Текст книги "The House on Fever Street"

Автор книги: Celina Grace

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Fourteen

 

Bella bounded up the path to the front door, her step light despite the plastic bags that were weighing down her hands. She struggled through the doorway and kicked the door shut behind her.

“Hello?”

No one answered her exploratory shout and she felt a surge of relief. For once, she was glad of an empty house and rooms echoing only to the sound of her footsteps. Jake wouldn’t be home until late tonight – he’d told her this morning, as they lay spooned together under the covers.

The memory brought a frown and then a smile to her face. Forget about it, she told herself sternly. That had been today’s resolution – to try and be more patient, not to overreact, to be the sort of girlfriend who took this behaviour in her stride. Someone who didn’t give a shit, essentially. She evoked Veronica in her mind as she thought this, striving for the same insouciant expression that she’d often seen on the other girl’s face.

She heaved the splitting plastic bags onto the kitchen table, dislodging bills, flyers, an old unused tea bag, empty cigarette packets and a plastic hairgrip. She’d pick those up in a second. Bella unpacked the shopping, loading the fridge with fresh vegetables and plastic-wrapped meat, stacking tins and packets in the cupboard set aside for her and Jake. She uncorked the expensive bottle of red wine that she’d bought to serve with dinner and left it to breath on the kitchen counter. Then she washed up yesterday’s dishes in a snowstorm of detergent, wiped down the counters and swept the kitchen floor.

She paused for a long drink of water and then headed upstairs, hauling the vacuum cleaner behind her. Despite her long day at work, she felt energised at the thought of the tidy room that would await her at the end of her efforts. She stripped the bed of the musky old sheets she and Jake had lain on for a month. She struggled with the mattress, eventually succeeding in turning it, and then dressed the bed in the brand new linen that she’d bought that day.

Bella picked up all the clothes that were flung on the carpet and festooned across the furniture, throwing them all in a pile for the washing machine. She tidied the dressing table, lining up the bottles and jars that littered its surface, clearing the clumps of cotton wool and crumpled tissues that lay in drifts amongst the cosmetics. Finally, she stood back and, hands on hips, surveyed her handiwork.

Only one thing remained – the desk. Bella had never gone near it – the piles of paper that always threatened to topple to the floor were Jake’s alone. She picked up the top sheet of the pile – a mobile bill. For a moment, she looked at the list of phone numbers that scrolled down the page and continued on the back of it and then put the paper down. It’s none of your business, she told herself. Bella shuffled at the pile of paper, trying to neaten the edges. She only succeeded in dislodging the entire pile and it crashed to the floor.

“Shit – “

She knelt and began to shift through the heap, attempting to scoop it all back together. Something caught her eye. It snagged her vision; a glimpse of flesh, trapped beneath the glossy surface of a photograph. Slowly, she reached out to free the Polaroid print from the surrounding debris.

Bella brought the photograph closer to her face with a trembling hand. Jake, Carl, on a bed – naked, tumescent, Carl kneeling, his penis pointing as if in exclamation. Veronica lying next to them, dressed only in a tiny thong, buttocks bisected by red lace. And another girl, another blonde, mouth stretched wide in a laugh, large dark-nippled breasts, one hand in the black curls of hair on Jake’s chest. Bella realised she was holding her breath and let it out in a rush. She couldn’t see much of Jake in the picture, but it was unmistakeably him, his hand resting on the curve of Veronica’s hip, the smudge of his pubic hair just visible behind the rising slope of her backside. The other girl was splayed wide, Carl slotted between her heavy thighs. Veronica lay beside her, blonde hair falling in a curtain, only a slice of flushed pink face showing. Bella felt her own face go hot and then cold. Her stomach bounced. She looked again at the photograph; at the light glinting from the glistening end of Carl’s cock; at the scribble of a tattoo on the outer thigh of the unknown blonde girl; at the slack-mouthed expression on Jake’s face. She looked at Jake’s hand, resting on Veronica’s hip, resting casually there, as if it had every right to be there, as if he had every right to be touching her. Bella swallowed. When had this been taken? Who was this other girl? Another thought struck her – who had taken the photo? The slightly wonky angle made her think it had been set up on a self timer. What the hell – no, what the fuck, was this all about?

She dropped the photograph, wiping her fingers on her trousers, as if the bodily fluids on display in the photograph had soiled her skin. She found she was swallowing convulsively. Quickly, she scraped the pile of paper into a rough stack, hiding the photograph back somewhere in the middle. She returned it to the top of Jake’s desk. Then she ran, first to the bathroom to wash her hands and bend for a moment over the sink, trembling with nausea, then downstairs to the fridge to pour herself a large glass of wine.

