That Summer He Died (10 page)

Don’t lose it, his sanity was shouting. This is nothing to do with Lucy. Don’t go bawling her out. It’s not her fault.

He took in her expression. The grin was still there, like her lips had been glued to her gums. What the hell was he going to tell her?

How about no? No, you’re not going to Grancombe. Not with me and not with anyone else. Not ever. Yeah, no was good. No would avoid a lot of questions he didn’t feel like answering right now. Like how come he hadn’t told her that his uncle had just died? Like how come he’d never even mentioned he had an uncle? Like how he’d also failed to tell her that he’d lived with this slipped-my-mind uncle for one long, hot summer he’d tried all his life to forget.

And Lucy wasn’t stupid. Her questions wouldn’t stop there. Inevitably, they’d progress. How long did you live in the town? Are there people still living there you used to know? Why don’t you want me to meet them? And most of all, the question he most dreaded having to answer: just what was it that happened there that’s left you so messed up?

But at the same time, he knew that was no good either. Just saying ‘no’ to her would be like red-flagging a bull at spitting distance. She wasn’t the kind of person you told what to do without having a damn’ good reason first. The questions would still come the same as before, only this time barbed with indignation. She’d trample him into the dust.

So say nothing. Deal with it tomorrow. Go to Norm behind her back and tell him to pull the offer from under her feet. Again, though, James realised this was another dumb bet. She’d know. She’d know it was down to him that Norm had changed his mind. And once she knew that, she’d know that James was hiding something from her. And once she knew that, then trust and friendship and everything else she’d talked to him about would mean nothing. And once their talk meant nothing, she’d walk. He felt it in his gut. She was in this for real. If she even suspected that he was messing her about, then he’d lose her. And he didn’t want that. No matter how unsure he was about where their relationship might lead, he was sure it might lead somewhere. He didn’t want it to end yet.

One thought comforted him. A consolation prize. At least he’d be able to keep an eye on her when she was in Grancombe. At least he’d be able to keep her eyes closed to the things he didn’t want her to see. He breathed deep, and when he breathed out his words came calmly.

‘That’s great, Lucy,’ he said. ‘Really great.’

‘I knew you’d love it.’ She squeezed at his hand. ‘Come on. Let’s get drunk and celebrate.’

‘Bar chat,’ David slurred into James’s ear a couple of hours later.

James turned to check on Lucy, but there wasn’t any need. She was deep in conversation with Rick and Becky, smiling, relaxed and having fun. He had to admit, it gave him a buzz, the way things were working out. Maybe Lucy was more than just potential now. Maybe she was already there as part of his life, as his future.

Rick was a pushover for a pretty face, so the fact that he was doing the nodding dog, lapping up everything Lucy said like a teenager at his first job interview, wasn’t a big deal. But Becky. . . Becky was choosy. She’d only met Lucy once before and it had been in a club where conversation hadn’t really graduated further than exaggerated facial expressions and bellowed comments. Here it was different. Here she’d be examining Lucy and the way James was with her. Here she’d be drawing conclusions. It was she and David, not Rick and the others, whose opinion James trusted the most.

Like David, Becky – with whom James and David had shared a flat in Edinburgh – wouldn’t hold off telling James if she thought Lucy wasn’t right for him. Come to think of it, she wouldn’t hold off from telling Lucy the same thing to her face. She’d done it before, acted the guardian angel, kept an eye on her boys – and been responsible for more girlfriends getting the flick than Henry VIII.

David had discussed her tendency to police their love lives with James. He’d put it down to her just being one of the boys with them, cited her drinking prowess, football lust and shockingly blue vocabulary as evidence to back up this theory. And James had agreed, not because he’d believed that David had been right but because one night up in Edinburgh, laced with whisky and beer, Becky had confessed, through tears and snot and sheer bloody pain, that she’d been in love with David from the moment she’d met him. And James had promised her that he wouldn’t interfere, that he’d let her deal with it in her own way and that he’d never mention a word of that conversation to David.

Yes, Becky was a close friend, and if she had taken a dislike to Lucy then it wasn’t obvious. It looked more like she’d been charmed. The same as Justin. And, yes, the same as James. He stood up and Lucy sensed the motion beside her and turned round.

‘Just going for a pint with David at the bar,’ he said.

