had turned to me and asked: ‘Where are the men?’ One was in his cot, six weeks old. I’d found it diverting for days. I didn’t now.
‘Hope?’ Angie abandoned me and turned desperately to our new friends. ‘Any suggestions for next week? You must have been to loads of these things in New York,’ she gushed.
‘Oh God, too many. Twice a week sometimes,’ said Hope. ‘But we tended to decide on the next book at the end of the meeting.’
‘This is the end,’ Peggy informed her.
‘Oh, really?’ Hope blanched. ‘You mean … that’s it?’ She waved a hand at the empty chairs.
‘It’s the end of the booky bit. Not the end of the evening.’
‘No – no, it’s not the end of the booky bit,’ Angie insisted, flustered. ‘We’re all going to sit down again and – oh, look, here’s Simon. How marvellous.’
It was said with feeling, and indeed it was something of a relief to have Simon breeze in amongst us. He looked urbane and expensive in his suit, bringing something of London with him, and not just the Evening Standard. Jennie coloured up slightly but I noticed that although he greeted her warmly, he didn’t linger; he greeted everyone else then said hello to the Armitages, who he appeared to know – through mutual friends, he explained. He did some man-chat with Chad, whilst we women swarmed around his wife.
‘You must think we’re hopeless, Hope,’ said Angie. ‘Oh, that sounds dreadful – hopeless hope!’ she twittered. ‘Being so disorganized. But we’ll be much better next week.’
‘Oh no, not at all. I think it’s all going brilliantly. And Chad and I are so thrilled to be asked, anyway. We were just saying the other day that it’s high time we integrated more with the village. Really got involved in the community.’ We basked in her sweet smile and her wide blue eyes, feeling she really meant it. So lovely.
‘And we really would welcome suggestions for next week,’ Angie told her. ‘We’ve all loved this thriller, but maybe we do need something more stimulating to get the chat going a bit more. Any ideas?’
Hope lowered her voice. ‘D’you know, there are huge gaps in my literary education,’ she confided.
‘Oh, mine too!’ agreed Jennie.
‘So much I haven’t read.’
We all nodded enthusiastically. This we liked. Loved, in fact.
‘D’you want to stick to this particular genre?’
We all looked at her blankly.
‘I mean, the thriller?’
‘Oh no, we’re happy with any … genre. Tragedy, romance. I’d happily read Georgette Heyer every week!’ Jennie assured her.
‘I don’t know her.’
‘You don’t know Georgette Heyer?’ Jennie looked genuinely shocked. She clutched her heart. ‘Oh my God, I’ve got the whole lot. I’ll lend them to you. You’re in for a treat. Start with Faro’s Daughter and you’ll be hooked for life!’
‘Thank you, I’d appreciate that. And meantime,’ Hope lowered her voice again and we all had to lean in because her voice was soft. And she was tiny, so we must have looked like we were mugging her. ‘Well, meantime, if you’re really looking for suggestions, I’m ashamed to say there’s one book which I know I should have read in high school, but just never got around to. I’d love to do it now.’
‘Oh!’ we breathed. Plenty of those. Whole libraries full. ‘Yes?’
‘You’ve probably all read it.’
‘Noo, noo, not necessarily,’ Angie warbled.
‘It’s Ulysses.’
‘Ulysses!’ Jennie and Angie agreed in unison. They rocked back on their heels, glancing wildly at one another. It rang a faint bell, but not a very loud one.
‘Can you believe I’ve never read it? Must be one of the greatest novels in literary history.’
‘I’ve never read it either!’ squealed Angie, hand pressed to her heart. ‘I’ve been so ashamed of that for years!’
‘I’ve always meant to,’ Jennie chimed in. ‘Just never got round to it. Poppy, what about you?’
But I was hanging out Marjorie’s washing now, because she’d asked me to. Large white pants, huge conical bras, the cups of which a puppy could have curled up and had a nap in. Hanging them on my line, while she watched my television.
‘Poppy?’
‘Yes, I told you. I liked the cable-car bit.’
Jennie blinked. Turned her back on me pointedly. ‘I think that’s a brilliant idea, Hope. We’ll all read that for next week, then.’
‘And I could get a few notes from the Internet, perhaps? Circulate them, if you like, to help us along?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. As you can see, we didn’t need notes for this one!’ Angie trilled. She turned. ‘Everyone!’ She clapped her