فصل 11

11

Dear Thom,

I’m sending you a baseball cap because Nathan and I went to a real-life baseball game yesterday and all the players wore them (actually, they wore helmets but this is the traditional version). I got one for you and one for someone else I know. Get your mum to take a picture of you in it and I can put it on my wall!

No, I’m afraid there aren’t any cowboys in this part of America sadly – but today I am going to a country club so I will keep an eye out in case one rides by.

Thank you for the very nice picture of my bum-bum with my imaginary dog. I hadn’t realized my backside was that shade of purple underneath my trousers, but I shall bear that in mind if I ever decide to walk naked past the Statue of Liberty like in your picture.

I think your version of New York may be even more exciting than the real thing.

Lots of love,

Auntie Lou xxx

Grand Pines Country Club sprawled across acres of lush countryside, its trees and fields rolling so perfectly and in such a vivid shade of green they might have sprung from the imagination of a seven-year-old with crayons.

On a crisp, clear day Garry drove us slowly up the long drive, and when the car pulled up in front of the sprawling white building, a young man in a pale blue uniform stepped forward and opened Agnes’s door.

‘Good morning, Mrs Gopnik. How are you today?’

‘Very good, thank you, Randy. And how are you?’

‘Couldn’t be better, ma’am. Getting busy in there already. Big day!’

Mr Gopnik having been detained at work, it had fallen to Agnes to present Mary, one of the long-serving staff at his country club, with a retirement gift. Agnes had made her feelings clear for much of the week about having to do this. She hated the country club. The former Mrs Gopnik’s cronies would be there. And Agnes hated speaking in public. She could not do it without Leonard. But, for once, he was immovable. It will help you claim your place, darling. And Louisa will be with you.

We practised her speech and we made a plan. We would arrive in the Great Room as late as possible, at the last moment before the starters were served so that we could sit down with apologies, blaming Manhattan traffic. Mary Lander, the retiree in question, would stand after the coffee at two p.m., and a few people would say nice words about her. Then Agnes would stand, apologize for Mr Gopnik’s unavoidable absence, and say a few more nice words about Mary before handing over her retirement gift. We would wait a diplomatic half-hour longer then leave, pleading important business in the city.

‘You think this dress is okay?’ She was wearing an unusually conservative two-piece: a shift dress in fuchsia with a paler short-sleeved jacket and a string of pearls. Not her usual look, but I understood that she needed to feel as if she were wearing armour.

‘Perfect.’ She took a breath and I nudged her, smiling. She took my hand briefly and squeezed it.

‘In and out,’ I said. ‘Nothing to it.’

‘Two giant fingers,’ she murmured, and gave me a small smile.

The building itself was sprawling and light, painted magnolia, with huge vases of flowers and reproduction antique furniture everywhere. Its oak-panelled halls, its portraits of founders on the walls and silent staff moving from room to room were accompanied by the gentle hush of quiet conversation, the occasional clink of a coffee cup or glass. Every view was beautiful, every need seemingly already met.

The Great Room was full, sixty or so round, elegantly decorated tables, filled with well-dressed women, chatting over glasses of still mineral water or fruit punch. Hair was uniformly perfectly blow-dried, and the preferred mode of dress was expensively elegant – well-cut dresses with bouclé jackets, or carefully matched separates. The air was thick with a heady mix of perfume. At some tables a solitary man sat flanked by women, but they seemed oddly neutered in such a largely female room.

To the casual observer – or perhaps an average man – almost nothing would have seemed amiss. A faint movement of heads, a subtle dip in the noise level as we passed, the slight pursing of lips. I walked behind Agnes, and she faltered suddenly, so that I almost collided with her back. And then I saw the table setting: Tabitha, a young man, an older man, two women I did not recognize and, beside me, an older woman who lifted her head and looked Agnes square in the eye. As the waiter stepped forward and pulled out her seat, Agnes was seated opposite the Big Purple herself, Kathryn Gopnik.

‘Good afternoon,’ Agnes said, offering it up to the table as a whole and managing not to look at the first Mrs Gopnik as she did so.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Gopnik,’ the man who was seated on my side of the table replied.

‘Mr Henry,’ said Agnes, her smile wavering. ‘Tab. You didn’t say you were coming today.’

‘I’m not sure we have to inform you of all our movements, do we, Agnes?’ Tabitha said.

