Lucy broke her journey home by calling unannounced upon Cathy Glenton. They’d only spoken to each other once since Pascal’s death, when Lucy rang to tell her what had happened. After that Lucy had slipped out of circulation. A couple of messages on her answer machine from Cathy had not been returned. But on leaving Chiswick Mall, Lucy suddenly felt the urge to see her old friend.
The door opened narrowly and Cathy peeped over a lock-chain. Lucy saw the white cotton bathrobe and the towel turban around her head. ‘Is it too late?’
‘Nope.’
They shuffled into the kitchen. ‘So, what are you up to?’ asked Cathy, producing two bottles of beer from the fridge.
‘Attending a war crimes trial.’
‘Why?’
‘Long, long story. I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Fine. How’s your grandmother?’
‘Dying slowly I don’t want to talk about that either:
‘Fine.’
Cathy sat in the corner of the settee, her legs tucked beneath her. She stared into the narrow green neck of the bottle and said, ‘I’m sorry, so sorry, for being such a fool.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Lucy, kicking off her shoes. She sat against a wall.
‘About you and Pascal.’
‘Oh,’ sighed Lucy with surprise, ‘forget it.’
‘When you didn’t call back I thought you were angry with me.
‘No, no,’ replied Lucy with feeling, apologetic. ‘I just wanted to be morose on my own. Now I want to be morose with you.’
‘Fine.’
They drank their beer. ‘It’s always the same,’ said Cathy after a while. ‘You get to our age and every now and then you recover the enthusiasm of childhood, but you just get another slap across the face.’
Lucy glanced over to Cathy and said, ‘You once told me you never think about the past. That’s rubbish, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
Suddenly, without brutality, Lucy asked, ‘What happened with Vincent?’
‘I screwed up. Monumentally.’
‘How?’
‘It’s astounding, looking back. I mean, he was really different. No interest in a career, money, all that stuff; did lots of charity work, quietly; said great things I wanted to write down… and I ended it.’
‘Why?’
‘One day he got really, really smashed. We had a row about nothing – a wet towel left on the floor – but he called me an ugly bitch.’ She put her bottle carefully on the floor. ‘The next day I started covering up the scar. He said sorry, didn’t mean it, and so on… and then I realised what had happened: I’d changed, just like that.’ She clicked a thumb and finger. ‘I hadn’t realised my self-confidence was so fragile. We sort of made up, but I steadily edged him away All rather self-indulgent, really I heard the siren call of existential meltdown, thinking it might give me added depths. I suppose I wanted him to chase after me. But he took me at my word. I should have hung on to him.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Married to some other divinity.’
‘Cathy, I’m sorry.’ Lucy felt strangely ashamed of her own appearance.
‘Don’t be. The artwork’s only an interim measure. Inside I’m becoming a goddess that soars over all flesh. There. Are you morose now?’
‘Yes.’
‘So am I. Let’s play Snap.’