One Day
Шрифт:
And the jokes; why was she always getting at him, reminding him of his failings? He hadn’t forgotten them. All that stuff about things being ‘posh’ and my-fat-bum and orthopaedic high-heels, the endless, endless self-deprecation. Well God save me from comedi ennes, he thought, with their put-downs and their smart asides, their insecurities and self-loathing. Why couldn’t a woman have a bit of grace and elegance and self-confidence, instead of behaving all the time like some chippy stand-up?
And class! Don’t even mention class. He takes her to a great restaurant at his own expense, and on goes the cloth cap! There was a kind of vanity and self-regard in that working-class-hero act that sent him crazy. Why is she still harping on about how she went to a comp, never went abroad on holiday, has never eaten an oyster? She’s nearly thirty years old, all that was a long, long time ago, and it’s time she took responsibility for her own life. He gave a pound to the Nigerian man who passed him his hand towel, stepped out into the restaurant, saw Emma across the room fiddling with her cutlery in her High Street funeral dress, and he felt a new wave of irritation. In the bar, to his right, he could see the Cigarette Girl, standing alone. She saw him, and smiled, and he decided to make a detour.
‘Twenty Marlboro Lights, please.’
‘What, again?’ she laughed, her hand touching his wrist.
‘What can I say? I’m like one of those beagles.’
She laughed again, and he pictured her in the banquette next to him, his hand under the table on her stockinged thigh. He reached for his wallet. ‘Actually, I’m going to this party later with my old mate from college over there—’ Old mate, he thought, was a nice touch. ‘—and I don’t want to run out of cigarettes.’ He handed her a five-pound note, folded crisply lengthwise in two, held between first and second finger. ‘Keep the change.’
She smiled, and he noticed a tiny speck of ruby lipstick on her white front teeth. He wanted very much to hold her chin and wipe it off with his thumb.
‘You have lipstick. .’
‘Where?’
He extended his arm until his finger was two inches from her mouth. ‘Just. There.’
‘Can’t take me anywhere!’ She ran the point of her pink tongue back and forth across her teeth. ‘Better?’ she grinned.
‘Much.’ He smiled and stepped away, then turned back to her.
‘Just out of interest,’ he said, ‘what time do you finish here tonight?’
The oysters had arrived, lying glossy and alien on their bed of melting ice. Emma had been passing the time by drinking heavily, with the fixed smile of someone who’s been left alone and really doesn’t mind at all. Finally she saw him weaving across the restaurant a little unsteadily. He bundled into the booth.
‘I thought you’d fallen in!’ This was something that her granny used to say. She was using her grandmother’s material.
‘Sorry,’ he said, but nothing more. They began on the oysters. ‘So listen, there’s a party later tonight. My mate Oliver, who I play poker with. I’ve told you about him.’ He tipped the oyster into his mouth. ‘He’s a baronet.’
Emma felt sea-water dribble down her wrist. ‘And what’s that got to do with anything?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Him being a baronet.’
‘I’m just saying, he’s a nice bloke. Lemon on that?’
‘No thank you.’ She swallowed the thing, still trying to work out if she had been invited to the party or just informed that a party was taking place. ‘So where is this party then?’ she said.
‘Holland Park. Massive great house.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
Still not sure. Was he inviting her, or excusing himself early? She ate another oyster.
‘You’re very welcome to come along,’ he said finally, reaching for the Tabasco sauce.
‘Am I?’
‘Absolutely,’ he said. She watched as he unblocked the sticky neck of the Tabasco bottle with the tine of his fork. ‘It’s just you won’t know anyone there, that’s all.’
Clearly she was not invited. ‘I’ll know you,’ she said weakly.
‘Yes, I suppose so. And Suki! Suki will be there.’
‘Isn’t she filming in Scarborough?’
‘They’re driving her back tonight.’
‘She’s doing very well, isn’t she?’
‘Well, we both are,’ he said, quickly and a little too loud.
She decided to let it pass. ‘Yes. That’s that what I meant. You both are.’ She picked up an oyster, then put it back. ‘I really like Suki,’ she said, though she had met her only once, at an intimidating Studio 54-themed party in a private club in Hoxton. And Emma had liked her, though she couldn’t escape the feeling that Suki treated her as rather quaint, one of Dexter’s homely, old-style friends, as if she were only at the party because she’d won the phone-in competition.
He necked another oyster. ‘She’s great, isn’t she? Suki.’
‘Yes, she is. How’s it going with you two?’
‘Oh alright. Bit tricky, you know, being in the public eye all the time. .’
‘Tell me about it!’ said Emma, but he didn’t seem to hear.
‘And I sometimes feel like I’m going out with this public address system, but it’s great. Really. You know the best thing about the relationship?’
‘Go on.’
‘She knows what it’s like. Being on the telly. She understands.’
‘Dexter — that is themost romantic thing I’ve ever heard.’
And there she goes again, he thought, the snippy little comments. ‘Well it’s true,’ he shrugged and decided that as soon as he could pay the bill, their evening would be over. As if as an afterthought, he added, ‘So, this party. I’m just worried about you getting home, that’s all.’
‘Walthamstow’s not Mars, Dex, it’s just North East London. It supports human life.’
‘I know!’
‘It’s on the Victoria Line!’