She drank it down in two large mouthfuls and lent back in her chair, eyes closed. For a brief and giddy moment, she wondered if she’d imagined it. But no, she’d seen it in full and undeniable Technicolor. Jake, his brother and his brother’s girlfriend – not to mention this mystery blonde – naked in a bed together. The image of Carl’s erection kept returning. Bella swallowed again, feeling sick.

She heard the sound of a key in the door and panicked, scrambled for the door and ran up the stairs as the front door opened. She didn’t wait to see who it was but reached the false sanctity of the bedroom and lay face down on the bed. She didn’t dare look at the desk. Bella pushed her face into the pillow. She had a sudden, horrible thought – was this the bed in the photograph? – and groaned aloud. How was she going to face Jake? Or Veronica? Or Carl? Hurriedly, she undressed, armoured herself in the thickest, most enveloping pyjamas she possessed, and got into bed, turning out the bedside light. Lying there in the dark, still too shocked to cry, she listened to her stomach rumbling and thought suddenly of the meal she’d planned for tonight. The thought of food brought another bubble of nausea up in her throat. She felt trapped suddenly, panicky at the thought of Jake coming home and yet wanting him too in a perverse way. The thought of him was like poking at a sore place. How could he not have told her? And was – horrible thought – was this still going on? Had his request for her to move in with him been the first step in inveigling her into his brother’s bed? Bella curled her knees into her chest, hugging herself. What the hell was she going to do now? She breathed deeply, in and out, trying to damp down the panic. Briefly, she thought again of the bombings and felt for an instant the same turmoil of emotion that had enveloped her then. Don’t crack up. She unclenched herself and lay back down flat, pushing her hands down by her sides, forcing herself to relax.

Chapter Fifteen

“You coming for a drink?”

Bella paused, hairbrush in hand and looked at Tracey’s reflection in the mirror.

“Um – “

“Come on Bel, you never come out with us. Be a devil.”

Bella slid the brush down to the ends of her hair.

“Okay then. Just one, though.”

Sitting in the pub across the road with the others from work, Bella nursed a glass of cider and listened to the gossip flowing from one workmate to the other. She felt a little out of place, a stranger to this cosy group who lunched and socialised together, the eight hours a day spent in each other’s company at work evidently not enough. Part of her sneered at their banal exchanges. Another part of her wanted to join in. She’d lost confidence in speaking to a crowd of relative strangers. Bella had the unwelcome realisation that this was probably because she’d been out with absolutely no one except Jake, Veronica and Carl for weeks. At the thought of the three of them, she took another hefty slug of her drink. Her discovery of the photograph was a week old but she could still see it in piercing, eloquent detail, every time she conjured it in her mind.

“ – doing at the weekend?”

“What?”

“I said, what are you doing at the weekend?”

Tracey was shouting at her through the fog of cigarette smoke that hung over the table. Bella shook her head, dazed.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that – “

“Oh, never mind. Get us another drink, Bel, there’s a love. I’m wedged in here.”

Bella struggled to the bar and gesticulated at the barman. With the hard edge of the counter pressed painfully into her ribcage, at first she wasn’t aware of the finger prodding her gently in the back. Then she felt it and turned round.

“Hi, it’s Bella, isn’t it?”

She groped for the name and the puzzlement on her face must have communicated itself to the man who’d been trying to attract her attention. He smiled and at the sight, she recognised him.

“Hi, Mark.”

“Can I get you a drink?”

He waved at the barman and was served immediately. Bella raised her eyebrows.

“He’s a mate,” he said, looking at the expression on her face. “Is Jake here?”

“No. I’m here with work, they’re over there in the corner…”

Bella looked over and saw Tracey gesticulating at her.

“Could you hold on a sec, Mark? I’ve just got to deliver this drink.”

“Sure.”

Bella fought her way back to the table and handed over her spoils. Tracey smirked at her.

“Quick work, Bel. I thought you already had a boyfriend?”

“He’s a friend of his,” Bella said, annoyed at the blush that was struggling up towards her face. “I’ve just got to have a word with him, back in a moment.”

“You go, girl.”

“Alright?” Mark said as Bella reached him. She nodded, feeling suddenly shy. They squeezed into a corner of the room and Mark leaned towards her. Bella looked up into his face. His skin was the beautiful polished brown of a conker. His teeth looked startlingly white in the gloom of the pub.

