‘He’s just a fuckwit, Dad.’
Saying he agreed with Emma’s sentiments if not the language, Luc poured himself vast vodka, downed a little neat and winced but looked relieved.
‘Would you like a drink, Em?’ he asked, turning round. ‘And, er… Alix, how about you?’
‘I’ll have a beer,’ Emma said, leaping up and grabbing one from the fridge. I said I was fine as she levered the cap off, sat down again and took a swig straight from the bottle.
‘Quite soon I expect glasses to become obsolete.’ Luc sighed, shaking his head in despair.
‘That will be good,’ said Emma, quite unperturbed. ‘Save on world resources.’
‘Lunch at twelve?’ I confirmed before blood was shed.
‘Fine. I’ll be back for then.’ Luc hurried off with his drink.
‘Where’s Nic?’ Emma asked me as her father disappeared.
‘Gone to the mosque,’ I replied, putting the plate of charcuterie on the table whereupon she immediately seized a slice of salami, rolled it up neatly and popped it whole in her mouth. ‘She said to give you her love.’
‘Oh, thanks. Has she gone to show off her pashmina to the serious ladies?’
I chuckled. ‘Not this time. I think she lost her nerve at the last minute.’
Contemplating a sliver of garlic sausage, Emma wrinkled her nose. ‘Poor woman. I can’t imagine what it must be like to feel restricted about what you’re allowed to wear.’
‘Yep.’ Putting the pan of peas on a low heat, I sat down opposite her to chop some lettuce and spring onion.
‘Hey, Alix,’ said Emma, helping herself to a cornichon and more salami. ‘I must tell you, something really greathas happened. Dad and I have had a really ace discussion about uni, and he’s going to help me speak to the Dean about changing my course.’
‘Oh,good, I’m so glad. What are you going to do instead of history?’
‘I think I quite like the idea of psychology,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘After you mentioned it, I, like, got interested and did a bit of surfing online about it. I do find, like,peoplemore fascinating than anything and I’d like to know more about what makes us tick.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Yeah, but get this.’ She selected another slice of garlic sausage. ‘Dad reckons it’s better that I stop uni now and start again next October with a fresh course. Then I won’t have missed a whole first term.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, I’d say that’s pretty good advice. But what are you going to do in the meantime?’
‘Well, this is the best bit.’ Looking excited, she swigged some beer and then wiped her lips on the back of her hand. ‘I don’t think you know, but back in the summer I got this, like, offer to do some modelling.’
‘No, first I’ve heard of it.’ I stood up to check the peas.
‘Dad knows about it, but he wasn’t keen – fashion world and all that, you know? Well, in fact, these friends of Josh’s parents – you know Josh – are starting up a small fashion house, the clothes all ethically sourced and so on. A bit like Toast – do you know Toast?’
I confirmed I loved Toast clothes but could seldom afford them.
‘Yeah, they’re pretty expensive. Well, I think this’ll be the same sort of thing, but quite small and select, youknow? A bit above high street stuff but nothaute couture. Well, they want, like, a new identity in a model, someone not just unknown but someone who looks, like…’ she hesitated a second before finishing with emphasis, ‘someoneordinary-looking.’
‘I know what you’re getting at, but I don’t think you do look ordinary.’
I considered her across the table as she picked at the plate of charcuterie. As I have said, she wasn’t pretty but there was a coolness, a pleasing symmetry about her features. Then there was her height. Despite a slight gawkiness, the legacy of adolescence, there was something arresting in the supple way she moved herself that caught the eye and held it. This morning dressed in skinny blue jeans which showed off her endless legs, a navy-blue cropped jumper over a classic boyfriend striped shirt and her tawny hair in glorious disarray over her shoulders, she looked a million dollars.
‘You’re very striking.’
‘Thanks.’ She looked up and smiled at me. ‘But what I think they mean is not someone who is, like, supermodel super beautiful – which I certainly am not.’ She pondered. ‘They want someone wearing their clothes who the ordinary woman can identify with, who looksattainable.’
‘Okay,’ I said slowly. ‘But what does your father think about it?’