‘And who might you be?’ The elderly gentleman on my right turned to me. I was about to say I was Agnes’s friend from London, but realized that was now going to be impossible. ‘I’m Louisa,’ I said. ‘Louisa Clark.’

‘Emmett Henry,’ he said, holding out a gnarled hand. ‘Delighted to meet you. Is that an English accent?’

‘It is.’ I looked up to thank a waitress who was pouring me some water.

‘How very delightful. And are you over visiting?’

‘Louisa works as Agnes’s assistant, Emmett.’ Tabitha’s voice lifted across the table. ‘Agnes has developed the most extraordinary habit of bringing her staff to social occasions.’

My cheeks flooded with colour. I felt the burn of Kathryn Gopnik’s scrutiny, along with the eyes of the rest of the table.

Emmett considered this. ‘Well, you know, my Dora took her nurse Libby with her absolutely everywhere for the last ten years. Restaurants, the theatre, wherever we went. She used to say old Libby was a better conversationalist than I was.’ He patted my hand and chuckled, and several other people at the table joined in obligingly. ‘I dare say she was right.’

And, just like that, I was saved from social ignominy by an eighty-six-year-old man. Emmett Henry chatted to me through the shrimp starter, telling me about his long association with the country club, his years as a lawyer in Manhattan, his retirement to a senior citizens’ facility a short distance away.

‘I come here every day, you know. It keeps me active, and there are always people to talk to. It’s my home from home.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, peering behind me. Several heads immediately turned away. ‘I can see why you’d want to come.’ Agnes seemed outwardly composed but I could detect a slight tremor to her hands.

‘Oh, this is a very historic building, dear.’ Emmett was gesturing to the side of the room where a plaque stood. ‘It dates from …’ he paused to ensure I had the full impact, then pronounced carefully ‘… 1937.’

I didn’t like to tell him that on our street in England we had council housing older than that. I think Mum might even have a pair of tights older than that. I nodded, smiled, ate my chicken with wild mushrooms and wondered if there was any way I could move closer to Agnes, who was clearly miserable.

The meal dragged. Emmett told me endless tales of the club, and amusing things said and done by people I had never heard of, and occasionally Agnes looked up and I smiled at her, but I could see her sinking. Glances flickered surreptitiously towards our table and heads dipped towards heads. The two Mrs Gopniks sitting inches away from each other! Can you imagine! After the main course, I excused myself from my seat.

‘Agnes, would you mind showing me where the Ladies is?’ I said. I figured even ten minutes away from this room would help.

Before she could answer, Kathryn Gopnik placed her napkin on the table and turned to me. ‘I’ll show you, dear. I’m headed that way.’ She picked up her handbag and stood beside me, waiting. I glanced at Agnes, but she didn’t move.

Agnes nodded. ‘You go. I’ll – finish my chicken,’ she said.

I followed Mrs Gopnik through the tables of the Great Room and out into the hallway, my mind racing. We walked along a carpeted corridor, me a few paces behind her, and stopped at the Ladies. She opened the mahogany door and stood back, allowing me in before her.

‘Thank you,’ I muttered, and headed into a cubicle. I didn’t even want to wee. I sat on the seat: if I stayed there long enough she might leave before I came out, but when I emerged she was at the basins, touching up her lipstick. Her gaze slid towards me as I washed my hands.

‘So you live in my old home,’ she said.

‘Yes.’ There didn’t seem much point in lying about it.

She pursed her lips, then, satisfied, closed her lipstick. ‘This must all feel rather awkward for you.’

‘I just do my job.’

‘Mm.’ She took out a small hairbrush and dragged it lightly over her hair. I wondered if it would be rude to leave, or if etiquette said I should also return to the table with her. I dried my hands and leant toward the mirror, checking under my eyes for smudges and taking as much time as possible.

‘How is my husband?’

I blinked.

‘Leonard. How is he? Surely you’re not betraying any great confidence by telling me that.’ Her reflection looked out at me.

‘I … I don’t see him much. But he seems fine.’

‘I was wondering why he wasn’t here. Whether his arthritis had flared up again.’

‘Oh. No. I think he has a work thing today.’

‘A “work thing”. Well. I suppose that’s good news.’ She placed her hairbrush carefully back in her bag and pulled out a powder compact. She patted her nose once, twice, on each side, before closing it. I was running out of things to do. I rummaged in my bag, trying to remember if I had brought a powder compact with me. And then Mrs Gopnik turned to face me. ‘Is he happy?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘It’s a straightforward question.’

