Another Country (10 page)

He climbed over the wall, and returned with the satchel, and they continued up the road in sullen silence, but she ended up apologising the next day. On Monday, her bitterness at the usual betrayals – his, of her; hers, of herself – were compounded by having to record a black square in the notebook. She coloured it in with grim satisfaction – for a part of her was not sorry that the initiatives to control it had failed.

Chapter 13

‘What are you doing today?' Richard asked. For a moment, she saw him as he was – tall, slightly geeky, pleased to see her. She was so used to viewing him as the author of all her disappointment and frustration.

‘I'll ring the agency. But I've got to fill out my tax return as well. I wonder if I'll find all the papers. Nightmare.'

The morning was pretty. Through the streaky kitchen window, sun flooded; the water-stained steel sink was bright.

‘I don't have anything to do,' he mused.

‘How do you mean?'

‘Well, Javier's on leave, the proposal's with the client. Clara said she might not come in.'

‘Oh, right.' She agitated the cafetière and plunged it. She poured carefully into a white bone china mug. Things always had to be a certain way in Richard's house.

‘I suppose I could work from home,' he said. He chuckled.

‘Huh?'

‘We could hang out for a while, have a picnic or something.'

On the way from the deli, his hair blew across his face. He looked younger, more defenceless than when he was dressed for work; he wore a baggy shirt with flowers climbing over it in faded rows.

They stopped at the small park halfway up the road.

‘What about here?'

‘Isn't this for kids?'

‘But there aren't any here.'

She followed him. They sat on mushroom-shaped stools amid the wood chippings, under the pleasant leaves of early summer.

‘Do you want some olives?'

He ate half a sandwich, in sunflower-seed bread. He grinned at her with satisfaction and she, eating the other half, fingers slippery with oil from the sun-dried tomatoes, smiled too. She leaned back. The springy stool allowed her to look up and behind; only a few leaves were between her and the blue sky.

‘It's going to be summer.'

‘It is summer.'

‘Late May?'

‘Pretty much. We'll have a few warm days then it'll be over anyway.'

‘That's true.' She sighed.

‘Try the cheese.'

She passed him the lemonade. ‘No, I'm full.'

‘Sure?'

She nodded resignedly.

Leela texted Amy: So are we still on for today?

Amy: Yes! But Andrew won't be free till slightly later. Is that okay?

Leela, heart sinking: When?

Amy: About 8.30. We could meet a bit before, if I get done with work.

It was the middle of an uninspiring week. The date had been set up on Sunday – Amy had rung, Leela hadn't picked up, then Amy had left a teary-sounding message. Weekends were difficult for her, and Leela sometimes avoided the resentful telephone calls that Sundays brought. She rang back, and Amy asked her to come for a drink and meet Andrew.

‘He's definitely going to be there, he's got a meeting before that, he's definitely staying over on Wednesday.'

She often sounded angry when she talked about him.

‘Right, okay. Wednesday?' Leela said. She rolled her eyes at Richard, who was reading a magazine in the background. She raised her eyebrows; he nodded.

Now, she sighed. She'd have to hang around in town and wait for Andrew to be done with his meeting. Amy, she had a hunch, wouldn't appear much before. Richard had gone to see a school friend in Hampstead, at the flat he shared with his girlfriend. Leela had a mild pang. Not because the girlfriend was particularly attractive, but because Richard went to see them from time to time, when Leela happened to be busy, probably because there was a freedom and simplicity in their company that her presence would have impaired.

She wandered around the centre of London, killing time, and remembered again how pointless and depressing areas like Leicester Square were. Finally Amy rang. There turned out to have been a missed call.

‘Where
are
you?' Amy's well-bred tones enquired.

‘In Leicester Square, waiting,' said an irritated Leela.

‘What are you doing there? We're here.'

‘Where's here?'

‘In the pub. On Whitehall. Get here when you can.'

She had a silent, sarcastic conversation with Amy on her walk past lit-up late-evening windows and hurrying figures. There was a shadow in the sky as it darkened; a wind blew dust.

Turning into the door of the pub, she left behind an emanation of the city – traffic fumes but also a scent of summer, perhaps from trees coming into flower somewhere near the Mall. She went into the classic atmosphere of a pub in London: carpet spray, crisps, smoke, beer, damp suiting.

Inside she became lost amid the repeated motifs of overcoats and work shirts, pink and blue and white, the features above them as alien as the clothing. Fucking drones, she thought, but was intimidated by their raw, pink faces.

She saw an attractive young woman, then a man's shoulder – his back was to her, he had close-cut grey hair. He leant into the girl, and she laughed. Leela's first impression was of her charisma; then the woman waved and the world slid into focus and became unforeign. It was Amy.

‘Leela!' she cried.

‘Hi,' said Leela, diffident, moving closer, but unable to help grinning as her friend, like a toddler, threw up her arms for a hug. Leela kissed her on the cheek.

‘Good to see you!' said Amy, an utterance both formal and heartfelt that reminded Leela of Amy's father.

