‘Okay, look, let’s not panic. I’m sure whoever’s doing this is just trying their luck.’
Wilf rejects this notion with his eyes. ‘Do you have any idea how much this intellectual property could be worth? They won’t just let it drop. I’ll lose my job. I could get prosecuted. This isbiggerthan what we did, Josh.’
I want to reassure him, because I don’t believe anyone could be smart enough to outplay Wilf. We just need to collect our breath, take a little time to think.
But, before I can say any of that, he is gone.
Not long after Wilf leaves, Rachel arrives. She is hand in hand with a tall, dark-haired guy in cargo shorts, polo shirt, Ray-Bans. Darren said before that they work together, and I can see the banker in him a mile off. His feet are hidden by the barbecue, but my money’s absolutely on deck shoes.
And, by his side, my wife. In a pale blue dress, blonde hair loose around her shoulders, an early scattering of summer freckles across her skin. She is gripping Lawrence’s hand, laughing at something he has said. It must be funny, because her shoulders shake, and she covers her mouth as if he’s so bloody hilarious she’s about to spit out her lemonade.
I think back to Valentine’s night, how close I came to giving the cabbie Rachel’s address, after leaving Wilf’s flat. But at the last moment I changed my mind. And thank God I did, as I really wouldn’t have had the stomach to encounter Lawrence with a rose between his teeth, halfway through doing some kind of creepy naked butler routine.
My heart pounds.Stay cool, stay cool, stay cool.
I watch them from behind my shades for a couple of minutes, pretending to be deeply absorbed in what Polly’s ten-year-old, Fred, is saying to me about a video game.
I’ve always loved spending time with my godchildren. But, after it became clear that Rachel and I were no longer going to have kids of our own, the feeling occasionally came closer to bittersweet.
Fred is sketching out what I need to know against a paving slab with his index finger. ‘Like, you have a budget, so you have to choose between, like, a police station and a hospital...’
Christina Aguilera comes on to the sound system, at which Lawrence extends his hand to Rachel, as though he actually thinks he can pull off grinding to ‘Dirrty’ right here in the middle of a suburban barbecue.
Aside from anything else, he must not know her very well. Because it’s common knowledge among all of us that Rachel would rather die than use someone else’s patio as a dance floor.
I realise I can no longer watch. I get to my feet, ruffle Fred’s hair. ‘Sorry. Got to go, mate. Book me in for SimCity another time, yeah?’
‘It’s SimCity 4,’ he corrects me, with a scowl.
Rachel has moved on, I realise. And, though the thought of it is like a meteor to my chest, I know I need to let her.
34.
Rachel
August 2003
One humid night after work in August, I decide to call Josh.
He left messages for me a few weeks back. But I never returned them, perhaps because I knew he would ask me about Lawrence. And honestly? I had no idea what to say.
It’s been over two years now since I left. But my heart is still pre-empting just how hard he will care.
I sit cross-legged on my bed and dial his number. He picks up after only a couple of rings, asks how I am, says it’s good to hear from me. I apologise for not getting back to him sooner, and then he just gets right down to it.
‘You and Lawrence seemed happy, at Polly’s barbecue.’
‘You were there?’
‘Not for long. I left early.’
I pause. ‘Me and Lawrence... we’re just a causal thing.’
‘You don’t have to say that for my benefit.’
But the truth is, I am not.
Last week, over dinner, Lawrence handed me a key he’d had cut, for his flat. I must have hesitated when he placed it in my palm, because he shrugged and said, ‘No biggie. It’s just easier, isn’t it, when we’re coming and going all the time?’
