” said Topher, frowning at the lack of decoration, lack of . . . anything. There were a few groups of people standing around the edges of the room, picking at the buffet tables, with a small line developing at the bar. “Where are the balloons? Where are the streamers?”

“Where do you think you are? The United States?” Evvie started to laugh. “The fact that there’s a reunion at all is a bit of a miracle. You didn’t expect them to spend proper money on it, did you?”

“I did! God knows they’ve all seen enough American movies to know how it’s done. Balloons, streamers, and a live band.”

“And punch!” Maggie laughed again. “Where’s the punch? They always have punch in those American films.”

“I’m not seeing punch.” Topher eyed the bar. “I am seeing boxes of wine though. Urgh. This is all depressing.”

“Hi!” A woman in a patterned lilac ball gown came over to them. “Oh my God! Look at you all! You all look amazing!”

They all looked blankly at her, Evvie wondering if perhaps she might persuade the woman to hire her for a wardrobe makeover, because that ball gown looked like something out of 1986.

“It’s me! Victoria Charles! We were roommates for about ten seconds!” She looked at Evvie, whose mouth opened.

“Oh my God!” Topher’s face lit up. “Victoria! Look at you!” He gave her a hug. “Guys.” He turned to the others. “You remember Victoria! You loved cats, right?”

“I did! I actually run a cat rescue now.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” said Evvie. “You look exactly the same.”

“Victoria!” Maggie hugged her as Victoria beamed. “Look at you! That dress is spectacular!” she lied smoothly.

Victoria giggled. “I couldn’t believe it still fit. I wore it to the graduation ball! Can you believe it? Good old Laura Ashley!”

“I can’t believe it,” said Evvie, who, other than recalling her Catpuccino mug, had only one other vague recollection of a large, jolly girl who had drunk too much at the graduation ball, collapsing in a toilet stall, her lilac-patterned Laura Ashley skirts billowing out around her. “You kept it all these years!”

“I never throw anything away,” Victoria said proudly. “You never know what comes in handy. I still have my cat posters from university in the downstairs loo! Not to mention my clothes. Who would ever have thought I could fit into this dress after all these years?”

“You’ll be wearing it everywhere now,” said Topher. “It’s very in, the eighties retro thing.”