‘Are you going like that?’
I look down at my clothes as if I don’t know what she means. My jeans might look battered but that’s purposeful; I paid a lot of money to look this casual. Perhaps it’s my T-shirt with ‘Star Fucker’ emblazoned across the chest that’s got up her nose – my attempt at subtle irony. I’m finally gathering a bit of a rep as an up-and-coming radio DJ, and you have to dress the part, though there’s a fine line between hipster and wankster.
‘Yes, Sarah. I’m going like this.’ I reach for the battered vintage leather jacket she gave me last Christmas and shrug it on, just to reinforce the point that I’m not going to change.
She double-checks her immaculate lipstick in the hallway mirror, then picks up her handbag and coat with a shrug. ‘Okay.’
I follow her down the stairs and, as I watch her skip down confidently in heels no one should be able to look so comfortable in, I roll my shoulders to shake off my dark mood.
‘Hey.’ I catch her hand to slow her down as she reaches the pavement. ‘Let’s not fall out. I’ve missed you this week.’ I trail the back of my hand down the smoothness of her cheek, then hold her delicate jaw. I’d rub my thumb over her full mouth if it wouldn’t ruin her lipstick. ‘You really do look knockout in this dress. I’m already thinking about peeling you out of it later.’
She softens, as I knew she would. ‘Smooth talker.’
‘You know it.’
‘I do.’ She turns her face into my hand and nips my thumb. ‘Now flag us a taxi, fool-boy. I’m freezing.’
Laurie
Does it sound crazy to say I’m nervous? It’s only Sarah and Jack, for God’s sake, my oldest and best friends. I just want them to love Oscar as much as I do, that’s all. It’s been too long since we saw each other; our pact to meet at New Year fell by the wayside with the advent of Oscar. This is the first date since New Year that we’ve all been able to make; life is pulling everyone in different directions, it seems. They haven’t arrived yet, and he’s deep in conversation across the other side of the room with the barman, because he wants to have the perfect first round of drinks ready for them when they come in. He shoots me a smile when he catches me looking his way. His eyes linger on me for longer than is polite, a look that telegraphs that he’s remembering our afternoon in bed.
I look away first, my eye drawn to the door by Sarah and Jack’s arrival. Joy blooms hot in my chest at the sight of Sarah’s familiar red hair, although she’s warmed the shade down from fire engine to rich mahogany and it’s been styled into lustrous, tumbling waves rather than the Princess Leah plaits of Delancey Street. I touch my own messy bun, self-conscious for a moment, but then her face cracks into a huge grin when she spots me and her gait goes from uncertain to almost skipping across the bar to get to me.
I’m glad, actually, that Oscar isn’t beside me right at this moment; it gives me a couple of seconds to just be myself, for it to be me and Sarah, like old times. Her grip is fierce when she hugs me.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ I say, at the same time as she says, ‘Bloody hell, Lu. It’s been too long.’
We stand back at arm’s length and check each other over. I take in her screamingly sexy leather dress and she takes in my standby black dress that she’s seen countless times before; I think she may even have worn it herself once or twice. I’ve jazzed it up with a skinny snakeskin belt and the small gold and diamond starfish pendant Oscar gave me at Christmas, and up to the point of Sarah’s entrance I felt pretty glam, in an understated way. She looks like herself after a TV makeover, which, I guess, is effectively what she’s had. Her job seems to have transformed her from my beloved potty-mouthed friend into someone who could easily have walked out of a magazine. Until she opens her mouth, and then, thank God, she’s still exactly as she always was.
‘Fuck,’ she says, wiping one fingertip under each eye so her mascara doesn’t run. ‘I don’t get this upset over my own sister. I bloody love you, Laurie James.’
I laugh, squeezing her hand. ‘Love you too. I’m so glad you’re here.’
Jack steps out from behind her then, and I brace myself for impact. I’ve no idea if I’ll be able to act casual around him. I’ve put off even thinking about seeing him again, a tactic which has worked right up to this very second where I now find myself wholly unprepared.
He looks right into my eyes, no shifty gazing off over my shoulder, and for a moment I’m knocked off-centre by that aching, familiar longing. Old habits die hard, it would seem.
‘Good to see you, Laurie,’ he says. For an awful moment it seems as if he’s going to shake my hand, but then he holds it and pulls me close into a hug. The scent of him fills my head, warm spices and lemon, probably something expensive Sarah has given him, underscored with that inimitable essence of him, a smell I can neither describe nor reimagine when he isn’t there. But he’s here now, and for a second I close my eyes and feel the heat of his body through his inappropriately worded T-shirt as he kisses my forehead. It’s a casual embrace, I tell myself. Of no significance to me now I’m with Oscar.
‘Happy New Year,’ he says into my hair. He sounds self-conscious, and I half laugh as I step away.
‘You’re three months late, you plonker.’
‘Where is he then?’ Sarah’s excited eyes scan the half-full bar, and Jack stands at her side, one hand resting on her waist. I’m struck by how much they’ve changed in a relatively short time, or perhaps how they seem to have grown up without me. It’s subtle: a gloss on Sarah, a layer of self-assurance on Jack. Oscar has it too, to an extent; he’s now firmly entrenched in his role at the bank alongside his brother, and although we speak most days I’ve become aware of something edging between us. It’s an inevitable consequence of living separate lives, I suppose. He’s here in London making new friends, eating at cool places, and I am back living with my parents in Birmingham. It’s possible that I’m imagining it because I’m anxious about my lack of job. Or maybe I’m just plain old jealous. Not everyone can make it, can they? Some do, and others settle for less. I think all of this in the split second between greeting Sarah and Jack and catching Oscar’s eye as he moves towards us across the bar bearing a tray of impressive-looking cocktails. I wink at him subtly as I step aside so he can deposit them on the table, and Sarah catches my eye and gives me a little thumbs-up behind his back. I don’t look at Jack as I catch hold of Oscar’s hand when he straightens and steps back. I love that Sarah doesn’t stand on ceremony; she lunges straight in and kisses him on the cheek, catching hold of his other hand.
‘You must be Sarah,’ Oscar says with a laugh, and for a moment they silently size each other up. I wonder if she is what he expected; whether he measures up to her idea of him. No one speaks for a second. I think Sarah, Jack and I are each trying to decide where Oscar fits into our trio. Will he be given equal billing? Or must he be assigned a temporary spot in the corner, holding space while he’s assessed for permanent residence?
‘And you must be Oscar,’ Sarah says, still holding on to his hand. ‘Come on then, let me get a good look at you.’