The Things We Do to Our Friends(11)

I had no idea what to say so I just nodded and tried not to show my horror at the tale.

Tabitha had reverted to a more serious pout. “Well told, Sammy. We had a brilliant time up to a point. Once I was back in the UK, it wasn’t so great, Clare, for me anyway—family stuff.”

I nodded. I understood family stuff, but I found myself wanting to break eye contact. It was all a little intense. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“No, no, it’s fine. But we moved around a bit. Then I was away at school, but Samuel and I stayed close—we ended up at the same school much later. I helped him out of some tricky spots!”

Samuel’s face was made smooth by the candles, like a polished stone, and I couldn’t quite read his expression.

“And Ava?” I asked.

“Ah yes, Ava and I met at school too.”

Ava paused before she spoke, and I could tell she was considering how much to say. “I came over when I was thirteen. I’m originally from Russia. Via the U.S. A bit of everything. Do you smoke, Clare?” She changed the subject with no subtlety. Something Tabitha did too, I had noticed.

I nodded.

Tabitha twisted a tendril of hair around one finger and we all looked at her. “Immy and I will come too,” she said.

I noted an exhausted-looking Imogen, hot from cooking and serving and faffing around, and saw she’d gone from relaxed to tattered.

“Why don’t you sort out pudding?” Ava replied.

Tabitha and Ava stared at each other. A silent pull and push of power. I could tell that they were in charge, Tabitha loud and braying and Ava a quieter strength just under the surface.

Tabitha bowed her head, as if excusing Ava from the table.

“Come outside with me to smoke. It’s so hot in here,” Ava said. That was the way she spoke, in swift directives issued calmly, making it hard to work out whether there was even a choice to follow them.

We left the flat in silence and stood on the sidewalk. Wordlessly, she handed me a lit cigarette, the taste of smoke mixing with the smell of bonfire already in the air. It gave me a chance to examine her. She had long dark hair, a little like Imogen’s, but that was where the similarities between them ended. Ava was all harsh lines. She was also shiny, like she’d been covered with a thin veneer of plastic everywhere: coated lips and a strangely lacquered ponytail on the top of her head. Not a look I’d seen before, but I liked it.

She lit her own cigarette and leaned back against the sandstone.

“It’s not true,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“That story, about her and Samuel.”

“Really?”

“No. I’ve heard many versions of Tabitha meets Samuel over the years. Cruise ships, abductions, heists…shameless, really. Who knows how they actually met; it was before my time. Those two just like to see how people respond. It’s play.”

“Why, though?” I asked. Although the story had seemed over the top and exaggerated for effect, it hadn’t occurred to me that it might not be true.

“Why not? I mean, the story always ends the same. Best friends, some deep connection forged through some awful or fantastic drama, so what does it matter where it begins? The end is the only thing that matters, don’t you think?”

I shrugged. “That’s a bit odd, but I guess it doesn’t really make much of a difference to me.”

“No, it doesn’t, and I would say be careful, but there’s absolutely no point. Whatever happens with Tabitha, it just happens, and you have to go along with it. You’re also her type.”

“Her type?”

“Yup, her type.”

I found this even more remarkable.

Ava burst out laughing, but laughing didn’t suit her face, and it surprised me. “You know, pretty in a wild kind of way,” she said. “That’s all I meant—someone she’d want around. You look terrified. There’s really no need to be at all. Here. This.” She gestured up to the flat above us with the end of her cigarette. “In there, them, us, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and you’re going to love it. I promise. I’ll look after you.”

It was a big statement, but I already felt comfortable enough around Ava to want to force myself to trust it.

She winked (this, again, didn’t suit her and seemed forced) and threw her cigarette onto the ground with mine.





9


I had assumed we’d avoid discussing anything too personal at that first dinner party.

This was based on my interactions with Georgia and Ashley, who would stare passively at the TV for hours and then review the program with analytical detail. Then, with other students I’d met, the chat was all about music, the latest band, or else the endless dissection of relationships and friendships to forensic levels. Who’d said what to whom; who was being unfair; petty household disputes involving stolen cooking oil that built up to become grave feuds.

Tabitha and her group were opting out of being young, which was fine by me. It was a relief, as I wouldn’t have understood the cultural references, but there was no talk of bands or TV or anything like that. Once I’d jumped through the awkward introductions as they tested me out, what we spoke about extensively, almost without a break, was money.

Money should have been a difficult topic, but over the course of that first evening I saw that it wasn’t awkward at all. I’d never spoken about money before with friends too much because there had always been imbalances.