“So how are you finding London?”

“It’s great,” said Bella, with more enthusiasm than she felt. She segued into a monologue of the newly arrived out-of-towner, detailing all the sights she’d seen and the places she’d been. Mark listened attentively, nodding occasionally.

“And how’s Jake?” he asked, as she paused for breath.

Bella hesitated.

“He’s fine,” she said slowly.

“Hmmm.” Mark swirled the dregs of his pint around in the glass. “I have to say he didn’t look particularly fine when I last saw him.”

Bella hesitated again. Then she took a deep breath.

“Actually, he’s not fine. I’m quite worried about him. I don’t know what to do – “ For a second she thought she was going to cry and blinked frantically. Mark looked concerned.

“Hey – hey – it’s alright.”

He put a hand on hers. Bella blinked again, looking at his fingers covering hers. The nails on his hand were pale pink, cut short and clean. She sniffed.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Bella hesitated. Did she want to tell? Did she want to talk to this man that she hardly knew?

“You know how we met?” she said slowly. She asked it as a question but said it in a flat monotone. She knew he didn’t know.

“No. What happened?”

“We met in the bombings. We were both on the train in Kings Cross, the Piccadilly line train. That’s how we met.”

She’d stared at the tabletop, smeared with spilled beer. Across the table, she heard Mark’s intake of breath.

“Shit – “

“Yeah.”

“Shit.” He whistled softly. “Really? I had no idea. You were really there? Were you hurt?” Bella shook her head. “Was Jake?”

“No. I don’t think so. Not – not physically. But – oh, I don’t know. I didn’t know him before that. I don’t know what he was like. What was he like?”

Mark looked very serious. He pushed his chair back from the table.

“Stay there. I’m going to get us another drink.”

Bella waited while he went to the bar. She fiddled with the sodden beer mats that littered the table top. She checked her mobile in case Jake had rung her – he hadn’t. Almost as an afterthought, she ran a hand though her hair and reached for her lip balm, greasing her little finger and rubbing it over her mouth.

“Here.”

Mark put a brimming glass down in front of her and slid back into his chair. She was suddenly aware of his physical bulk, the length of his legs, the width of his shoulders. I’m surrounded by big men, she thought giddily. I can’t get away from them.

“Jake and I were at college together,” said Mark. “Did you know that?”

Bella shook her head. She thought, with a spasm of self-consciousness, how little she actually knew of Jake’s history.

“Yeah, we were really good mates. We were really close. We used to go raving, back – oh God, when would it have been? – back in the nineties. Amazing – we didn’t even take anything, we were good boys back then – of course, it didn’t last. But God, we had fun. Did you do that?”

Bella shook her head. She had a sudden vision of Mark and Jake, glistening under the lights of a club, bathed in neon, glowing under the ultra-violet. She saw them as vividly as if she’d actually been there.

“Yeah, they were good times,” said Mark. “I never got on with Carl though. God, he’s an arrogant bastard.”

“Carl?” Bella was shocked out of her vision. “You know him?”

“Of course I do. He and Jake, they’re barely separated, are they? They’ve lived together all their lives. Carl though – I don’t know. He’s a – a right – “

“I know what you mean,” said Bella, solemnly. They looked at each other over the table and both smiled. “He can be a right so and so. I remember when I moved in…”

The photograph was suddenly in front of her eyes – the flesh, the sweat, the damp, sordid whole of it. She took a sip of her drink, washing the taste out of her mouth. Who was the girl in the picture? Who was she? Bella felt the alcohol run slow and warm through her veins. The mystery to Jake’s behaviour was in that picture, she suddenly thought. She needed to know who that girl was.

Mark was still speaking. Mentally, she shook herself and listened to him.

“He was fine up until about a year ago. We saw each other loads – loads. He was, you know, normal – normal Jake, just the same as he’d always been. And then, suddenly, he just wasn’t answering my calls anymore. He just, like, disappeared off the scene.”

Bella squinted at Mark. The smoke in the pub was so thick now – it was hard to make him out.

“He went somewhere?”

She heard the slur in her voice and somewhere deep inside, she was ashamed. Mark didn’t seem to notice. He was staring into the golden depths of his pint glass.

“Yeah, he just stopped calling. He went weird. About a year ago, it was. It was – that’s right – it was just after that girl moved it, Vicky – no, Veronica – Carl’s bird. She moved in and a few week’s later, it was no go with Jake. It was like he had a nervous breakdown, or something.”

