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She’d gone out that evening to teach Morton Jagger and ended up being his pupil, thought Shay after he’d dropped her off home with a sweet kiss on her cheek. How absolutely mad was that?
Chapter 48
Two days later, an alert went off on Shay’s phone, an assigned ringtone she hadn’t expected to hear ever again: a text from Les.
I think we should meet. Marcel’s at 11 a.m. tomorrow. Are you free? Les
A summons, short and to the point. Shay wondered why she’d chosen Marcel’s, a bistro on student-trendy Eccleshall Road, since it wastheirplace – the three of them – and they hadn’t been there since Tan had died, because it wouldn’t have felt the same with a man down. Had Les chosen that specific place to whip up some fond memories, mollify Shay’s feelings towards her? Like perfume, Shay’s thoughts about it were layered: an initial top note of outrage, a heart note of shock, a lasting base note of intrigue. She could ignore it, if she wanted to play Les as she’d been played but curiosity won out, so she replied.
I’m free. I’ll be there.
All the old text messages between them were still showing when she scrolled up, going back yonks: birthday messages, Les overspilling about something Morton had done, jokes, arrangements for Tan’s funeral. Shay exited the wistful yesterdays, deleted the conversation, then she put Les out of her mind by bagging up some things in the garage to take to the tip.
She arrived at Marcel’s on time with a brick in her stomach, wondering why she was putting herself through this. What could they possibly have to say to each other? And if they had anything, wouldn’t it have been better said in a boxing ring than a bistro? She couldn’t imagine Les sinking to her knees to beg for forgiveness and apologising until her throat was raw; she wasn’t the self-flagellating type. But she was here now, something had guided her to agree to it, so Shay took her best step forward to the front entrance of the restaurant.
Standing outside it was the biggest man Shay had ever seen, smart in a suit and tie and for one ridiculous moment she imagined he was acting as a minder for Les, as if she had the status of a Kardashian. She walked in, saw Les in a far corner and had an immediate flashback to the last time they’d met for lunch, when she’d confided in her best friend about her disastrous anniversary trip without having the foggiest that Les was shafting her husband. There would be no friendly wave across the room today.
Shay had called the dress code correctly, casual – jeans and top, but Les’s T-shirt was emblazoned with a massive Chloé logo across the front; a played-down outfit played up at the same time. Her handbag on the table was Mulberry, no doubt her knickers were from Gucci, because Les wasthat kind of gal these days, thought Shay: rich and wanted you to know it. Tan had loved designer gear too, but she bought pieces for their quality and durability as well as for their look. And she wasn’t above teaming up a Dolce and Gabbana top with a pair of trousers from Tesco.
Once upon a time, Les would have greeted her with a squashy hug. Today Shay got, ‘I’m just warning you, I have security if you try and attack me.’
Shay swallowed down a ball of disbelief the size of Poland. So Lurch on the door really was a hired guard then. Good god, how had they got here?
Shay sat without comment, reading the menu. She wasn’t hungry, but she’d eat, break bread, drink wine, on the altar of their fractured friendship while waiting to find out why Les had asked to see her. The food offering was different from the last time they’d been here, and the prices had shot up considerably, she noticed. Lots of ‘pulled’ things on the menu, pulled chicken, pulled brisket, pulled pork which seemed appropriate as her husband had had his pork pulled by her best mate. She ordered a Pinot Noir and let Les get nervous that she might fling the red wine all over that pretty white top of hers, and queen scallops in a pea foam with a shoot salad; for Les, a glass of house white and a starter-sized Salade Piemontaise which she ordered with dodgy French pronunciation. Once upon a time, she would never have gone for something she couldn’t wrap her tongue around, but that Les was long gone.
‘Thank you for coming,’ said Les, when the waiter had breezed off to the kitchen. ‘I didn’t know for sure if you would.’
‘Then neither of us knows each other very well any more,’ Shay answered. She’d said she would be there, and she hadnever let Les down yet. Then she wondered how fast that big man outside would get to the table if she reached across and dragged Les over it by her extensions. She should have brought Courtney along as her own minder, complete with her pink boxing gloves.
The waiter brought their drinks; Shay thanked him, Les didn’t in that entitled way some people had, expecting service without the need to acknowledge it.
‘So?’ asked Shay after a period of ensuing silence. She took a sip of wine. It just tasted like wine. It was no longer flavoured with the deliciousness of beloved company. They used to love this place, the little oasis of freedom in their busy lives, where they’d dump their souls and pore over the descriptions of giant puddings on the menu before they’d even looked at the mains.
‘Firstly I wanted to apologise,’ said Les.
‘For?’ asked Shay; cheap shot, she knew.
Les looked at her blankly. ‘You know what for.’
Shay noticed the security man walking past the window to check all was well. She picked up her glass and swilled the contents slightly to get his adrenaline up.
‘Can I ask why?’ she asked then.
‘Are you seeing Morton?’ said Les, as if that somehow answered the question.
‘That’s none of your business. He’s free, I’m free.’
‘Huh, like you two are a match,’ scoffed Les.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Shay mused, ‘he’s very gallant, kind…’ She did toy with adding ‘passionate’ to stir up the pot a little. After all, Morton did say that Les hankered most after what wasn’t available to her.
The waiter returned with the food in double-quick time. Shay noticed he put hers down first and more carefullythan he did Les’s. All three girls had done waitressing jobs in their late teens and moaned about rude customers and mean tippers.
The scallops were delicious and Shay was only sorry she didn’t have a better appetite to appreciate them more.
‘I did fight it, you know,’ said Les, grinding pepper over her lunch. ‘And whatever you might say about it now, you and Bruce haven’t exactly been love’s young dream.’
‘We all moan about our partners occasionally with people we can trust, and about parents and kids and jobs; it’s called a valve and it didn’t give you the right to just move in,’ Shay replied.
