Where Have All the Boys Gone?(65)

“The situation hasn’t got any better then?”

“Yes, Katie, in the three weeks since you’ve been away, they’ve declared London a war zone and drafted in lots of American soldiers with chewing gum and nylons. It’s been fantastic.”

“Have you heard from Clara?” asked Louise suddenly, out of the blue. She had somehow acquired another full martini in her hand. “Has she got sick and died and you’ve forgotten to mention it?”

Both Katie and Olivia looked down at their drinks.

“Louise . . . you’ve got to put it out of your head,” said Olivia. “I know you’ve been away, but you’re back now, and you’re just going to have to get on with things. Really. For your own good.”

“Do you think?” said Louise suddenly. “You know, it wasn’t until I came back here and back to more stupid bars like this and remembered all these endless, pointless nights out to meet someone new, even before I met bloody Max and you know, I just . . . I just don’t want to do it any more.” She put her drink down. “I mean, am I so awful for being sick of it? Because I just wanted a husband and some children and some chickens. And I know it’s really unfashionable to say that and I know we’re all supposed to be career women and not give a toss and stand up for our feminist heritage that so many women fought so hard for. But I feel like I’m an idiot for wanting that, and there isn’t a single man in this stupid fucking town who feels like that or doesn’t just want a quick fuck, or doesn’t tell you one thing then do something quite different with someone five years younger than you. Is that fair? How is that fair? And I just . . . I just don’t want to do it any more.”

She dumped her empty glass on the table and got up and stalked out.

“I didn’t realise it was this bad,” said Olivia.

“Me neither,” said Katie. “Chickens?”

“I’ll get her,” said Olivia. “I think you remind her too much of someone.”

“OK,” said Katie, as Olivia got up.

For a while, she was content to sit, staring around, but worrying about her friend. Coming back to London seemed to have made her sadder than ever. But she’d seemed so different in Scotland. She’d seemed . . . happy. Katie had assumed it was because she was escaping from all her problems and ignoring them. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“Hey!” said Harry, sitting down beside her. “All alone?”

Katie reflected on this for a moment. “Well, I guess so,” she said.

“Those girls keep squawking at me. They want to go to some party at this place called Bouj . . . Bou something.”

“Oh my God!” said Katie. “You’re here for fifteen seconds and you’re eurotrash already!”

“Am I?” said Harry. He didn’t sound very pleased.

“Yes, you are,” said Katie, as the blonde girls watched, jealously. One of them gave Harry an ickle baby wave.

“Anyway, no I’m not going out to a party. I’m on national television tomorrow.”

“Ooh yes,” said Harry. “Me too.”

“I’m sure those girls would be happy to come back to your hotel room. Although your room service bill would be enough to buy your own fucking golf course.”

“No thanks,” said Harry. “They keep asking if I know Prince William.”

Katie grimaced and shook her head.

Harry looked at her. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” said Katie. “I just . . . I’ve just been looking forward to coming home to London for ages, but now I’m here, I . . . suddenly, I can’t remember why.”

“Doesn’t it feel like home any more?”

“Of course it does,” said Katie, giving it emphasis.

“God, I’m glad you’re not like those girls,” he said suddenly.

“Aren’t I?” Katie was disappointed. She’d always thought that maybe, at least, she looked as if she belonged in London, even if she didn’t always feel it. She could take those girls any time.

“I mean, that London ‘so cool,’ don’t give a stuff attitude—it’s not very nice, really, is it?”

Katie shrugged. “It’s just ambitious people getting what they want, isn’t it?”

Harry squinted at her. “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. That that’s supposed to be a good thing nowadays, nobody giving a toss and everyone pretending they don’t care and that everything’s shit. And it’s everyone’s right to ‘do their own thing.’ Do you know where that gets you?”

“Golf courses?” hazarded Katie.

“Golf . . . uh, yes. Exactly. I mean, I know we don’t always have the easiest of working relationships . . .”

Katie clinked glasses with him.

“But I don’t think—you know, that you’re really that shallow or that you really don’t care.”

Suddenly he looked a bit nervous. “Well, um, when you say what you mean, and so forth. Yes. But, maybe, you know, I’ve just got more used to it, and . . .”

Suddenly, out of the blue, Katie became conscious of the space between them decreasing. The blonde gaggle seemed to have dematerialised; in fact, it was as if there was no one else in the bar at all. She focused on his broad shoulders and, closer in, at his strong hands and, unmistakably, felt an awkward thrill run up her body. As the music faded to a trance-like haze in the background, she felt them, very slowly, inch towards one another.