There was a silence between them. Bella heard herself laugh nervously, a disconnected, bleary giggle.

“That can’t be right,” she said, stumbling over the words. “The bombings weren’t ‘til later.”

Mark looked awkward.

“I didn’t say it was because of the bombings. It can’t have been, can it? It was a year ago. Over a year ago. Something else must have happened.”

“Like what?” Bella could hear herself, strident, a jagged edge to her voice. She coughed in the smoke. “Like what? Like him fancying Veronica? Why would that – what do you think – why would that give him a nervous breakdown? What are you talking about?”

Her voice was rising – through the haze of drunkenness, she could see people at neighbouring tables starting to stare. Her voice scraped up an octave. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing. I’m not saying anything. Here – ”

Mark reached across the table and took her hand but she jerked it away. “Bella – “

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say – “

She heard her voice wobble. Shoving her chair away from the table, she fumbled for her bag. Mark was getting up, his cheerful face now concerned.

“Bella – “

“Just – leave me alone, will you?”

Some small part of her was aghast at her rudeness. This is what London’s doing to you, she thought incoherently. She was pushing past people, shoving, using her elbows, kicking out to tuts and cries of annoyance.

The street outside was cool, a thin drizzle beginning to fall. Bella turned her face up to the sky, breathing deeply, nearly crying. The thought of trying to get home, of negotiating the night buses, was suddenly overwhelming.

“Bella.”

There was a warm hand on her elbow. Mark stood beside her, huge and bulky in the orange-tinged dark. Bella sighed.

“I’m finding you a cab.”

She was too tired to argue. Swaying, she watched blearily as Mark flagged down a taxi and handed her into the back of it. He held the door open for a moment. Bella was aware once more of his smile – it was noticeable by its absence.

“Bella, here’s my card. Send me a text when you get home. I want to make sure you get home okay.”

Bella nodded.

“I’m here if you need me,” said Mark. “ If you’re worried about Jake or – well, just if you’re worried – give me a call. Anytime. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He shut the door and stepped back. The cab rumbled off into the night. Bella suddenly realised she hadn’t thanked him but by the time she’d turned to wave, the night had closed in and car window had blurred with rain. She squinted through the drizzle but the street behind her was empty.

Chapter Sixteen

 

Autumn was coming. Bella could feel it lurking just around the corner, evident in the gradually darkening evenings, the chill in the air as night fell. The collection of faded brown leaves in the gutters were beginning to grow into crisp, rustling piles. She pulled the belt of her coat tighter about her as she walked down the street to meet Jake at the Fox and Feathers. Summer’s over, she thought. Nearly three months since the bombings. Could it only be three months? I’ve only known Jake for three months, she thought incredulously. It didn’t seem possible. She felt as though she’d known him forever.

Despite the misery of the past couple of weeks, she still felt a pulse of excitement at the thought of seeing him. I love him, she thought. I can’t help it. The photograph surfaced once more in her mind and she fought to push it back.

Jake was waiting for her in the pub, which pleased her, and he’d already bought her a glass of wine, which pleased her more. She walked up to him, conscious of the smile that began to stretch her face. It was echoed by his grin.

“Hello babe. Cold out, isn’t it? Sit down here with me.”

He kissed her deeply. For a brief moment, the face of the blonde girl in the photograph flashed across her consciousness. Bella clenched her teeth. Leave it, just leave it. Stop thinking about it.

They chatted for a while, sat close to one another, legs entwined under the table. Bella felt herself relax as the wine began to slowly warm her stomach. She shifted herself even closer to Jake, her thigh touching his thigh. They’d planned to have a meal here but she was starting to think that going straight home to bed was a better option. She was just about to suggest this when Jake said something that drove it from her mind.

“I thought we’d go and see my father tomorrow.”

Bella looked at him in silence, too surprised to speak.

Jake fiddled with his glass.

“I’d like you to meet him. I should have taken you earlier – I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Bella forced herself to speak.

“That’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m really sorry. Listen, Bella – “

Jake turned to face her fully and took her hand. “I know things haven’t been good lately. I’ve been – it’s my fault, I know. I wanted to let you know how sorry I am. I love you.”

Bella blinked, her eyes stinging. She leant forward and kissed him.

“I love you too,” she said, whispering against his open mouth. Jake put both hands up to her face, cupping her jaw in his fingers. He stared at her intently. Bella had the sudden, absurd idea that he was going to ask her to marry him, and felt her heart begin to beat faster.

“I’m really sorry,” he said softly. “You don’t deserve it. You saved me, Bella. You’re my saviour.”

