She heroically resists looking at her watch, and I try, and fail, not to look at the starfish nestled between her collarbones. Her fingers move to cover it, as if she fears I might fly into a hulk-rage and rip it from her neck again.
‘You look nice,’ I say.
She glances down at her dress as if she hasn’t seen it before. It’s an unusual style on her; black and vintage-looking with blue piping and a skirt that flips around her knees. It takes me back to Barnes Common, to drinking beer in the sunshine and riding the Ferris wheel.
‘Thank you,’ she says, a wavering, uncertain smile on her lips as she brushes a kiss against my cheek. ‘Come through. Sarah’s in the kitchen.’ She leads me across the tiled lobby to their door. ‘She’s made rum punch.’
‘Has she put too much rum in?’
Her laughter over her shoulder jolts me; it’s the first time she has genuinely laughed at anything I’ve said in a long time. ‘Of course she has.’
We pass through groups of people I mostly don’t recognize and a few I do, including Oscar’s florid brother, who’s name escapes me, and his wife, who looks like she sucks whole lemons for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sarah and I met them on Boxing Day at a pub not far from here. True to form, Oscar had hired a room for a Christmas get-together – because why mix with the riff-raff in the bar when you can kill the mood by putting too few people in too large a room?
Oscar’s brother pumps my hand as I pass. ‘Good to see you looking well, fella,’ he says, and to give him his due I recall that he’s not all that grim. I can’t say the same for his wife. She looks as if her pencil-thin smile actually hurts her face and her narrowed eyes tell me to keep on moving along. Fine. I wasn’t planning on talking to her anyway; I don’t know anything about quinoa or how to perfectly poach a quail’s egg.
‘Jack, in here.’
Sarah. My saviour. Perhaps she’ll be nice to me now we’re in company. Laurie lays her hand on my arm and excuses herself, and I head into the relative safety of the kitchen. Sarah looks her usual knockout self in a dress I haven’t seen before; it’s yellow and tight and contrasts with her hair.
‘What happened to the music?’ I say, cocking my head to listen as she hands me a beer from the fridge. This definitely isn’t the playlist I painstakingly curated.
‘One of Oscar’s friends has commandeered my phone.’ She grimaces, just as an Oscar lookalike swaggers in. ‘This one.’
‘Boyf’s messaging you again,’ he says, holding her phone out.
Boyf? I reach out and intercept it. ‘Cheers, mate. I’ll sort the music from here.’
The lookalike glances at Sarah, and she takes his empty glass and ladles punch into it. ‘He’s in charge now,’ she says, smiling to remove the sting as she nods in my direction.
I shake his hand because it’s dangling limply in the air between us, but behind him Sarah looks panicked.
‘Boyf?’ I say quietly, passing her phone back when we’re alone. There’s a message lighting up the screen. It’s from Luke.
‘He wants you to know he wishes he could see you tonight.’
She meets my eyes and opens her mouth to answer just as Laurie claps and calls everyone through. Apparently Oscar has been sighted getting out of a cab.
‘We should …’ Sarah looks towards the kitchen doorway, apologetic.
Someone reaches a hand round the door frame and flicks the light off, plunging the kitchen into darkness, and she slips from the room. I stay where I am, processing what just happened.
Laurie
‘Surprise!’
We all wave and clap as Oscar comes through the front door and switches the light on. His expression goes from concerned to shocked to incredulous as he looks around at the unexpected collection of people in his lounge. Everyone crowds in to wish him many happy returns, but I hang back and watch, smiling as he starts hugging his friends and air-kissing their girlfriends. Keeping a surprise party a surprise is no mean feat these days, what with mobile phones and emails ready to trip you up at any moment. He’d have been within his rights to wonder if I was having an affair over the last few weeks; I’ve been jumpy and grabbing for my phone every time the message alert has gone off. I have his trusting nature to thank for the fact that he hasn’t thought to question me, and I’m glad of it tonight because it’s allowed me to pull off this surprise. He’s so very good to me; unstintingly generous and thoughtful. I can’t repay him with expensive gifts, but I hope that gathering together people he’s fond of to help kick off his birthday weekend in style goes some way towards showing him how much I appreciate him.
‘Is this your doing?’ he says laughingly, when he finally makes it out the other side of the scrum.
‘Might be,’ I grin, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. ‘Did we surprise you?’
He nods, surveying our crowded living room. ‘You certainly did.’
‘Punch?’ Sarah asks, appearing beside us with two brimming cups. Oscar kisses her cheek and relieves her of one of the glasses.
‘I’m guessing you made this?’ he says, sniffing it.
‘It’s a special gift from me to you.’
She gestures for him to drink up, and to his credit he does, opening his eyes wide and nodding.
‘It’s, er, certainly punchy,’ he says, amused. I sip mine and wonder how anyone is going to be able to walk out of here later if they have more than two cups of it.
‘I might just go and get out of this. I feel like a stuffed shirt amongst you all.’ He looks down at his business suit. I hang on to his hand; I hadn’t thought about the fact that he’d want to get changed. He’ll see the new painting as soon as he goes in the bedroom.
‘I’ll come with you,’ I say, catching Sarah’s eye, feeling flustered.
He looks down at me, surprised. ‘Saucy.’ He squeezes my waist. ‘You should probably stay out here though, hostess with the mostest and all that.’
Sarah wades in to help, on the ball as ever. ‘You two sneak off for five minutes, no one’ll notice. I’ll create a punch-related diversion if anyone asks where you are.’
I don’t give Oscar time to say anything else, just tug him round the edge of the room and into the hallway. Before I open the door I whisper, ‘Close your eyes.’ Heroically, he just goes with it, probably expecting some kind of sultry surprise. I lead him by the hand into the bedroom. ‘Keep them closed,’ I warn, shutting the door and edging round him so I can see his face when he opens his eyes. ‘Okay, you can open them now.’
He blinks, looking at me first, shocked perhaps that I’m still fully clothed. God, I hope he’s not disappointed. I smooth my hands down my heavy skirt. I fell in love at first sight with this dress, it makes me feel like Audrey Hepburn.
‘Not me,’ I say, nodding my head towards the painting as he starts pulling off his tie. ‘That.’
He turns to stand at the end of the bed and his eyes settle on the vivid scene in pride of place. It’s like looking through a window to the other side of the world, and for a few seconds we stand together, hand in hand, and gaze at it. He squeezes my fingers, and then he climbs on to the bed so he can study it closer.