“—Did you hear that Leonardo DiCaprio’s going to be filming a new movie in Glasgow? A friend of mine’s managed to get a job as an extra and she says she can get me onto the set.”
“—Andrew, for God’s sake, don’t take all the potatoes. Give some to your brother, will you?”
“—So I said to him, Bob, we really can’t keep having this discussion week after week after week. Either you’re in favor of making people earn their benefits, or you’re not. We just aren’t in a position, as a country, to tolerate layabouts, now are we? Rare, or medium, Bernie?”
“What? Oh, well done, if you have it.”
“We don’t, sorry. Medium it is.”
A deep pink slab of meat, oozing juices, lands on Bernard’s plate. Julia, sitting beside her father, looks sick.
“Just salad for me, please,” she whispers.
“Oh, my dear, you must have a little more than that,” Helen implores.
“No, no, it’s all right, it’s just—”Julia casts about for an excuse. “Just I’ve recently gone vegan.”
Half the table actually stops talking. William blinks at her as if she’s just spoken in a foreign language. Russell wonders, “Why would anyone want to do such a thing?”
“Oh, dear,” Helen flutters, sensing a dire hostessing failure. “I wish you’d said something, Julia, I would have gotten you one of those tofu-burger thingies. They have some at Waitrose that Mary next door says are quite edible.”
“It’s all right,” Julia reassures her, helping herself to some salad.
“I was thinking about going vegan,” Meg pipes up. “Is it hard? Do you have any recipes you could send me?”
Julia, realizing this particular lie is about to get out of hand, buys herself some time by stuffing a few bits of rocket into her mouth and chewing far longer than she needs to.
Susan turns to Lauren. “What other news is there, Lauren? Did I miss anything while I was in the kitchen?”
“No, I saved some of it because I thought you’d be interested,” Lauren says. “Do you know who’s coming here to do a play during the Festival? The International Festival, that is—and I may actually have to go to this play just because he’s in it.”
“Philip Simms,” Julia supplies.
Lauren droops. “How did you know?” she shrieks. “Do you read Arion Nation too?”
Now all conversation stops. Seven pairs of adult eyes bore into Lauren. Andrew takes the opportunity to spear more potatoes.
“Sorry, what?” Julia asks.
“Rufus Arion’s blog,” Lauren clarifies. “What?” she asks the table at large. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Is that seriously the name of his blog?” Susan asks, amazed that, even in an era of shock value and historical ignorance, anyone would consider that appropriate.
Lauren waves her hand. “Oh, yeah, I know—terrible, right? Part of me feels like I shouldn’t read it just on principle, but he does have a lot of really good information, and he’s a lovely writer, so I just try not to think about it too much, you know?”
“I think that’s a stance that’s used with that particular name too much already,” Julia mutters, only just loudly enough for Susan to hear.
“Kids, eh?” Russell chuckles. “Social media.” He reaches over and ruffles his daughter’s hair. “Best not to go bandying about that you read that blog, all right?”
“Dad, come on.” She ducks away from him, even as she smiles. “I’m not an idiot. I know to be careful so I don’t harm your career. Anyway, how do you know about Philip?” she presses Julia.
“My aunt told me. She’s in the play as well.” Julia glances at Susan. “It was supposed to be a surprise. Sorry.”
“Oh, wow!” Lauren’s eyes widen and her face lights up. “Do you think she could introduce me to Philip? My friend Sarah too? Sarah’s a huge fan—practically obsessed! He’ll probably want to take out a non-harassment order against her.” Lauren giggles.
“Then I’ll make sure she’s the first one he meets,” Julia promises.
Lauren misses the cool tone of Julia’s voice and chatters about how now she’ll actually see something at the International Festival, because you have to support family, and also Philip Simms! And she doesn’t care that Liam will roll his eyes and tell her she’s so middle class.
“Now, Lauren, Liam’s a nice boy, and it’s not nice to talk about people when they aren’t there to defend themselves,” her mother chides.
Out of the corner of her eye, Susan can see the slight tightening of Julia’s jaw whenever Philip Simms is mentioned. Julia’s left off toying with her salad and is now glaring at a cherry tomato so hard Susan half-expects it to combust.
Years ago, Julia actually met Philip at some fancy club in London. And she made a very hard play for him, only to find herself rebuffed (an extreme rarity for her). And then, outrageously, she was escorted from the club by some polite security who called her a taxi and suggested she call it a night. It was a drama Susan almost certainly never would have been aware of except that, as it unfolded, Julia was energetically texting about it, having mixed up Susan-the-sister with Susan-the-friend. So Susan-the-sister was a rather baffled distant witness to the whole thing. Once she’d sobered up, Julia was mortified to discover what she’d done. Susan was never sure which had stung her sister worse: Philip’s rejection or her own knowledge of it.
“A matinee might be best,” Lauren muses. “Fewer people, probably. You don’t want to be crowded in with a bunch of old ladies complaining about the weather. Oh, and they do. Everyone complains about the weather here, even when it’s good. ‘It won’t last,’ they’ll snip. Why can’t people just be happy? I can probably get a group of friends to come to the show, and that’ll be fun. Even if the play’s boring, Philip’s pretty yummy, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll take his shirt off or something. That’d be all right, wouldn’t it, Dad? If I take an afternoon off to see the play?”
“Lauren’s helping out in Russell’s office for the summer,” Helen explains. “We thought it would be good for her to have some real-world experience. And to stay busy over the break,” she adds with a slightly strained smile.
“Course it’s all right, sweetheart,” Russell answers. “You see as many shows as you like; you’re only young once. Besides,” he adds, noting the subtle raise of his wife’s eyebrow, “it’s educational. Cultural education. Broadens the mind, like travel.”
“I totally agree,” Bernard chips in. “Did I ever tell you about that wonderful little museum I stumbled across the last time I was in Mallorca? Changed my life, let me tell you—”
“I’ve got some other news,” Lauren interrupts. “You might be interested in this one, Susan. You know Chris Baker, the chef?”
Susan goes hot and cold in quick succession, and her heart thumps hard. Now it’s Julia’s turn to give her a side-eye.
“Chris Baker?” Susan squeaks. Does Lauren know about her and Chris? She can’t possibly—that was long before Meg married William.