She felt her face heat up and wondered if he could feel it beneath his own warm palms.

“We saved – we saved each other,” she said, stuttering slightly. “That’s – that’s what’s important.”

Jake released her. She sat back and took his hand.

“Things haven’t been good for me,” he muttered. He looked down at his lap and a lock of black hair fell forward, hiding his eyes. “You have no idea, how bad it was – it’s just something I have to deal with on my own. It just means, well, I’m not always the easiest person to deal with. I’m sorry, Bella. I’ve made so many mistakes in my fucked-up life, I don’t want to make another one.”

Bella nodded in encouragement, hiding her confusion. What was he saying? What did he mean? She opened her mouth to ask him but he began to speak again.

“The others – I thought they were going to be okay with it. Or maybe they thought I was going to be okay with it. I thought I could trust them.”

Jake seemed to be talking to himself now. Bella had to strain to hear him.

“Thought it was the right thing to do at the time –“ was the only thing she could make out.

“Jake?”

He looked up at her. His eyes were smudged beneath with bluish shadow; he looked exhausted.

“Are you okay?”

He smiled weakly and touched her face. The skim of his finger reminded Bella of something – after a second it came to her; Carl putting his hand to her cheek as she and Veronica sat on the sofa.

“It’s alright, Jake. I can help you, you know, if you need me to. I’m on your side.”

She felt very grown up and capable saying that. She had to fight against an impulse to take Jake into her arms and hold him against her breast, rocking him to calmness. She compromised, brushing the hair from his eyes. He smiled at her.

“Thanks, darling. I know I can rely on you.”

She nodded.

“So, we’ll go and see my old man tomorrow, yeah? I warn you, he can be a bit of an arsehole.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry though. He’ll probably turn on the charm for you though. And afterwards, we’ll go out, just the two of us. Anywhere you want to go. A nice meal somewhere. Clubbing. Whatever you want.”

Bella laughed and rubbed his thigh.

“Anything?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

He grinned, back to normal, back to the Jake she loved.

“You bet. In fact, let’s just sack the old man off and spend the day in bed.”

She grinned because he was joking. All of the sudden, she felt very happy, and very hungry. She took a gulp of her warm wine.

“I’m starving. Shall we eat?”

*

They took the bus to Jake’s father’s house. Jake’s car had a flat battery.

“I mean, I hardly use it,” he said. They were walking hand in hand, up the slowly sloping hill to the bus stop. “I don’t really need it. Carl’s got his fuck-truck, of course, but that’s just part of being a banker, you have to have your little four-wheeled status symbol. He hardly drives it either.”

Bella giggled at ‘fuck-truck’. She squeezed Jake’s hand.

They walked further on up the hill, footsteps slowing a little as the incline got steeper. They passed the entrance to the underground station and Bella could feel herself tense up.

“Of course,” said Jake slowly, as if the tension in her body had communicated itself to him, “Of course, if we don’t start using the tube again, I might have to start using it a bit more.”

“No,” said Bella. It came out as an involuntary statement, nothing to do with Jake’s car. It was the word ‘tube’ – it set up an immediate word-association in her brain, a blank no, every time.

“Bella, you’ve got to use it again at some point. I’ve got to use it again at some point.“

“Why?” she said stiffly. “Is there some law that says because you live in London you have to take the tube?”

“Alright, alright. I’m not quarrelling with you today.”

He pulled her close to him and put his arm about her waist. Bella sighed.

“Sorry. It’s just that– “

“I know. Don’t worry about it. Look, here’s the bus now.”

Mr Goldman lived in another part of Highgate but in a very different type of house to the one on Fever Street. Bella looked about her in amazement as they walked through the gated entrance at the start of the road and began to walk up the long drive to the house itself.

“It’s huge.”

“Ostentatious, I think you’ll find is the word,” said Jake with a grin.

“I’m nervous now,” said Bella, showing him her trembling hands.

“Don’t be silly.” He pulled her close and kissed her as they stood on the enormous doorstep. They were still joined at the lips when the door opened.

Bella disentangled herself, blushing. The woman regarding them with a mixture of boredom and incredulity was a short, brittle blonde. She was smooth-faced but something about her was redolent of middle-age. Perhaps it was the knotted tendons that showed in the back of her hands, ugly beside the diamond cluster on her ring finger and the polished red nails that tipped her fingers.

“Hi Angela,” said Jake. “Dad home?”

“He’s in the garden,” said Angela. She had a high, clipped voice. “And who’s this?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “This is Bella, my girlfriend.”

