"I was wondering when you were going to drop round."

"Do we know each other?" said Jamie, trying to make it sound literal rather than standoffish. It was starting to feel like that meeting with Ian. Not knowing what on earth was going on.

The woman juggled the paperback into her cigarette hand and held out the other to be shaken. "Becky. Tony's sister."

"Hi," said Jamie, shaking her hand. And now that he thought about it he did recognize her face from photographs and felt bad for not having taken more interest at the time.

"The one you've been avoiding," said Becky.

"Have I?" asked Jamie. Though it was less a case of avoiding. More a case of failing to make a deliberate effort. "Anyway, I thought you lived in..." s.h.i.t. He shouldn't have started that sentence. She let him carry on without help. "Somewhere a long way away."

"Glasgow. Then Sheffield. You coming in, or are we going to stand out here talking?"

"Is Tony in?"

"Are you only coming in if he's here?"

Jamie got the distinct sense that Tony wasn't in and that Becky was going to give him some kind of grilling, but now didn't seem like the time to be ungracious to a member of Tony's family. "I'll come in."

"Good," said Becky, closing the door behind him.

"So, is he in?"

They walked up the stairs to the flat.

"He's in Crete," said Becky. "I'm house-sitting. I'm working at the Battersea Arts Centre."

"Phew," said Jamie.

"Meaning?" asked Becky.

"Meaning I've been trying to ring him. I thought he was avoiding me."

"He is."

"Oh."

Jamie sat himself down at the kitchen table, then realized it was Becky's flat, temporarily at least, and Tony and he weren't going out anymore and he shouldn't make himself at home quite so automatically. He stood up again, Becky gave him an odd look and he sat down for a second time.

"Gla.s.s of wine?" Becky waggled a bottle at him.

"OK," said Jamie, not wanting to seem rude.

She filled a gla.s.s. "I don't answer the phone. Makes life a lot simpler."

"Right." Jamie's head was still full of all the things he was planning to say to Tony, and none of them were very appropriate now. "The Battersea Arts Centre. Is that, like paintings, exhibitions..."

Becky gave Jamie a withering look and poured herself another gla.s.s. "It's a theater. I work in the theater." She said the word theater theater very slowly, as if talking to a small child. "I'm a house manager." very slowly, as if talking to a small child. "I'm a house manager."

"Right," said Jamie. His own experience of theater was limited to one forced visit to Miss Saigon Miss Saigon which he had not enjoyed. It seemed best not to share this with Becky. which he had not enjoyed. It seemed best not to share this with Becky.

"You really weren't paying very much attention when Tony talked about his family, were you?"

Jamie was having trouble remembering a conversation in which Tony told him what his sister did. It was possible that Tony had never actually told him. This too seemed like something best to keep to himself. "So...when's Tony getting back?"

"Not entirely sure. Another couple of weeks I think. It was all rather spur of the moment."

Jamie did a quick calculation in his head. Two weeks. "s.h.i.t."

"s.h.i.t because?"

Jamie wasn't sure if Becky was p.r.i.c.kly in general, or whether she was being specifically p.r.i.c.kly with him. He trod carefully. "I wanted him to come to something. A wedding, actually. My sister's wedding. She's getting married."

"That is what people generally do at their weddings."

Jamie was beginning to understand why Tony hadn't made a bigger effort to introduce his sister. This woman could give Katie a run for her money. "We had an argument."

"I know."

"And it was my fault."

"So I gathered," said Becky.

"Anyway, I was thinking if I could get him to come to the wedding..."

"I think it was the wedding he was avoiding. By going to Crete."

"Ah."

Becky stubbed out her cigarette in the little gla.s.s ashtray in the center of the table and Jamie concentrated on the way the smoke floated up and broke into little spirals to take his mind off the uncomfortable silence.

"He loved you," said Becky. "You do know that, don't you."

"Did he?" It was a stupid thing to say. But he was too shocked to care what he sounded like.

Tony loved him. Why the f.u.c.k had Tony never said so? Jamie had always a.s.sumed Tony felt exactly the same as him, not wanting to leap in and make commitments.

Tony loved him. He loved Tony. How in G.o.d's name had he managed to screw things up quite so spectacularly?

"You didn't realize, did you," said Becky.

There was absolutely nothing Jamie could say.

"Jesus," said Becky. "Men are morons sometimes."

Jamie was about to say that if Tony had only told him, then none of this would have happened. But it didn't sound like a very grown-up response. Besides, he knew precisely why Tony had never told him. Because he'd never allowed Tony to tell him, because he didn't want Tony to tell him, because he was terrified of Tony telling him. "How can I get in touch with him?"

"G.o.d knows," said Becky. "He's staying with some friend who's got a time-share thing out there."

"Gordon."

"Sounds right. He thought the mobile would work."

"It doesn't. I tried."

"Snap," said Becky.

"I need a cigarette," said Jamie.

Becky smiled for the first time. She gave him a cigarette and lit it for him. "You are in a state, aren't you."

"Look," said Jamie. "If he rings-"

"He hasn't."

"But if he does-"

"You're serious, aren't you," said Becky.

Jamie steeled himself. "I love him. I just didn't realize until...Well, G.o.d, Tony chucked me. Then my sister canceled the wedding. Then my dad had some kind of nervous breakdown and ended up in hospital. And we all drove to Peterborough and everyone basically scratched each other's eyes out. And it was horrible. Really horrible. Then the wedding was back on again."

"This is going to be a really fun event, isn't it."

