Lying Together Read Free

tube. I know something’s coming. ‘Didn’t you have a thing with him once?’
    â€˜Good grief, Charlie Brown, whoever told you that?’ I laugh.
    â€˜Your esteemed other half, no less. That party when he got so drunk, remember? And the fella in question actually turned up with Evie in tow and stood in the corner glowering at us all? To be honest, I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. I said so to Richie at the time – mind you, Richie was goggling a bit himself, saying there was something about him, a je ne sais quoi , if in a slightly Stalinist vein – but I simply couldn’t see it myself. So you and Evie both!’ Clive crushes the empty biscuit wrapper between his hands and aims it at the bin, missing by a mile. ‘He must be good in the sack, then.’
    â€˜Nothing about Radnor is good. Steve’s just imagining things.’ I’m surprised Steve’s even mentioned Radnor. Blood rushes to my head, and to hide it I bend to put my empty mug on the floor. I can see Clive’s shoes – shiny old suede, showing the shape of his toes. And his once-natty trousering frayed along the hem.
    â€˜Well, it’s all very bizarre.’ He gets up, cascading crumbs onto the floor. ‘I can’t see why Evie doesn’t take a leaf out of your book, Anne. Find some nice ordinary guy who’ll appreciate her for what she is. Ability to breed isn’t everything, is it?’
    â€˜No, it isn’t. So shut up about it.’ I can hear the sharpness in my voice as I swing back to my screen, bring up the order numbers and scroll down.
    Clive, bless him, looks perplexed, addresses the silent multitude: ‘ Now what have I said?’
    I tell him it’s nothing. I tell him I’m just fed up with being stuck in the office all day. ‘And I don’t feel too good this morning, either.’
    Clive backs off. He’s anxious to placate me, suggests I have some time off. ‘You take as much as you need, duckie. Whatever will help.’ He’ll take it all back as soon as the phone’s going and he can’t access the spreadsheets.
    â€˜I’ll see,’ I say.
    I decide I’ll have to speak to her. I’ve avoided her the last few days, but it has to be faced. I send her a quick email, and she rings me back almost straightaway. I don’t know how she keeps her job in that marketing firm; she’s always got plenty of time to socialize. We settle on lunch in Harborne. Two-course menu £9.99. Waiters reasonably speedy and pasta reasonably reliable. I tell her, ‘Maximum one hour. I’ve got work to do, even if you haven’t.’
    She’s already waiting when I get there. You can tell these days that she’s a bottle blonde, and her skin’s a bit pimply. But her skirt’s short and tight and her tits are on display, and the waiters mill around her, as usual. She gets up, dropping her napkin and knocking her shoulder bag off the arm of her chair, and gives me a big hug. ‘Annie baby! I’ve missed you so much!’
    â€˜God, Evie, it was only last week. Don’t be so melodramatic.’ But I can’t help smiling. I kiss her back. She smells of wine and crumbs. ‘How’s things?’
    She grimaces. ‘Let’s order – I’m starved. I’ve got a bottle already.’ She waves the Valpolicella at me. I notice she’s drunk nearly half of it already. She slops some in my glass: ‘Cheers.’
    â€˜Cheers.’
    â€˜And bugger all men.’
    â€˜For “men” read Radnor, I presume?’
    â€˜They’re all the same. With the exception of your Steve, of course; he’s a doll. And Tom, too. Why couldn’t I have chosen someone like that? Or be happy on my own like Marsha? I’m a fool, aren’t I?’
    I could tell her that she is. I could tell her that she would be well rid of Radnor, that he is trouble incarnate. But I