‘Sad tradition,’ Becky explained. ‘Every birthday, every year, same two pissed dickheads slumped over some bar talking bollocks.’

‘How d’you know we talk bollocks?’ David protested. ‘For all you know, we might be discussing ways to make the world a better place – world peace, you know, all kinds of shit. . .’

Becky shook her head, her fair hair sweeping across her brow. ‘I can believe the last part.’

David tutted. ‘Just because you’re not allowed to come with us. . .’

Becky’s lip curled sarcastically. ‘Consider me officially offended.’ She turned to Lucy. ‘What say you and me get all girly and go to the loos with our handbags and swap lipstick and talk boys and other secret stuff?’

‘Sure,’ Lucy said, playing along.

‘What about me?’ Rick asked.

‘Well,’ Becky said, ‘either you can be sociable and talk to the others, or you can just sit there and enjoy your own company. . .’ She ran her tongue across her teeth. ‘Something I’m sure you do most nights anyway.’

Rick shook his head, dismissed her with a wave of his hand, and shuffled up the bench to talk to Spence.

James and David ploughed through to the corner of the bar and established some elbow room, ordering two pints of lager and four shots of tequila.

‘Cheers,’ David said, chewing a wedge of lemon, licking the salt off the back of his thick fist, dropping the shot and wincing like he’d swallowed a wasp. He watched James follow suit, then repeated the sequence with the second shot. ‘Good catch,’ he commented.

‘What?’

‘Lucy.’

‘In case you hadn’t noticed,’ James said, ‘she’s not a fish.’

‘Indeed,’ David admitted, ‘but if she were, it’s my opinion that she’d be a salmon. And not one of those farmed ones, either. Oh, no. She’d be a wild salmon, from a Scottish river. An exclusive Scottish river owned by gentry, where not even city bankers have bought rights. She’d be the kind of salmon you’d want stuffed on your mantelpiece.’ He grinned. ‘Well, stuffed somewhere, anyway.’

‘OK,’ James said with a groan, ‘let’s cut the line on the fish metaphor.’

‘Oh, ha-ha. What, doesn’t it tickle you any more?’

James shook his head as he thought. ‘No, just leaves me feeling gutted.’

‘Oh, ha-ha again. Really, though, you going to stick with her? Assuming she wants to stick with you, that is. . .’

James threw the question back at him. ‘I don’t know. What do you think?’

‘I think you two look good together. I think you make each other smile and I think that can’t be bad. But—’

‘With you, there’s always a but. What is it this time?’

‘Same as it was on your birthday last year when you were seeing that Zen chick, Naomi. Same as it’ll probably be when your birthday swings round this year, whether it’s Lucy you’re with. . . or someone else. I mean, Naomi was all right. It wasn’t like—’

‘Apart from the fact she used to get me to meditate with her before sex.’

‘Apart from that,’ David acknowledged, slurring a little, in rambling mode. ‘But she was OK, you know. You’ve got to admit that. And it’s the same with Lucy now. She’s fun. She suits you. I think even Becky’s warming to her and that’s, like, almost unheard of. But end-of-line, yeah, the big but is, it’s nothing to do with them why your relationships never work out. It’s you. You can’t settle. Sure, you blame it on them. You fixate on stuff like the meditation crap and you use that as your excuse to bail. But it’s deeper than that.’

James rolled his eyes, drunk and uncertain he wanted to hear any more. ‘Is that a fact?’

‘Reckon so. On the surface, sure, you’re just like me: moving on all the time, not prepared to settle and give up on the game.’ David swirled his drink for a moment, before adding, ‘Only motive-wise, I think it’s different with you. I think you really do want to settle down with someone. That’s what’s with all these short-lived relationships. Otherwise, you’d do what I do: you’d get the one-night stands in and move on the next morning, not look back. But you try. You try and make it work with all of them. And then, when you suss they’re not perfect – and by now, you should’ve cottoned on to the fact that no one is – you chuck them, convinced it’s not going to work out anyway. Am I right, or am I right?’ David nodded his head and raised his glass. ‘Profound, huh?’

James didn’t speak for a few seconds, waited until he was sure that David had finished, then said, ‘Becky’s right, you know. We do talk a lot of shit.’

David laughed. ‘Becky’s right about a lot of things.’ He raised his glass. ‘To Becky, the best woman I know. Our guardian angel.’