"And I realized Tony was the only person who-"

"Oh Jesus. Just don't cry. Please. Men crying does my head in. Have another drink." She poured the remains of the wine into his gla.s.s.

"Sorry." Jamie wiped his slightly moist eyes and swallowed the lump.

"Drop an invite round," said Becky. "Write something soppy on it. I'll stick it on top of his post pile. Or on his pillow. Whatever. If he gets back in time I'll kick his a.r.s.e and make him come."

"Really?"

"Really." She lit another cigarette. "I met his previous boyfriends. n.o.bheads. In my humble opinion. Obviously you and I haven't known each other long but, trust me, you seem like a major improvement."

"Ryan seemed nice." In his mind, Jamie was introducing Becky to Katie and wondering whether the two of them would become friends for life or spontaneously combust.

"Ryan. G.o.d. What an a.r.s.ehole. Hated women. You know, you can't work with them because they're not tough enough and they b.u.g.g.e.r off to have children. Probably not even gay. Not properly. You know the type. Just can't stomach the idea of s.e.x with women. Hated children, too. Which always winds me up. I mean, where do you think adults come from, for G.o.d's sake? You want bus drivers and doctors? You need children. I'm glad I'm not the poor b.l.o.o.d.y woman who spent a chunk of her life wiping his a.r.s.e. Didn't like dogs, either. Or cats. Never trust a man who doesn't like animals. That's my rule. You don't fancy sharing a Tesco curry, do you?"

88.

Jean rang David. The boiler was fixed and he had the house to himself again, so she dropped in on her way back from the bookshop. The boiler was fixed and he had the house to himself again, so she dropped in on her way back from the bookshop.

She told him about the wedding and he laughed. In a kind way. "Oy oy oy. Let's hope the day itself is less eventful than the buildup."

"Are you still coming?"

"Would you like me to?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes I would." She wouldn't be able to hold him. But if Jamie and Ray had a row, or Katie changed her mind halfway through the ceremony, she wanted to be able to glance across the room and see the face of someone who understood what she was going through.

He gave her a hug and made her a cup of tea and sat her down in the conservatory and told her about the eccentric plumber who'd been working on the boiler ("Polish, apparently. Degree in economics. Says he walked to Britain. German monastery. Fruit picking in France. Bit of a roguish air, though. Not sure whether I entirely believed him").

And good as it was to be talking, she realized that she wanted to be taken to the one remaining place where she forgot, however briefly, who she was and what was happening in the rest of her life. And it was a little scary, wanting something that much. But it didn't stop the wanting.

She took hold of his hand and held his eye and waited for him to realize what she was thinking without her having to say it out loud.

He smiled back and raised one eyebrow and said, "Let's go upstairs."

89.

George missed his second therapy session on account of being in hospital. As a result he was rather dreading his next meeting with Ms. Endicott, much as he had once dreaded being sent to Mr. Love to explain why he had thrown Jeffrey Brown's satchel onto a roof. therapy session on account of being in hospital. As a result he was rather dreading his next meeting with Ms. Endicott, much as he had once dreaded being sent to Mr. Love to explain why he had thrown Jeffrey Brown's satchel onto a roof.

But she listened respectfully to the story and asked some very specific questions about what he had hoped to achieve and what he felt at various points during the whole process, and George got the distinct impression that he could have announced that he had eaten his wife in a pie and Ms. Endicott would have asked about the kind of gravy he had served with it, and he was not sure whether this was a good thing or not.

It was beginning to annoy him. He explained that he felt a good deal better now and she asked in what precise way he felt better. He described his feelings about Katie's wedding and Ms. Endicott asked for a definition of "Buddhist detachment."

When, at the end of the session, Ms. Endicott said that she was looking forward to seeing him the following week, George made an ambiguous "Uh-huh" noise because he was not sure whether he would be coming the following week. He half expected Ms. Endicott to pounce on his deliberate ambiguity, but their forty-five minutes were up and they were now clearly allowed to behave like normal human beings again.

90.

Jamie got back late from Tony's flat. Too late to ring people with children at any rate. So he decided to drive over to Katie and Ray's the following day, pick up an invitation and offer his congratulations in person. from Tony's flat. Too late to ring people with children at any rate. So he decided to drive over to Katie and Ray's the following day, pick up an invitation and offer his congratulations in person.

He liked Becky. She had softened over the microwave curry, even if her opinions of estate agents hadn't. He liked most stroppy women. Growing up with Katie, no doubt. What he really couldn't stand were winsome head tilts and hair flicking and pink mohair (why they appealed to rugby players and scaffolders was a mystery he was never going to solve). He wondered briefly whether she was a lesbian. Then he remembered a story of Tony's about her and some boy breaking their parents' toilet seat during a party. Though people changed, of course.

He talked about Katie and Ray's roller-coaster relationship and managed to convince Becky that Ray was a suitable candidate for castration, then had to steer her carefully round to thinking he was an honorable kind of guy, which was considerably harder because, when he thought about it, it was very hard to put his finger on precisely what had changed.

She talked about growing up in Norwich. The five dogs. Their mum's allergy to housework. Their father's pathological devotion to steam railways. The car crash in Scotland ("We crawled out and walked away without a scratch and we turned round and the back of the car was torn off and there was, literally, half a dog on the road. Had a few nightmares about that. Still do"). The boy they fostered who had an obsession with knives. The time Tony and a friend set light to a powered model plane, launched it from the bedroom window and watched it bank slowly at the end of the garden, flaming dramatically, then turn and fly into the half-built house next door...

Jamie had heard most of the stories before, in one form or another. But he was listening properly this time.