My heart bumped awkwardly against my ribcage.

Her voice was mellifluous, even. ‘Tab won’t talk to me about him. She’s quite angry at her father still, though she loves him desperately. Always was a daddy’s girl. So I don’t think it’s possible for her to paint an accurate picture.’

‘Mrs Gopnik, with respect I really don’t think it’s my place to –’

She turned her head away. ‘No. I suppose not.’ She placed her compact carefully in her handbag. ‘I’m pretty sure I can guess what you’ve been told about me, Miss …?’

‘Clark.’

‘Miss Clark. And I’m sure you’re also aware that life is rarely black and white.’

‘I am.’ I swallowed. ‘I also know Agnes is a good person. Smart. Kind. Cultured. And not a gold-digger. As you say, these things are rarely clear-cut.’

Her eyes met mine in the glass. We stood for a few seconds longer, then she closed her handbag and, after a last glance at her reflection, she gave a tight smile. ‘I’m glad Leonard is well.’

We returned to the table just as the plates were being cleared. She said not another word to me for the rest of the afternoon.

The desserts were served alongside the coffee, the conversation ebbed and lunch dragged to a close. Several elderly women were helped to the Ladies, their walking frames extricated with gentle commotions from chair legs as they went. The man in the suit stood on the small podium at the front, sweating gently into his collar, thanked everybody for coming, then said a few words about upcoming events at the club, including a charity night in two weeks, which was apparently sold out (a round of applause greeted this news). Finally, he said, they had an announcement to make, and nodded towards our table.

Agnes let out a breath and stood, the room’s eyes upon her. She walked to the podium, taking the manager’s place at the microphone. As she waited, he brought an older African American woman in a dark suit to the front of the room. The woman fluttered her hands as if everyone were making an unnecessary fuss. Agnes smiled at her, took a deep breath, as I had instructed her, then laid her two small cards carefully on the stand, and began to speak, her voice clear and deliberate.

‘Good afternoon, everybody. Thank you for coming today, and thank you to all the staff for such a delicious lunch.’

Her voice was perfectly modulated, the words polished like stones over hours of practice the previous week. There was an approving murmur. I glanced at Mrs Gopnik, whose expression was unreadable.

‘As many of you know, this is Mary Lander’s last day at the club. We would like to wish her a very happy retirement. Leonard wishes me to tell you, Mary, he is so very sorry not to be able to come today. He appreciates everything you have done for the club and he knows that everyone else here does too.’ She paused, as I had instructed her. The room was silent, the women’s faces attentive. ‘Mary started here at Grand Pines in 1967 as a kitchen attendant and rose up to become assistant house manager. Everybody here has very much enjoyed your company and your hard work over the years, Mary, and we will all miss you very much. We – and the other members of this club - would like to offer you a small token of our appreciation and we sincerely hope that your retirement is most enjoyable.’

There was a polite round of applause and Agnes was handed a glass sculpture of a scroll, with Mary’s name engraved on it. She handed it to the older woman, smiling, and stood still as some people took pictures. Then she moved to the edge of the platform and returned to our table, her face flashing relief as she was allowed to leave the limelight. I watched as Mary smiled for more pictures, this time with the manager. I was about to lean over to Agnes to congratulate her when Kathryn Gopnik stood.

‘Actually,’ she said, her voice cutting across the chatter, ‘I’d like to say a few words.’

As we watched, she made her way up onto the podium, where she walked past the stand. She took Mary’s gift from her and handed it to the manager. Then she clasped Mary’s hands in her own. ‘Oh, Mary,’ she said, and then, turning so that they were facing outward: ‘Mary, Mary, Mary. What a darling you’ve been.’

There was a spontaneous burst of applause across the room. Mrs Gopnik nodded, waiting until it died down. ‘Over the years my daughter has grown up with you watching over her – and us – during the hundreds, no, thousands of hours we’ve spent here. Such happy, happy times. If we’ve had the slightest problem you’ve always been there, sorting things out, bandaging scraped knees or putting endless ice packs on bumped heads. I think we all remember the incident in the boathouse!’

There was a ripple of laughter.

‘You’ve especially loved our children, and this place always felt like a sanctuary to Leonard and me because it was the one place we knew our family would be safe and happy. Those beautiful lawns have seen so many great times, and been witness to so much laughter. While we’d be off playing golf or having a delicious cocktail with friends there at the sidelines, you’d be watching over children or handing out glasses of that inimitable iced tea. We all love Mary’s special iced tea, don’t we, friends?’