“Hello,” said Bella, nervously. She held her hand out for Angela to shake, who did so rather limply. Bella felt the merest pressure of the hard edges of the diamond ring against her hand.

“Well,” said Jake, “We’ll go on through then.”

They walked into the hallway past Angela who stood automaton-like in the doorway, turning stiffly around to watch them go. Bella looked wide-eyed about her. Their footsteps echoed off the acreage of shiny white tiles that covered the floor of the enormous hallway. The carpets were cream and immaculate, the walls hung with gold-framed prints and oil paintings.

“Through here,” said Jake, pulling gently at her hand. They walked through a cavernous kitchen, terracotta tiled and gleaming with stainless steel; through a conservatory that smelled of damp, humid earth and was lacy with white ironwork; crossed about a mile of stone-flagged terrace, set about here and there with giant pots and statues and eventually walked down a flight of steps to the endless, velvet-smoothness of the lawn and across to where a man sat in a padded garden chair, in the shade of a giant copper beech tree.

It was obviously Jake’s father, it could be no one else, but Bella was surprised to see that he didn’t acknowledge their presence until they were within a couple of feet of him. Even then, he didn’t look up but sat with his eyes fixed on the copy of the Sunday Times spread on his lap. The silence stretched into an uncomfortable beat.

“Hi Dad,” said Jake, after a long moment.

Mr Goldman finally looked up. His face was an older, coarser version of Jake’s – and Carl’s. The black hair that grew in the same thick waves was, in his case, threaded through with grey.

“Jake,” he said. “And who’s your girlfriend?”

Bella smiled stiffly.

“I’m Bella,” she said, beating Jake to it.

“Hmm.”

Mr Goldman regarded her for an uncomfortable moment. Bella began to understand why Jake had been so reluctant to bring her here.

“We need drinks,” said Jake’s father, eventually. He began to slowly, deliberately fold the paper on his lap. “Where’s that wife of mine?”

Bella felt, rather than saw Jake flinch. She felt a sudden surge of anger towards his father, for being so insensitive.

“So, sit down then.”

Mr Goldman gestured to the other chairs. Jake kept hold of Bella’s hand, pulling her down next to him in the double-seated chair. There was another moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Where’s Carl?”

“He had to work,” said Jake. Bella raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t known that. She had a sneaking suspicion that Jake was lying. Had he even seen Carl over the weekend? There was another long beat of silence.

“So, what’s your game, then?” said Mr Goldman, abruptly to Bella.

“Oh, I’m – I work in the West End. In media.”

It sounded more impressive than the reality. She waited for the requests for elaboration and wondered whether she was going to tell the truth. As it was, they never came. Jake’s father seemed to have lost interest in her and was scanning the terrace, obviously looking for Angela. Bella looked herself. She could see Angela, made tiny by distance, walking slowly towards them. She looked as if she was carrying a tray.

It was a tray, as they could see as she came up to them, four chattering glasses crowded onto it. Angela handed them out expressionlessly, without asking what they wanted. Bella sipped hers. It was a gin and tonic, too much gin and not enough tonic, but she wasn’t going to complain. Angela seated herself in the empty chair and lit a cigarette. She stared out across the lawn, exhaling long blue billows of smoke.

“So, what’s going on with you?”

Mr Goldman asked the question without looking at the pair of them. Like his wife, he was regarding the lawn, or staring off into the middle distance, it was difficult to tell. Bella found it rather unnerving, both of their so-called hosts acting almost as if the two of them weren’t there.

“Not much.” Jake sipped at his drink, ice-cubes clinking musically in the quiet. “Carl and V are off to Venice, apparently.”

“He said.” Mr Goldman sounded bored. “I went there once. Full of tourists. Stinks like a sewer too, this time of year.“

Jake made an indeterminate noise. Bella was watching Angela puffing away vacantly. There was something a little familiar about her. Bella groped and realised, with a faint shock, that she was reminded of Veronica. Surely it wasn’t just the thinness, the blonde hair? She watched Angela drop the cigarette butt onto the lawn and grind it beneath her sandaled feet. It was the blankness. Bella realised it with a little jab of unease. Angela had the same clean-wiped smoothness that made Veronica’s face a beautiful, emotionless mask.

She realised Jake had shifted forwards on the seat and looked at him in surprise. He was making definite about-to-leave movements. Hurriedly, Bella tipped her glass up and finished her drink. She felt the gin hit her stomach and begin to radiate outwards.