‘Becky,’ James concurred, toasting her with his own glass and drinking. He waited till David’s eyes met his. ‘So,’ he said, ‘since we’re being so honest with each other. . . if you reckon Becky’s the best woman in the world, how come you’ve never. . .’

‘How come I’ve never what?’ David said, looking at him bemused. The suggestion hit home. ‘What – that? With her? You serious?’

‘Sure I’m serious.’

David frowned. ‘Well, I dunno. The situation’s never arisen.’

‘OK, but hypothetically—’

‘Hypothetically. . . Christ, I dunno. It’s like asking me if I’ve ever considered banging my sister. It’s not something I’ve thought about.’

James wasn’t being put off. Becky would castrate him if she could hear him going on like this. But it was only hypothetical, right? No big deal. Just a game. ‘So think about it now,’ he said.

‘OK,’ David said, doing just that for a moment, pulling all kinds of troubled faces. ‘Well, she’s attractive, yes. I mean, if you like that kind of thing.’

‘And do you?’

David considered this a while longer. ‘Suppose. But you know me,’ he added quickly. ‘Not like I’m fussy at the best of times. . .’

‘Point taken. But you’re great mates with her, and you do find her attractive. Attractive-ish, anyway.’

‘I’ll run with that,’ David said, his expression serious. If Becky had looked across now and seen him, she might have withdrawn her earlier comment: it really did look like it might be a route to world peace that was on his mind.

‘So back on the hypothetical, say the situation did arise where you could – question is, would you?’

‘But we’re mates. . .’

‘Which means you wouldn’t have to go through all the crap of getting to know her and finding out it’s a waste of time.’

‘The James Sawday Speciality, you mean.’

‘Call it what you want,’ James said, overlooking the dig, keeping on his case. ‘Just answer the question.’

‘OK, OK, so yeah – if the situation arose – I might have a crack.’

James was riding the tequila now, holding nothing back. ‘So maybe – instead of spending the rest of your love life shagging nameless bodies you’ve met in clubs – you should.’

‘Fine,’ David said, though his belligerent expression showed that it was far from it. ‘So switch it.’

‘What?’

‘What about you? Hypo-bloody-thetically, what about you? You know her as well as I do. If the situation arose with you, what would you do?’

‘It wouldn’t.’

‘Uh-uh.’ David wagged his finger at him. ‘You’re not getting out of it that easily. It’s as likely to happen to you as to me.’

‘It’s not.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Because it’s not me she’s interested in.’

‘What’s that meant to mean?’

‘Work it out.’

‘She said something to you? Is that what all this is about?’ It was thrown out, almost with anger.

‘No, she’s said nothing. It’s just a hunch.’

David stared into his eyes and neither of them spoke. Then he looked away.

‘What’s with the long faces, boys?’

James turned his head. Becky was standing between them with her hands on her hips. Lucy was standing beside her. James’s eyes briefly engaged with David’s and the antipathy between them dissolved as they cracked up laughing.

‘What’s so funny?’ Becky said, eyeing them both suspiciously. ‘Should my ears be burning?’

David rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘No, we’ve just been talking bollocks, like you said we would.’

‘That’s what I love about you, David: you’re so bloody predictable.’

James finished his drink and said to the others, ‘We’d better get back to the table.’ He nodded at David. ‘Can’t form a splinter group on your own birthday.’

David checked his watch. ‘Good point, and if everyone’s still up for moving on to a club, we’d better sort it out sharpish.’

James stepped forward only to walk into Becky’s outstretched hand. ‘Not so fast,’ she said.

A dart of panic passed through him. For an instant he thought that maybe she’d overheard what he and David had been discussing, and was about to conclude their hypothetical argument with a very real torrent of vitriol. He calmed down when he realised she wouldn’t have waited this long.

‘What?’ he said.

‘We got us a plan,’ Becky said.

‘We sure have,’ Lucy said.

David said, ‘And?’

‘What do you say to getting out of London for a few days, birthday boy?’

David looked puzzled, shrugged. ‘Bad plan. Hangover’s going to nail me to my bed all day tomorrow. Reckon it’s claimed my arse for Sunday as well.’

‘Not now,’ Becky told him.

‘So when?’

Becky pointed a finger at Lucy, and said, ‘Fill him in.’

‘You know James is going down to Grancombe for
Kudos
, yeah?’