There was a cheer. I watched as Agnes grew rigid, clapping robotically as if she wasn’t quite sure what else to do.

Emmett leant into me. ‘Mary’s iced tea is quite a thing. I don’t know what she puts into it but, my goodness, it’s lethal.’ He raised his eyes to the heavens.

‘Tabitha came out specially from the city, like so many of us today, because I know that she thinks of you not just as staff at this club, but as part of the family. And we all know there’s no substitute for family!’

I dared not look at Agnes now, as the applause broke out again.

‘Mary,’ Kathryn Gopnik said, when it had died down, ‘you have helped perpetuate the true values of this place – values that some may find old fashioned but which we feel make this country club what it is: consistency, excellence and loyalty. You have been its smiling face, its beating heart. I know I speak for everyone when I say it simply won’t be the same without you.’ The older woman was now beaming, her eyes glittering with tears. ‘Everyone, charge your glasses and raise them to our wonderful Mary.’

The room erupted. Those who were able to stand stood. As Emmett clambered unsteadily to his feet, I glanced around, and then, feeling somehow treacherous, I did too. Agnes was the last to rise from her chair, still clapping, her smile a glossy rictus on her face.

There was something comforting about a truly heaving bar, one where you had to thrust your arm through a queue three deep to get the attention of a bar-tender, and where you’d be lucky if two-thirds of your drink remained in the glass by the time you’d fought your way back to your table. Balthazar, Nathan told me, was something of a SoHo institution: always jammed, always fun, a staple of the New York bar scene. And tonight, even on a Sunday, it was packed, busy enough for the noise, the ever-moving barmen, the lights and the clatter to drive the day’s events from my head.

We sank a couple of beers each, standing at the bar, and Nathan introduced me to the guys he knew from his gym, whose names I forgot almost immediately but who were funny and nice and just needed one woman as an excuse to bounce cheerful insults off each other. Eventually we fought our way to a table where I drank some more and ate a cheeseburger and felt a bit better. At around ten o’clock, when the boys were busy doing grunting impressions of other gym-goers, complete with facial expressions and bulging veins, I got up to go to the bathroom. I stayed there for ten minutes, relishing the relative silence as I touched up my make-up and ruffled my hair. I tried not to think about what Sam was doing. It had stopped being a comfort to me, and had instead started to give me a knot in my stomach. Then I headed back out.

‘Are you stalking me?’

I spun round in the corridor. There stood Joshua Ryan in a shirt and jeans, his eyebrows raised.

‘What? Oh. Hi!’ My hand went instinctively to my hair. ‘No – no, I’m just here with some friends.’

‘I’m kidding you. How are you, Louisa Clark? Long way from Central Park.’ He stooped to kiss my cheek. He smelt delicious, of limes and something soft and musky. ‘Wow. That was almost poetic.’

‘Just working my way through all the bars in Manhattan. You know how it is.’

‘Oh, yeah. The “try something new” thing. You look cute. I like the whole …’ he gestured towards my shift dress and short-sleeved cardigan ‘… preppy vibe.’

‘I had to go to a country club today.’

‘It’s a good look on you. Want to grab a beer?’

‘I – I can’t really leave my friends.’ He looked momentarily disappointed. ‘But, hey,’ I added, ‘come and join us!’

‘Great! Let me just tell the people I’m with. I’m tagging along on a date – they’ll be glad to shake me. Where are you?’

I fought my way back to Nathan, my face suddenly flushed and a faint buzzing in my ears. It didn’t matter how wrong his accent, how different his eyebrows, the slant at the edge of his eyes that went the wrong way, it was impossible to look at Josh and not see Will there. I wondered if it would ever stop jolting me. I wondered at my unconscious internal use of the word ‘ever’.

‘I bumped into a friend!’ I said, just as Josh appeared.

‘A friend,’ said Nathan.

‘Nathan, Dean, Arun, this is Josh Ryan.’

‘You forgot “the Third”.’ He grinned at me, like we’d exchanged a private joke. ‘Hey.’ Josh held out a hand, leant forward and shook Nathan’s. I saw Nathan’s eyes travel over him and flicker towards me. I raised a bright, neutral smile, as if I had loads of good-looking male friends dotted all over Manhattan who might just want to come and join us in bars.

