Surprise Me(39)

‘Your husband messaged me on Facebook and said you really wanted to hang out with me.’ Claire eyes me. ‘He said you kept saying what a shame it was that we’d lost touch.’

‘Right.’

I’m still smiling, while my mind darts frenziedly around my options. Do I tell her the truth and have a little laugh and ask her to keep it quiet? No. She’s not that sort. She’d blurt it out to Dan in a heartbeat, I can tell, and he’d be crushed.

I have to go with this.

Somehow.

‘I thought it was a bit strange, to be honest,’ says Claire. ‘Hearing from you.’

‘Well, you know!’ I say, over-brightly. ‘You get to that age and you look back and you think … what did happen to Claire and … the gang?’

‘The gang?’ Claire frowns blankly.

‘You know!’ I say. ‘Everyone! All our mates! Like … er …’

I can’t remember a single name of anyone that Claire might have known. We hung out in different circles. Yes, we were in the same halls – and didn’t we once play in a netball match together, when I was co-opted on to the team? Maybe that’s how Dan got confused. Maybe he saw an old photo online. But that was our only point of connection. We weren’t bloody friends.

‘I’m in touch with Husky,’ allows Claire.

‘Husky!’ I say shrilly. ‘How’s—’

He? She? Who the hell was Husky? I should look more closely at Facebook. But quite honestly, since the twins, I don’t have time to check up on all my 768 ‘friends’ the whole time. I barely keep up with my real ones.

‘I’m still in touch with Sam … Phoebe … Freya … all the art history lot,’ I volunteer. ‘Phoebe’s just got married, actually.’

‘Right,’ says Claire with a dampening lack of interest. ‘I never really got on with them.’

Oh God. This is painful. Where’s that bottle of fizz got to?

‘You and your husband, you’re not selling something, are you?’ says Claire, eyeing me suddenly with suspicion.

‘No!’

‘Or trying to convert me? Are you Mormons?’

‘No.’ I half want to cry and half want to break into hysterical laughter. We had tickets for Tim Wender … ‘Look, here’s Dan with the bottle of fizz. Let’s have a drink.’

It’s an ordeal. The food (mostly beans) is dry and bland. The cava is acidic. The conversation is sparse and difficult, like digging for carrots in rock-hard soil. Claire doesn’t give a lot. I mean, she really makes it hard. How on earth does she motivate a research team at GlaxoSmithKline? The only plus of the experience is, it’s made me want to call up all my real friends and gratefully fall into their conversational laps.

At last we get in the cab that Dan’s ordered to take us home and wave goodbye. (We offered a lift to Claire, who declined, thank God.) Then Dan leans back in his seat in satisfaction.

‘That was amazing,’ I say hastily. ‘Just amazing!’

He grins. ‘You liked it, huh?’

‘I was blown away,’ I say truthfully. ‘To think you went to all that trouble … I’m so touched.’ I reach over to kiss him. ‘Overwhelmed.’

And I really am. Arranging a reunion was the most thoughtful thing to do. He couldn’t have chosen a better treat. (Except if it was with, you know, someone I actually liked.) ‘She’s not what I imagined,’ Dan says, curiously. ‘Was she such a fierce vegan at uni?’

‘Well …’ I have no idea. ‘Maybe not that fierce.’

‘And her views on composting.’ He widens his eyes. ‘She’s quite vociferous, isn’t she?’

Dan just made one flip remark and had to put up with a humourless rant, which he took in the best possible spirit. All for me. I could see him peering at Claire, thinking, Why on earth did Sylvie want to get back in touch with her?

I bite my lip, trying to quell a rising laugh. One day I’ll tell him the truth. Like, in a year’s time. (Maybe five years’ time.) ‘Anyway,’ says Dan as the cab swings round a corner. ‘I have one surprise left.’

‘Me too.’ I touch his knee. ‘Mine’s a sexy surprise. Is yours?’

‘It’s pretty sexy.’ He meets my eyes and I can see the glint in them, and then we’re kissing properly, passionately, just like we used to do in taxis all the time, before the ‘back seat’ meant ‘two car seats and bumper wet wipes, just in case’.

My surprise is some tingly massage oil. It’s supposed to be ‘super-stimulating’, not that Dan seems as though he needs much extra stimulation today. I wonder what his surprise is? Underwear, maybe? Agent Provocateur?

‘I can’t wait,’ I murmur into his neck, and I stay nestled up against him all the way home.

As we head into the house, the girls come running to greet us, shrieking something about a ballet show, and Karen follows behind, her eyes shining in expectation.

‘Was it awesome?’ she demands, then turns to me. ‘Now you see why I chose Dan’s surprise. A reunion! I mean, a reunion!’

‘Yes!’ I try to match her tone. ‘It … blew me away!’

Dan’s phone bleeps with a text and his eyes gleam. ‘Already!’ he says, then looks up. ‘Karen, you can go now. Thanks so much for stepping in.’