for monochrome, she was wearing a zebra-print skirt; below that, fuchsia fishnet stockings that only someone with Sylvia’s legs could possibly get away with. The black-and-white theme began and ended with the skirt, though, because her top was various shades of purple and pink. She looked, as always, stunning.
Stevie was one of Sylvia’s several fuckbuddies—my particular favorite, and I was pleased he was here. He was married, but he happily slept with anyone who caught his attention, as did his wife, Elaine. He and Sylvia had a good romp once every couple of months, and in between romps they sometimes had fun out in town with their clothes on, too. Elaine had been out with us on the odd occasion. She was a good laugh. Sylvia once told me she’d woken up after a particularly heavy night in town in the middle of Stevie and Elaine’s kingsize bed, cuddling up to both of them.
The doorbell went and everyone looked at me expectantly. I gave them all a look that said please behave, but when I opened the front door it was Sam and Sean.
“Oh, is he not here?” Sam said, when she made her way into the living room.
“For fuck’s sake,” I said, “seriously, will you lot all just calm down about it?”
I regretted it the moment I’d said it. Why was I being so uptight? These were my best friends, at least the girls were, people I’d spent practically my whole life with. We’d all been pissing about with relationships for years, far too long; if any of them had turned up at Maggie’s with anyone remotely serious I probably would have been just as curious as they all were.
“Sylvia,” Sam said, “is that thing made out of a real zebra?”
“Of course not, darling, I got it in Harrogate.”
“But it’s furry.”
Maggie did her best to delay dinner, but after half an hour Max started grumbling so we all sat down, everybody talking at once, passing bread and wine and spoons and bowls of vegetables. I sat in a miserable silence next to the one empty seat, scooping food onto my plate and wishing I were somewhere else.
Wednesday 12 December 2007
I saw Stuart on High Street, struggling with some shopping bags weighing him down on one side, his jacket sleeve on the other side empty. He had his back to me, heading in the direction of Talbot Street, making slow progress.
I should have immediately caught up with him, offered to give him a hand with the bags, and enjoyed his company on the last few hundred yards back to the house.
Of course, I did none of these things. I skulked around in the doorway of the hairdresser’s for a few minutes, then pretended to study the window of the bookshop, keeping my head down until he’d turned the corner and was out of sight.
It wasn’t just the embarrassment about screaming my head off just because I’d woken up on his sofa. The more I’d thought about it since, the worse it got. He was a doctor, a mental health practitioner at that. He was everyone and everything I’d spent the last three years trying to avoid. He smelled of hospitals, he emanated authority like a scent: people telling you what to do, diagnosing you, feeding you drugs, making decisions for you, steering your life down a path they could control.
I stole a glance to the right, around the various bodies wrapped in warm coats and cars and buses, to see if he was still there.
“Thought it was you. How are you?”
I spun around to find him at my left shoulder, another bag added to those weighing him down.
“I’m okay, thanks. Gosh, those look heavy.”
“They are, a bit.”
He must have turned around when I wasn’t looking, gone back into the pharmacy on the corner. I hesitated for a moment, knowing that I couldn’t very well leave him to walk home with those bags and realizing that it would mean I couldn’t take my usual route home via the alleyway at the back.
“Are you walking my way?” he said with a smile.
I felt unreasonably bad-tempered, mainly at my pathetic attempt to avoid him and the fact that I hadn’t had the sense to go inside the shop and hide myself away properly. I contemplated saying no, I thought about making some excuse about meeting someone, but sometimes it was just easier to give in.
“Here, let me take those bags for you,” I said as we started walking.
“It’s okay, really,” he said.
“Some of