‘Can I buy anyone a beer?’ said Josh. ‘They do great food here too if anyone’s interested.’

‘A “friend”?’ murmured Nathan, as Josh stepped up to the bar.

‘Yes. A friend. I met him at the Yellow Ball. With Agnes.’

‘He looks like –’

‘I know.’

Nathan considered this. He looked at me, then at Josh. ‘That whole “saying yes” thing of yours. You haven’t …’

‘I love Sam, Nathan.’

‘Sure you do, mate. I’m just saying.’

I felt Nathan’s scrutiny during the rest of the evening. Josh and I somehow ended up on the edge of the table away from everyone else, where he talked about his job and the insane mixture of opiates and anti-depressants his work colleagues shovelled into themselves every day just to cope with the demands of the office, and how hard he was trying not to offend his easily offended boss, and how he kept failing, and the apartment he never had time to decorate and what had happened when his clean-freak mother visited from Boston. I nodded and smiled and listened and tried to make sure that when I found myself watching his face it was in an appropriate, interested way rather than a slightly obsessive, wistful oh-but-you’re-so-like-him way.

‘And how about you, Louisa Clark? You’ve said almost nothing about yourself all evening. How’s the holiday going? When do you have to head back?’

The job. I realized, with a lurch, that the last time we had met I had lied about who I was. And also that I was too drunk to maintain any kind of lie, or to feel as ashamed as I probably should about confessing. ‘Josh. I have to tell you something.’

He leant forward. ‘Ah. You’re married.’

‘Nope.’

‘Well, that’s something. You have an incurable disease? Weeks left to live?’

I shook my head.

‘You’re bored? You’re bored. You’d really rather talk to someone else now? I get it. I’ve barely drawn breath.’

I started to laugh. ‘No. Not that. You’re great company.’ I looked down at my feet. ‘I’m … not who I told you I was. I’m not Agnes’s friend from England. I just said that because she needed an ally at the Yellow Ball. I’m, well, I’m her assistant. I’m just an assistant.’

When I looked up he was gazing at me.

‘And?’

I stared at him. His eyes had tiny flecks of gold in them.

‘Louisa. This is New York. Everyone talks themselves up. Every bank teller is a junior vice president. Every bar-tender has a production company. I guessed you had to work for Agnes because of the way you were running around after her. No friend would do that. Unless they were, like, really stupid. Which you plainly are not.’

‘And you don’t mind?’

‘Hey. I’m just glad you’re not married. Unless you are married. That bit wasn’t a lie too, was it?’

He had taken hold of one of my hands. I felt my breath give slightly in my chest, and I had to swallow before I spoke. ‘No. But I do have a boyfriend.’

He kept his eyes on mine, perhaps searching to see whether there was some punch-line coming, then released my hand reluctantly. ‘Ah. Well, that’s a pity.’ He leant back in his chair, and took a sip of his drink. ‘So how come he isn’t here?’

‘Because he’s in England.’

‘And he’s coming over?’

‘No.’

He pulled a face, the kind of face people make when they think you’re doing something stupid but don’t want to say so out loud. He shrugged. ‘Then we can be friends. You know everyone dates here, right? Doesn’t have to be a thing. I’ll be your incredibly handsome male walker.’

‘Do you mean dating as in “having sex with”?’

‘Woah. You English girls don’t mince your words.’

‘I just don’t want to lead you down the garden path.’

‘You’re telling me this isn’t going to be a friends-with-benefits thing. Okay, Louisa Clark. I get it.’

I tried not to smile. And failed.

‘You’re very cute,’ he said. ‘And you’re funny. And direct. And not like any girl I’ve ever met.’

‘And you’re very charming.’

‘That’s because I’m a little bit enraptured.’

‘And I’m a little bit drunk.’

‘Oh, now I’m wounded. Really wounded.’ He clutched at his heart.

It was at this point that I turned my head and saw Nathan watching. He gave a faint lift of his eyebrow, then tapped his wrist. It was enough to bring me back to earth. ‘You know – I really have to go. Early start.’

‘I’ve gone too far. I’ve frightened you off.’

‘Oh, I’m not that easily frightened. But I do have a tricky day at work tomorrow. And my morning run doesn’t work so well on several pints of beer and a tequila chaser.’

‘Will you call me? For a platonic beer? So I can moon at you a little?’

‘I have to warn you, “mooning” means something quite different in England.’ I told him and he exploded with laughter.

