that, okay? The potential thing. It’s patronizing and it’s insulting and … Well, I don’t want you to say it to me. Ever. Okay?’
‘Woah.’ Josh glanced behind him, perhaps checking to see if any work colleagues were watching. He took my elbow. ‘Okay, so what is really going on here?’
I stared at my feet. I didn’t want to say anything, but I couldn’t stop myself. ‘How many?’
‘How many what?’
‘How many women have you done that thing to? The whispering gallery?’
It threw him. He rolled his eyes and briefly turned away. ‘Felicity.’
‘Yeah. Felicity.’
‘So you’re not the first. But it’s a nice thing, right? I thought you’d enjoy it. Look, I just wanted to make you smile.’
We stood on each side of the door as the taxi meter ticked, and the driver raised his eyes to the rear-view mirror, waiting.
‘And it did make you smile, right? We had a moment. Didn’t we have a moment?’
‘But you’d already had that moment. With someone else.’
‘C’mon, Louisa. Am I the only man you’ve ever said nice things to? Dressed up for? Made love to? We’re not teenagers. We’ve got history.’
‘And tried and tested moves.’
‘That’s not fair.’
I took a breath. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not just the whispering-gallery thing. I find these events a little tricky. I’m not used to having to pretend to be someone I’m not.’
His smile returned, his face softening. ‘Hey. You’ll get there. They’re nice people once you know them. Even the ones I’ve dated.’ He tried to smile.
‘If you say so.’
‘We’ll go on one of the softball days. That’s a bit lower key. You’ll love it.’
I raised a smile.
He leant forward and kissed me. ‘We okay?’ he said.
‘We’re okay.’
‘You sure you don’t want to come back with me?’
‘I need to check on Margot. Plus I have a headache.’
‘That’s what you get for knocking it back! Drink lots of water. It’s probably dehydration. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’ He kissed me, climbed into the taxi and closed the door. As I stood there watching, watching, he waved, then tapped twice on the screen to send the taxi forward.
I checked the clock in the lobby when I arrived back and was surprised to find it was only six thirty. The afternoon seemed to have lasted several decades. I removed my shoes, feeling the utter relief that only a woman knows when pinched toes are finally allowed to sink into deep pile carpet, and walked up to Margot’s apartment barefoot with them dangling from my hand. I felt weary and cross in a way I couldn’t quite articulate, like I’d been asked to play a game whose rules I didn’t understand. I’d actually felt as if I’d rather be anywhere else than where I was. And I kept thinking about Felicity Lieberman’s Did he do the whispering gallery on you?
As I walked through the door I stooped to greet Dean Martin, who bounced his way up the hall to me. His squished little face was so delighted at my return that it was hard to stay grumpy. I sat down on the hall floor and let him jump around me, snuffling to reach my face with his pink tongue until I was smiling again.
‘It’s just me, Margot,’ I called.
‘Well, I hardly thought it was George Clooney,’ came the response. ‘More’s the pity for me. How were the Stepford Wives? Has he converted you yet?’
‘It was a lovely afternoon, Margot,’ I lied. ‘Everyone was very nice.’
‘That bad, huh? Would you mind fetching me a nice little vermouth if you happen to be passing the kitchen, dear?’
‘What the hell is vermouth?’ I murmured to the dog, but he sat down to scratch one of his ears with his hind leg.
‘Have one yourself, if you like,’ she added. ‘I suspect you’ll be in need of it.’
I was just climbing to my feet when my phone rang. I felt a momentary dismay – it would probably be Josh and I wasn’t quite ready to talk to him, but when I checked the screen it was my home number. I pressed the phone to my ear.
‘Dad?’
‘Louisa? Oh, thank goodness.’
I checked my watch. ‘Is everything okay? It must be the middle of the night there.’
‘Sweetheart, I’ve got bad news. It’s your granddad.’
26
In Memory of Albert John Compton, ‘Granddad’
Funeral service: St Mary and All Saints Parish Church,
Stortfold Green
23 April 12.30 p.m.
All welcome for refreshments afterwards at the Laughing Dog public house on Pinemouth Street
No flowers, but any donations welcome to the Injured Jockeys Fund.
‘Our hearts are empty, but we are blessed to