posh sort of person. He’s …’
‘He’s lovely, yeah. But before his dad died he was much more like your stereotypical law type. Nice suit, pretty girlfriend, liked a night out at the Sloaney Pony.’
Despite having heard about the ‘old Alex’ a few times, I struggle to reconcile the laid-back, slightly scruffy, bearded, permanently exhausted Alex with the image she’s creating.
‘That’s really weird. I can’t imagine that at all.’
‘I don’t think Alice could imagine him the way he is now. She’d have that beard off him in about five seconds flat, for one thing.’
After picking up Pimm’s, cucumber, a punnet of strawberries and some lemonade, we head back to Albany Road.
‘What d’you think’s going on in there?’ Becky nods towards our house as we approach.
‘Have you got any change yet?’ says the little girl from the lemonade stall.
‘Sorry, no,’ I say. ‘Unless you take credit cards?’
She giggles. ‘I did ask Daddy if he’d let us but he said no.’
‘You’ll have to catch me after payday, then,’ I say, only half joking. I’m still lurching precariously from one month to the other. Becky’s paid for the Pimm’s, which is just as well because I’ve pretty much run out of money and there’s still quite a lot of the month left. I clock the expensive-looking car parked opposite our house and wonder if it belongs to Alice.
‘Is that …?’
Becky nods. ‘Yep. You can see how downgrading to hoofing it on the tube on a student loan wasn’t really her style.’
Inside, Rob’s dishing up spiced chicken kebabs on a bed of colourful salad leaves. There’s no sign of Emma, or Alex, or Alice, for that matter. I can’t help feeling angry that we’ve arranged a day to take his mind off something and Alice has come along and put a massive spanner in the works.
‘They’re outside in the garden.’ Rob nods his head towards the door.
‘I’ll make the Pimm’s,’ says Becky, quickly. ‘You go and size up the atmosphere out there.’
Surprisingly, Emma’s on her hands and knees, pulling up weeds from a flower border. She’s gathered quite a pile, heaped up beside her.
‘I didn’t have you down as a gardener,’ I say, nodding at the pair of battered-looking green gardening gloves she’s wearing.
‘They’re not mine. Think they must’ve belonged to Becky’s gran. But yeah, I love gardening. Used to help my dad out at the allotment all the time. I still do, when I go home.’
Well, this day just gets weirder.
Meanwhile, Alex and Alice are sitting at a faded wooden picnic table. It’s worn smooth and silver with age.
‘Come and join us,’ says Alex, patting the bench beside him. I slide myself into the narrow gap and sit down, not too close to him, and look at Alice. She seems perfectly composed, sitting with her hands folded neatly in front of her, a glass of Rob’s wine half drunk on the table.
Well, I think. This is going to be a bit of an awkward afternoon.
‘Pimm’s, anyone?’ says Becky, in a sing-song voice.
‘God, yes,’ I say, falling on a glass with as much enthusiasm as one of our marathon runners at the support table reaching for water. I take a slightly too-large sip and cough.
But of course, we’re British, and what we do best is awkward, slightly stilted social gatherings. Rob insists there’s more than enough food for everyone, so we spend a perfectly polite and charming evening around the battered old garden table celebrating Alex’s not-wedding with the wife that never was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jess
28th June
‘It’s lovely to hear you,’ says Nanna. Her voice makes me smile as I walk along the narrow road towards Pimlico, where we’re meeting for a wedding dress trying-on session. Gen’s supposed to be meeting me at Starbucks, but she’s texting a series of updates from the bus she’s on, which seems to be stuck behind some sort of impromptu protest march. Her messages beep in my ear as I talk to Nanna and walk.
‘So what’s happening with you?’
‘I’m off to play dressing up with the girls.’
‘Ooh, lovely. Has she set a date?’ Nanna loves a wedding – and a funeral. In fact she loves any sort of occasion where you can dress up and wear a nice hat. I step off the pavement to make way for a man carrying two buckets filled with flowers, then step back hastily as a black cab beeps loudly.
‘No, she hasn’t set a date – it’s most un-Sophie-like. I’m not sure what she’s doing.’
‘That doesn’t sound like her at all.’
‘It’s the baby stuff. I