‘Hi,' she said again, so aware of being the new arrival that it was hard to look at Andrew properly. Now she saw the cropped silver hair and blue eyes she recognised vaguely from TV. ‘I'm Leela.'

‘Hi Leela, great to meet you. Look, let me get you both a drink. Darling, another glass of wine?'

‘That'd be lovely,' Amy said. She beamed. Leela was taken aback.

‘Leela, what'll you have?'

‘I'll get it.'

‘No, absolutely not.'

‘Um, a gin and tonic please.'

Amy was still beaming. Leela sat next to her, ran a hand through her hair, which was growing in unruly ways, and took in the table: Andrew's mobile; Amy's wallet; a near-empty glass of white wine, and an empty pint glass. She picked up a beer mat and put it down again; it was damp.

‘He seems really nice,' Leela said. She knew Amy believed her to be hostile to the relationship and wanted her friend to be happy, or continue to be happy.

She began to hear murmurs of the chat around them.

‘Ha ha ha! You fucking idiot!' An Australian accent. Someone thrust out his elbow; Leela moved her stool. Someone else laughed. A few tables away was a throng of standing people.

‘Oh yeah, Andrew has amazing manners. Obviously. You won't have to go to the bar all night,' Amy said. Leela felt slightly diminished, embarrassed as well as aggrieved, as though she'd either desperately wanted to be there or to consume drinks paid for by Andrew. Where would she have been if she hadn't been here? At Richard's, perhaps, with a magazine and a takeaway while he was out, or angry with him, looking at the time, or at her house, either absorbed in something or discontented; she couldn't decide which.

Andrew was back. ‘There's a booth over in the other side, shall we go there?' he asked. They picked up their stuff and followed him.

The side room, behind panelled screens, was nicer. The people who had been in the booth were leaving; they waited, then slid in, Amy in the corner, and Leela opposite. In the snug she felt less antagonised.

‘Leela, Amy tells me you're a great reader,' Andrew said. ‘I've been rereading lately,
Our Mutual Friend
. Do you know it?'

‘Yeah, of course.'

‘Is this Dickens? Am I wrong?' Amy's clear voice cut in.

Leela grinned at her.

‘The descriptions at the beginning – the river, and London. It's amazing. I'd forgotten it completely, I now realise.'

‘What did you do at university? I mean, what did you read?'

‘English.' He smiled at her.

‘Oh, really?'

He nodded, his face eager. ‘It stays with you, you know. The love of books, and the things you learn about how to read. You lose the knowledge, or at least I have. Terrible verbal memory. I can't quote anything I read more than a week ago.' He grimaced.

‘I know, me too,' Leela said.

‘What are you reading right now?'

‘I'm in between stuff,' she said. She was finding it hard to face a book; she subsisted on magazines, weekend supplements, and the internet. Now, she had a sudden enthusiasm for going to a second-hand bookshop. ‘I decided I had too many books,' she went on. ‘I thought I should stop buying them for a while.'

Andrew smiled. It was a smile of great flexibility and understanding. ‘Ah, but books,' he said.

‘Books are things too,' said Leela, without believing it.

His azure eyes softened. He smiled as though he had enough grace not to believe she meant it either.

Leela got into bed.

Richard kissed her. ‘How was the evening?'

‘Really nice actually.' Her voice was warm.

‘Really?' He looked up from the book.

‘Yeah, I really liked him.'

‘Really?'

‘He's great. I think he might be amazing for Amy.'

‘Even though he's married?'

‘It was weird,' Leela said. ‘He mentioned his wife at one point – really naturally. I thought I'd hate him for it, but it made me feel he was less of a bastard. I do think he really cares about Amy.'

Richard looked at her for a little longer. ‘You really liked him, didn't you?'

‘Yeah,' said Leela slowly. ‘I did. I was surprised.'

At Trafalgar Square, when she'd left them to go for her bus, Amy had hugged her, and Andrew kissed her on the cheek. ‘It's really great to have met you, Leela,' he said. ‘Really nice to talk, and I know how important you both are,' he looked at the two women, ‘to each other.'

‘Leela's my best friend!' said a slightly drunk Amy. Leela grinned. ‘That's big shit!' Amy pointed out.

‘It is big shit,' Andrew agreed, with only a little irony.

Leela half turned when she'd gone a few paces. The others were talking intently, and Andrew's arm was around Amy. She drew her cardigan about her, and wished she had a scarf; it wasn't that warm at night.

Now, as Richard continued to read his book on marketing techniques, she lay back, one arm under her head, and listened to the traffic pass outside the partly open window. Summer was coming, that was plain, but it wasn't here yet. She looked at Richard, reading, and pinching his earlobe, as he always did when concentrating. She thought of Andrew, his infinitely understanding smile, and his warmth; of Amy, and her reckless happiness; and she was aware, too, of the room around her, its artifices, the rustle of the duvet cover, and the almost animal sound of the occasional car on the road.