Sure, Seb doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’d tag along on one of Harry’s bi-weekly Battersea Park run-club-cum-rugby-socials, but he greets Harry warmly, apologising for their lateness in a way that Clara never would. While the sisters begin bickering, Seb introduces himself to Augie, then, finally,Kitty. She’s still staring at his jacket, the threadbare patches on the elbows.
‘Is it cold in here?’ Kitty says. ‘I’ll fetch the waiter.’
She goes to raise her hand, but Cee stops her. ‘Don’t you dare.’
Seb takes his seat with a confused kind of smile, while Clara slips into place between him and Augie. Between Seb and Kitty, one chair remains.
‘Where’s Dad?’ Clara asks.
‘Working,’ Cee and Augie answer, in unison.
Clara grits her teeth. ‘It’s the weekend.’ She collects herself, does her best to look unbothered. ‘Isn’t the empty chair a little on the nose?’
Harry catches Seb’s eye, gives him the first of many exasperated looks he’s planning to share.
‘Don’t start showing off, darling,’ Kitty says to Clara. ‘Not every day is the Clara show.’
Seb looks at Clara. Clara looks at Cee, who looks at Augie, who looks at Clara. No one says anything, and so Seb looks at Harry. He’s seen nothing yet.
In the meantime, the waiter arrives and takes their orders, and Cee is soon trying to engage the table in a conversation about a science experiment in Switzerland, a particle collider that’s about to be turned on. Clara says that they’re going to cause a black hole which will swallow the universe and everyone in it, and that if they do, it’s what we all deserve. Cee says that it’s not like Clara to be dramatic, that progress can be a good thing even if it isn’t done by poets. Augie stares into the varnished wood. Kitty looks bored, so she steers the conversation off course.
‘Sebastian,’ Kitty says, enunciating the name like it has an unpleasant taste. ‘What does your father do?’
Clara looks mortified, but Seb answers honestly, proudly. He does not know that the best stories to tell Kitty are the ones that Kitty wants to hear, and that these stories don’t usually involve fish-and-chip shops. The more comfortable Seb seems, the harder Kitty’s face becomes. She turns her eyes to Clara, who is talking quietly to Augie, their blond heads bent together, and the sight seems to wound her. Kitty is hard, yes, but she’s also brittle. Like meringue. Or toffee. Harry likes food, but not metaphors. As his wife says, Clara is the poet.
‘You’re looking well,’ Clara is saying, to Augie.
‘Thanks,’ Augie says. ‘I didn’t—’
‘Look at you two,’ Kitty says, white wine in her voice. ‘Whispering away.’
Augie, as if ordered, stops talking. Clara looks like she’s going to say something else, but she swallows the words down.
‘How are you feeling, Mum?’ she says, instead.
The question catches Kitty off-guard. She dabs at the tight corners of her mouth with her own napkin. ‘I’m fine.’
‘I mean, in general,’ Clara continues. ‘About the—’
‘This is hardly the forum.’
‘Yes, but I wanted to—’
‘Don’t put me on the spot.’
Clara sighs. Kitty folds her napkin carefully.
‘Do you know about Clara’s new short film?’ Seb says, and even he doesn’t seem sure who he’s saying it to. He clearly hasn’t yet worked out that there’s no point swimming against the current. ‘She’s about to start shooting. The script is so good.’
Clara stays silent. Augie continues to stare into the tabletop.
‘Oh, not this again,’ Kitty says.
‘This?’ says Clara, unable to resist the bait. ‘My life?’
‘We never should have indulged you,’ Kitty says.
‘You never did.’
