Read Online After the Party by Lisa Jewell - Free Book Online Page B

you.”
    Smith patted him back solidly. “Bloody good to see you too,” he said. “It’s been bloody ages.”
    â€œFour years and three months to be precise. New Year’s Eve 2003.”
    â€œOh, yeah, that’s right, we went out in Croydon, didn’t we, trying to recapture the old days?”
    â€œYeah, and ended up feeling like we were about sixty.”
    â€œYeah, well, you may as well be sixty if you’re over thirty in Croydon on New Year’s Eve. Christ, that was a shit night.”
    â€œTotally,” said Ralph. “You’re looking good.” And he was. Smith had always been a good-looking man, but in a careworn way. He’d always looked as if he was in need of the love of a good woman, to feed him properly and make him smile. Now he was fit, his skin glowed, his hair shone. He looked well, very well.
    â€œThanks, mate, not sure I can return the compliment.”
    â€œWhat!”
    â€œLondon boy.” He punched his arm affectionately.
    â€œI’ve just spent ten hours on a fucking plane, what do you expect?”
    â€œYeah yeah. You just need some sunshine and some exercise.”
    Exercise? Ralph smiled mockingly. When he and Smith had lived together in Battersea all those many years ago, the concept of exercise had been about as alien to the two men as the concept of vegetable carving. Or indeed the concept of Reiki therapy, the discipline that Smith now practiced for a living.
    â€œCome on,” he said, taking hold of Ralph’s hand luggage, “let’s get back to mine.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Smith lived in a very small but well-furnished apartment in Santa Monica, three blocks back from the sea. The building was quite scruffy, painted white and a sickly apricot and centered around a dull-looking swimming pool, but Smith had done a good job with the interior. It wasn’t minimalist and blokey, it was tasteful and comfortable, and remarkably tidy.
    â€œDo you always live like this,” asked Ralph, lowering his rucksack to the floor, “or is this on my account?”
    â€œBit of both, really,” said Smith, dropping his front door keys into a large glass bowl. “It’s easy to keep the place tidy when it’s just me. And I’ve got a cleaner.”
    Ralph raised his brow in surprise. It seemed odd to him that Smith was functioning out here, alone, without him. He couldn’t imagine Smith sauntering around a department store picking out glass bowls and velvety cushions. He couldn’t see how he’d have found a cleaning lady, how he’d have engineered a conversation with someone about how often he’d like his toilet bowl cleaned and how much he would pay her to do it. None of it made any sense. Ralph had always been the practical one when it came to domestic matters. He was the one who’d remember to buy bleach and vacuum under the sofa and get the windows cleaned once a year. Smith had just coasted along, paying his way, offering the occasional “cheers” when he could sense that Ralph had put himself out.
    â€œIt’s a nice place,” he said. “What’s the rent like?”
    Smith blew out his cheeks. “You don’t want to know. Too much.”
    â€œSo, you’re doing all right then, with the old . . .” he waggled his fingers, “Reiki business.”
    â€œYeah”—Smith ran his hands over his hair—“not bad at all.”
    â€œSo, where shall I . . . ?” He pointed at his rucksack.
    â€œOh, sure, yeah, you’re in here.”
    Smith led him through a narrow corridor, painted white and hung with panels of patterned glass.
    â€œBathroom here,” he said, opening a door and pulling on a light switch to reveal a plain white bathroom, clean and fragrant, equipped, Ralph was impressed to note, with more than one bath towel. “Your room here.” He opened a door at