on my clothes. I’d forgotten everything apart from this: Clare’s worried face, filled with an edgy vulnerability I’d never seen before.
‘It’s about the wedding,’ she said. She looked down at her hands. ‘It’s about … it’s about who I’m marrying.’
‘Who?’ I said. And then, to make her laugh, to try to break the tension that was filling the car and infecting me, I said, ‘It’s not Rick, is it? I always knew—’
‘No,’ she broke in, meeting my eyes at last, and there was not a shred of laughter there, only a kind of steely determination, as if she were about to do something unpleasant but utterly necessary. ‘No. It’s James.’
7
FOR A MOMENT I stared at her, willing myself to have misheard.
‘What?’
‘It … it’s James. I’m marrying James.’
I said nothing. I sat, staring out at the sentinel trees, hearing the blood in my ears hiss and pound. Something was building inside me like a scream. But I said nothing. I pushed it back down.
James ?
Clare and James ?
‘That’s why I asked you.’ She was speaking fast now, as though she knew she didn’t have much time, that I might get up and bolt from the car at any moment. ‘I didn’t want— I thought I shouldn’t invite you to the wedding. I thought it would be too hard. But I couldn’t bear for you to hear it from somewhere else.’
‘But … then who the hell is William Pilgrim?’ It burst out of me like an accusation. For a second Clare looked at me blankly. Then she realised, and her face changed, and at the same second I knew where I’d heard that name before, and realised how stupid I’d been. Billy Pilgrim. Slaughterhouse-Five . James’s favourite book.
‘It’s his Facebook name,’ I said dully. ‘For privacy – so fans don’t find his personal profile when they search. That’s why he doesn’t have a profile picture. Right?’
Clare nodded wretchedly. ‘I never meant to mislead you,’ she said pleadingly. She reached her warm hand out towards my numb, mud-spattered one. ‘And James thought you should know before—’
‘Wait a minute.’ I pulled my hand away abruptly. ‘You talked to him about this?’
She nodded and put her hands to her face. ‘Lee – I’m so …’ She stopped and took a deep breath, and I got the feeling she was marshalling herself, working out what to say next. When she spoke again it was with a trace of defiance, a flicker of the Clare I remembered, who would have attacked, who would have died fighting rather than lie down under an accusation. ‘Look, I won’t apologise. Neither of us have done anything wrong. But please, won’t you give us your blessing?’
‘If you haven’t done anything wrong,’ my voice was hard, ‘why do you need it?’
‘Because you were my friend! My best friend!’
Were .
We both registered the past tense at the same time, and I saw my own reaction reflected in Clare’s face.
I bit my lip, so hard that it hurt, crushing the soft skin between my teeth.
You have my blessing. Say it. Say it!
‘I—’
There was a sound from the house. The door opened, and there was Flo standing in the rectangle of light, shading her eyes as she looked out into the darkness. She was standing on the tips of her toes, almost toppling as she craned to see, and there was an air of suppressed excitement about her, like a child before a birthday party who might tip over into hysteria at any moment.
‘Hellooo?’ she called, her voice shockingly loud in the still night air. ‘Clare? Is that you?’
Clare let out a trembling breath, and opened the car door. ‘Flopsie!’ Her voice shook, but almost imperceptibly. I thought, not for the first time, what an amazing actress she was. It was not surprising she’d ended up in theatre. The only surprise was that she wasn’t on stage herself.
‘Clare-Bear!’ Flo shrieked, and catapulted down the steps onto the gravel. ‘Oh my God, it is you! I heard a noise and thought … but then no one came.’
‘It’s about the wedding,’ she said. She looked down at her hands. ‘It’s about … it’s about who I’m marrying.’
‘Who?’ I said. And then, to make her laugh, to try to break the tension that was filling the car and infecting me, I said, ‘It’s not Rick, is it? I always knew—’
‘No,’ she broke in, meeting my eyes at last, and there was not a shred of laughter there, only a kind of steely determination, as if she were about to do something unpleasant but utterly necessary. ‘No. It’s James.’
7
FOR A MOMENT I stared at her, willing myself to have misheard.
‘What?’
‘It … it’s James. I’m marrying James.’
I said nothing. I sat, staring out at the sentinel trees, hearing the blood in my ears hiss and pound. Something was building inside me like a scream. But I said nothing. I pushed it back down.
James ?
Clare and James ?
‘That’s why I asked you.’ She was speaking fast now, as though she knew she didn’t have much time, that I might get up and bolt from the car at any moment. ‘I didn’t want— I thought I shouldn’t invite you to the wedding. I thought it would be too hard. But I couldn’t bear for you to hear it from somewhere else.’
‘But … then who the hell is William Pilgrim?’ It burst out of me like an accusation. For a second Clare looked at me blankly. Then she realised, and her face changed, and at the same second I knew where I’d heard that name before, and realised how stupid I’d been. Billy Pilgrim. Slaughterhouse-Five . James’s favourite book.
‘It’s his Facebook name,’ I said dully. ‘For privacy – so fans don’t find his personal profile when they search. That’s why he doesn’t have a profile picture. Right?’
Clare nodded wretchedly. ‘I never meant to mislead you,’ she said pleadingly. She reached her warm hand out towards my numb, mud-spattered one. ‘And James thought you should know before—’
‘Wait a minute.’ I pulled my hand away abruptly. ‘You talked to him about this?’
She nodded and put her hands to her face. ‘Lee – I’m so …’ She stopped and took a deep breath, and I got the feeling she was marshalling herself, working out what to say next. When she spoke again it was with a trace of defiance, a flicker of the Clare I remembered, who would have attacked, who would have died fighting rather than lie down under an accusation. ‘Look, I won’t apologise. Neither of us have done anything wrong. But please, won’t you give us your blessing?’
‘If you haven’t done anything wrong,’ my voice was hard, ‘why do you need it?’
‘Because you were my friend! My best friend!’
Were .
We both registered the past tense at the same time, and I saw my own reaction reflected in Clare’s face.
I bit my lip, so hard that it hurt, crushing the soft skin between my teeth.
You have my blessing. Say it. Say it!
‘I—’
There was a sound from the house. The door opened, and there was Flo standing in the rectangle of light, shading her eyes as she looked out into the darkness. She was standing on the tips of her toes, almost toppling as she craned to see, and there was an air of suppressed excitement about her, like a child before a birthday party who might tip over into hysteria at any moment.
‘Hellooo?’ she called, her voice shockingly loud in the still night air. ‘Clare? Is that you?’
Clare let out a trembling breath, and opened the car door. ‘Flopsie!’ Her voice shook, but almost imperceptibly. I thought, not for the first time, what an amazing actress she was. It was not surprising she’d ended up in theatre. The only surprise was that she wasn’t on stage herself.
‘Clare-Bear!’ Flo shrieked, and catapulted down the steps onto the gravel. ‘Oh my God, it is you! I heard a noise and thought … but then no one came.’
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