This wasn’t a friendly exchange; it was like fencing.
‘I hear you’re seeing someone?’ Claire said, picking a stray strand of her neatly scissored, blunt blonde bob out of her lip balm. Dan always said she had Lego hair.
Naturally, whether Laurie had another man was the most important thing. Especially with it being foretold that she’d never be able to find one.
‘Yeah,’ Laurie had forgotten the three witches of WhatsApp would be seeing Facebook, same as everyone else. ‘Jamie.’
‘You work with him?’
Oh God, of course. She’d have then been straight on to Dan.
‘Yes, Jamie is at Salter’s.’
‘I didn’t know if … you’re, you know. At the stage of meeting each other’s friends, or if it’s that serious, but I wondered if you’d like to bring him to Phil’s fortieth this Saturday coming? It’s nothing much, open house, barbecue. Dan’s invited. He’ll be on his own, I should add … she’s, erm … his new girlfriend is away.’
Hah, so Dan and preg Meg got an invite straight out of the traps. Claire, on spec, decided it might make for a spicy spectacle to throw Laurie and toyboy into it too. Ugh.
‘Thanks, I’ll have to see. Socialising with Dan isn’t among my favourite hobbies now, you can probably imagine.’ Seeing Pri and Erica and their husbands appeals as much as getting the runs on a choppy ferry crossing, too. ‘And I’ll have to ask Jamie if he’s free,’ Laurie added.
‘Yes, Dan said he didn’t think your fella would come.’
This was lightly, rather than deliberately, thrown. Claire could be extraordinarily insensitive, Laurie had forgotten that. It wasn’t only about what she inflicted on purpose, she was perfectly capable of doing it by mistake. She was hugely indiscreet.
‘Oh. Why not?’
‘Erm …’ Claire looked flustered, for the first time during their conversation.
‘He said … well, implied, really. That it was more of a fling than a relationship. That coupled-up stuff wasn’t the page you guys were on. Said Jamie’s kind of known for casual, not commitment.’
Laurie seethed. She was loath to give Claire the satisfaction of knowing she’d got to her, but she had. Dan had said disparaging things about Jamie, and possibly even about his purported misuse of Laurie. Meanwhile, Laurie had spread nothing about stupid Spotify playlists.
She’d not done the Wounded Woman tour, made them feel bad about picking his side, made it a female solidarity issue. She’d never be so crass. But Dan’s stupid wounded pathetic male pride, after all he’d done, drove him to call Jamie trivial, a distraction. Don’t embarrass her by asking her to produce him at an event full of responsible adults, he’s not up to that sort of scrutiny. Bit of a jack the lad, if you know what I mean. For display purposes only. Well. Two could play that game.
‘What time does it start? Half six. OK, I’ll let you know.’ This was obviously British code for ‘I’m as likely to attend as self-immolate’, and Claire said, tartly: ‘Sure, well, you’re welcome.’
When she got in, Laurie called Jamie, more to rant than anything. Expecting him to make polite noises of sympathy while saying he was very sorry, he had something on that night, and her saying oh sure, sure I was only venting. Instead, he offered to pick her up at six.
‘It’s walking distance from yours, right?’
‘What? You want to go?’
‘“Want” is overselling it but fuck them, if Dan’s been running me down, running us down, then this is essential labour.’
‘The rivalry of men,’ Laurie said, and Jamie laughed.
‘I don’t know if you noticed, my interests in this and your interests bled into each other a while back. Never mind the promotion, since Dan accused me of trying to ruin you professionally, this became wholly personal.’
Laurie internally repeated my interests in this and your interests bled into each other a while back, after ending the call. Ostensibly a fairly trivial remark, but that was precisely how Laurie felt and didn’t dare say. They started as accomplices, now they were a team.
Jamie squinted in the low evening sun on Laurie’s doorstep, all facial geometry and good tailoring and lightly worn masculine confidence, holding a bottle of red wine, and Laurie thought anew: God you’re so beautiful, you’re nonsensical.
You wouldn’t ever want to be that beautiful because becoming less beautiful as you aged would be so hard. How would he cope when that incredible jaw sagged, when those full lips thinned, when the dark blue eyes became pouchy? Would he mind, would he notice the difference in how the opposite sex treated him, as his powers dimmed? In Lincoln and after her dad’s party, he’d started to be a boyish funny friend; in Manchester, this evening, he was returned to being an intimidating semi-stranger.
‘You alright? You look like you’re doing very long addition in your head or something,’ Jamie said.
Laurie gave a startled laugh. ‘Yes, no, fine, sorry. Haha. Shall we head off?’
Jamie gave her a quizzical look as if to say Ey up, have you started on the wine already.
They walked to Claire and Phil’s at Corkland Road and Laurie said: ‘Brace yourself for a major lump of property. Their home is ridiculous.’
‘Belfast sinks with boiling water taps? Heated tiled floors? Quartz worktops? Am I warm?’
‘Oh my God, you’re burning up!’
A five-bedroom, bay-fronted Edwardian semi-detached, Laurie had wondered how much of Claire and Phil having loads of friends was because they had loads of money. They were both quite brittle people, really, but presided as king and queen over Chorlton’s thirty-somethings and parents party circuit because they had the castle.
‘Laurie! You came!’ Claire said as she threw the heavy front door open to the Minton tiled hallway, in genuine astonishment.
‘Phil’s only forty once!’ Laurie said, feeling grimy at the insincerity.
Claire openly stared at Jamie until Laurie intervened with the introductions, passing over coats, bottles and gifts.
Their ocean liner sized kitchen was fairly busy but the fall-quiet-and-stare when Laurie and Jamie entered was perceptible.
In a corner, she saw Dan turn, the emotion pass across his face. He turned back, quickly.
Claire fussed over getting them both drinks and then they stood in splendid isolation, as Claire as hostess was fast claimed by someone else.
A conversation right by them involved a man in an ecru polo neck saying: ‘It’s only worth doing if the courgettes are properly ripe, and sadly we’re in south Manchester, not Sicily, hahahaha.’
They’d been there ten minutes when Pri and Erica, both looking mortified, made an approach.
‘Hi, Laurie.’
‘Hi! This Is Jamie.’ They cooed hellos. Neither Pri or Erica were truly malign, of course, they were just in Claire’s gang, playing by her rules. They weren’t as egregious in the Baby Shower roast. But some people never really leave school, and more fool them, given how horrible living by school rules was.
Neither of them had the front that Claire did and didn’t reference the WhatsApp, looking pink around the edges, and gulping wine like it was water after a marathon.