Besides Kay and the Napiers, the guests include Lauren’s two friends, both switching between typing on their phones and eyeing Susan (at least, that’s what they seem to be doing), three sets of neighbors, and a clutch of Russell’s colleagues. Susan’s found herself pinned in front of an immense bowl of three-bean salad, jostled on one side by the florid partner in an important law firm, and on the other by a bony academic, who asked what she knows about golf and the cognitive sciences. When she admitted she doesn’t know the first thing about either, he lost interest and turned to the man next to him, who crowed, “God, Rory, have you seen what they’ve done to the front nine at Machrihanish? Bloody travesty!”
Susan gazes across the bean bowl and catches her aunt’s eye. Kay looks pityingly back at her, then lays a hand on Meg’s arm and says, “Meg, dear, you poor thing, trying to balance that baby and the plate. Here, let me help you. No, no, dear, I’ll take the plate; you can take the little one. Let’s just go on into the sitting room so you can sit down. Too hot in here for the wee ones anyhow.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Helen flutters. “Let’s all go! We can spread out a bit!”
“I’m glad someone’s concerned about me,” Meg growls, shooting daggers at her husband, who only rolls his eyes.
“Everything okay?” Susan murmurs as William passes her, steering the two older boys ahead of him.
“Shipshape,” he answers with a tight smile.
“I think we’re going to go,” Kate/Kell reports to the company in general. “You said Philip Simms was going to be here,” Susan hears her hiss at Lauren as she passes.
“I said he might come, not that he would,” Lauren flings back. “Oh, go on then. I’ll text you later and we can meet up.”
“Should we ask Liam?” the other one smirks.
“Do what you like,” Lauren replies in a tone of studied disinterest.
As the others flow into the sitting room, Susan branches off and slips into the blissfully quiet kitchen. Hermione the dog follows and sits at her feet, looking up hopefully.
“Your mum won’t like it if I give you something,” Susan tells her.
The dog cocks her head and goes full mournful with the eyes.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she seems to be saying.
“Oh, go on then.” Susan tosses her a little piece of chicken, just as Lauren comes in.
“Ah, someone else who needs a moment of peace,” Lauren observes, reaching into a tin on the countertop and retrieving a biscuit for the dog. “Sit!” Hermione’s haunch hovers an inch from the tile. “Good girl!” Lauren tosses her the treat, then pulls herself up to sit on the countertop. “So,” she says, waggling her eyebrows at Susan. “How’re things with Philip?”
“They’re all right” is Susan’s evasive response.
“Just all right?”
“I’m sure Arion Nation will fill you in on all the details, if I won’t.”
“Oh, don’t be like that! You still going to see him again? Your aunt says he’s been talking about you ever since your date.”
Susan grimaces, not liking the idea of Kay gossiping about her. To Lauren, of all people. It’s almost making her reconsider agreeing to go out with Philip again, but she has to admit, he’s fun to be around. He fortuitously phoned the night before, when she was still beating herself up about the debacle with Chris and Mollie. Philip had made her laugh, with a couple of stories about awkward fan encounters he’d had that day. They’d made him late and earned him a scolding from Kay that he termed “very maternal. I think she missed her calling as the mother of erstwhile thirty-something actors.”
“She’s got some erstwhile thirty-something nieces to make up for it,” Susan pointed out before agreeing to a date—a definite date—on Thursday.
“I wish a movie star would come and sweep me off my feet,” Lauren sighs. “Especially one like him, because he’s both good looking and talented, and most of them aren’t both, you know? I loved him in that last film; he’s the only reason I went to see it. Of course, Liam said it was pretentious, but the critics loved it, so what does he know?”
“Ah, Liam again,” says Susan with a teasing look. “He comes up a lot for someone you’re only casual about.”
“Only because he’s always around.” Lauren huffs. “He was with us in Berlin, and he was all right for a while, but then one night he had about five too many and started going on about the middle classes and how we’re all cows or sheep or something, with our organic allotments and Waitrose grocery deliveries and just not really living or feeling or … I don’t know. I tuned him out after a while. We all did. He’s so boring when he’s like that. Why can’t everyone be a fun drunk?”
“Life would be so much better if they all were,” Susan agrees. “So you two are through, then?”
“I don’t know. Suppose so. I mean, I haven’t sat down and had the big talk with him or anything, but who does that anymore? People just sort of go their own way, you know?” She sighs. “Maybe I should talk to him, though, just so there’s no confusion. Do you think I should?”
“Yeah, Lauren, I think you should,” Susan tells her quietly. “Confusion is … hurtful.”
“Oh, Liam can’t be hurt. He knows it’s only just casual with us anyway.” Lauren sighs again and kicks her feet against the cabinet. “Mum’ll hate it. Dad too. They were so pleased when I got together with him because Liam’s from setch a good feemily.’” She apes a nasal, cut-glass accent. “But honestly, he took me home with him one weekend, and I nearly wanted to die. His mother’s a pill. She saw me looking at some painting in their breakfast room—that’s what she called it, even though it was really just a dining alcove off the kitchen—and she said that of course the painting came from some ancient relative’s Grand Tour. She thought I would be in awe of that, but really I was just thinking how ugly the thing was. And she’s got some cousin—not even a cousin, a second cousin, or even further away than that—who’s a lord something or other, and she never. Shut. Up. About. It. ‘Oh yes, my cousin, Lord Suchandsuch, don’t you know, he’s very good friends with the prime minister, practically helps run the country, which is why he had to regretfully tell us he won’t be able to have us to the villa in Lake Garda after all, because the PM’s going to be calling an election soon, and my cousin simply must be at the beck and call of Number Ten. The sacrifices we all must make for our country!’” Lauren sticks her nose in the air and waves it around in imitation of this insufferable woman, and Susan laughs.
“You should go on the stage, Lauren,” she says.
“Maybe I will. I’m young yet, aren’t I?”
“Who’s going on the stage?” Kay asks, sticking her head into the kitchen.
“Lauren, probably,” Susan answers. “She’ll be the most brilliant comic actress of her generation.”
“I don’t doubt it,” says Kay.
“Comics, that’s it!” Lauren brightens. “You and Philip should go to a show at The Stand! It’ll be perfect—small, intimate, kinda dark, so you two can cozy up without causing too much of a fuss. If that’s what you want.”