‘Well, I promise not to do that. Unless, of course, you want me to.’

‘That’s quite the offer.’

‘I mean it. Call me.’

I walked out, feeling his eyes on my back the whole way. As Nathan hailed a yellow taxi, I turned as the door was closing. I could only just make him out through a tiny gap as it swung shut, but it was enough to see he was still watching me. And smiling.

I called Sam. ‘Hey,’ I said, when he picked up.

‘Lou? Why am I even asking? Who else would ring me at four forty-five in the morning?’

‘So what are you doing?’ I lay back on my bed, and let my shoes drop from my feet onto the carpeted floor.

‘Just back off a shift. Reading. How are you? You sound cheerful.’

‘Been to a bar. Tough day. But I feel a lot better now. And I just wanted to hear your voice. Because I miss you. And you’re my boyfriend.’

‘And you’re drunk.’ He laughed.

‘I might be. A little. Did you say you were reading?’

‘Yup. A novel.’

‘Really? I thought you didn’t read fiction.’

‘Oh, Katie got it for me. Insisted I’d enjoy it. I can’t face the endless inquisitions if I keep not reading it.’

‘She’s buying you books?’ I pushed myself upright, my good mood suddenly dissipating.

‘Why? What does buying me a book mean?’ He sounded half amused.

‘It means she fancies you.’

‘It does not.’

‘It totally does.’ Alcohol had loosened my inhibitions. I felt the words coming before I could stop them. ‘If women try to make you read something it’s because they fancy you. They want to be in your head. They want to make you think of stuff.’

I heard him chuckle. ‘And what if it’s a motorcycle repair manual?’

‘Still counts. Because then she’d be trying to show you what a cool, sexy, motorbike-loving kind of chick she is.’

‘Well, this isn’t about motorbikes. It’s some French thing.’

‘French? This is bad. What’s the title?’

‘Madame de.’

‘Madame de what?’

‘Just Madame de. It’s about a general and some earrings and …’

‘And what?’

‘He has an affair.’

‘She’s making you read books about French people who have affairs? Oh, my God. She totally fancies you.’

‘You’re wrong, Lou.’

‘I know when someone fancies someone, Sam.’

‘Really.’ He had begun to sound tired.

‘So, a man made a pass at me tonight. I knew he fancied me. So I told him straight off I was with someone. I headed it off.’

‘Oh, you did? Who was that, then?’

‘His name is Josh.’

‘Josh. Would that be the same Josh who called you when I was leaving?’

Even through my slightly drunken fug I had begun to realize this conversation was a bad idea. ‘Yes.’

‘And you just happened to bump into him in a bar.’

‘I did! I was there with Nathan. And I literally ran into him outside the Ladies.’

‘So what did he say?’ His voice now held a faint edge.

‘He … he said it was a pity.’

‘And is it?’

‘What?’

‘A pity?’

There was a short silence. I felt suddenly, horribly sober. ‘I’m just telling you what he said. I’m with you, Sam. I’m literally just using this as an example of how I could tell that someone fancied me and how I headed it off before he could get the wrong idea. Which is a concept you seem to be unwilling to grasp.’

‘No. Seems to me you’re calling me up in the middle of the night to have a go at me about my work partner who has lent me a book, but you’re fine with you going out and having drunk conversations with this Josh about relationships. Jesus. You wouldn’t even admit we were in a relationship until I pushed you into it. And now you’ll happily talk about intimate stuff to some guy you just met in a bar. If you really just met him in a bar.’

‘It just took me time, Sam! I thought you were playing around!’

‘It took you time because you were still in love with the memory of another guy. A dead guy. And you’re now in New York because, well, he wanted you to go there. So I have no idea why you’re being weird and jealous about Katie. You never minded how much time I spent with Donna.’

‘Because Donna didn’t fancy you.’

‘You’ve never even met Katie! How could you possibly know whether she fancies me or not?’

‘I’ve seen the pictures!’

‘What pictures?’ he exploded.

I was an idiot. I closed my eyes. ‘On her Facebook page. She has pictures. Of you and her.’ I swallowed. ‘A picture.’

There was a long silence. The kind of silence that says, Are you serious? The kind of ominous silence that comes while somebody quietly adjusts his view of who you are. When Sam spoke again his voice was low and controlled. ‘This is a ridiculous discussion and I’ve got to get some sleep.’

‘Sam, I –’

‘Go to sleep, Lou. We’ll speak later.’ He rang off.