It wouldn't explain why Mia seemed to dislike Tash, though.

Tash tuned back to her conversation with Lloyd, 'Well, look on the bright side, that leaves you Jayne to chat to, and Jayne is gorgeous.'

Lloyd shook his head. Yes, Jayne was a beauty, and she was without doubt informed, clever and chatty, but he felt too old for late-night flirtations in loud bars. He regretted... what? He was too drunk to articulate exactly what he regretted. The regret fluttered around his head, like a flighty red admiral b.u.t.terfly, always escaping his net. He certainly regretted being here alone. He should have insisted that Greta was invited along, too. Why hadn't he?

'No one seems to be having a very good night, do they?' admitted Tash. She didn't see any point in pretending it was otherwise. 'A superst.i.tious bride would be worried about that on the run-up to her wedding.'

'Are you superst.i.tious?' asked Lloyd.

'Not normally.' Tash grinned at Lloyd.

'Sophie, my ex,' added Lloyd, as though Tash would have forgotten who Sophie was, 'she was very superst.i.tious. She wouldn't walk under ladders, was forever throwing salt over her shoulder and on the first of the month she'd pinch and punch me.' Lloyd took another swig of his beer.

'What?' asked Tash slightly bemused. She was pretty sure that Lloyd wasn't a victim of domestic violence. So what was he going on about?

'You know. "Pinch, punch, first of the month." We would race to say, "White Rabbits," on the first day of the month, then sort of playfully pinch and punch the one who'd forgotten to say it. All nonsense, of course. Couple stuff.'

Lloyd took a drag on his f.a.g. Tash didn't think this was the moment to point out that he didn't smoke. Lloyd looked wistful. Tash was cold and fed up. It had been a long day, and she wanted to go to bed and shut out all this confusion and mess. She needed to sleep on all the conversations she'd had today and try to draw some sense from them, but she'd honed in on Lloyd's need and couldn't ignore it.

'Tell me more about Sophie. What is she like?'

'A bit like you, actually, in the beginning,' replied Lloyd truthfully. Immediately he started to apologize, 'Sorry. That wasn't a come-on.'

'I didn't take it as one.'

'Thanks. It's just so many people seem to take everything I say in the wrong way at the moment.' Lloyd paused, 'Well, for a while now. I've come to the conclusion that Sophie was right about that, at least. I'm not a very good communicator. Com-mun-ee-kate-oor.'

Lloyd repeated the word. He wished he'd been given a pound for every time someone had asked him to communicate better. It annoyed him intensely. It wasn't as though he was deliberately obscure. Perhaps the civil service wasn't the right field for him if he was such a dismal communicator.

Or perhaps it was.

Tash nodded towards the carrier bag of beer, 'Do you mind if I join you?'

'Help yourself.'

As Tash settled back on to the wooden bench, accepting the inevitability of a cold, wet b.u.m, she asked, 'So, go on, what is she like?'

Lloyd thought it was odd that Tash spoke of Sophie in the present tense. No one ever did that nowadays. They talked about her in the past tense, and often in whispers, as though she was dead. And in many ways she was dead, at least to him.

'Bubbly. Funny. Loud. Emotional.' Lloyd listed his ex-wife's character traits as though he were reading a train timetable until he said, 'Honest,' when he became more intense. He grappled with the word. 'Her honesty, her ability... no, her need to say what she feels is the thing that reminds me of you.'

'Oh, I wondered if it was our unpopularity.'

'You're not unpopular.' Lloyd was genuinely surprised. The boys hadn't really discussed Tash much, beyond 'good legs' and 'good laugh', but that general consensus of approval was high acclaim in boy world.

'Not normally, no.'

'All the guys think Rich has done far better than he deserves. He's a very lucky chap.' Lloyd hoped he didn't sound as though he was flirting. He needn't have worried, he didn't sound as though he was flirting. Flirting had never been his line.

'I guess I've been hoping for too much.'

'You have a problem with us, his old gang, don't you?'

'No. No, not at all.' Lloyd raised one eyebrow and looked sceptical. 'A little bit at first. I guess I felt left out,' Tash admitted. 'I pride myself on not being jealous of his past romances, conquests, liaisons, call them what you will. But I find myself simply jealous of his past friendships. I felt I had to catch up on years of history in just a couple of days. It's not possible.'

'Sophie used to say similar things. She said that we were a very exclusive crew.'

'She was right. I hadn't realized that I was about to enter some secret society with pa.s.swords and handshakes and everything.'

'You're exaggerating.'

'Am I?' Tash felt irritated that her new friend wasn't endorsing her point of view more wholeheartedly.

'I don't believe you haven't fallen under Jason's spell. He's a delight.'

'I have,' confessed Tash. 'I think he's great, and I really like Jayne, but Rich doesn't.'

'Doesn't he? Why not?' Lloyd was surprised. He'd seen Rich and Jayne together quite a lot. He'd thought they got along fine. Lloyd could not imagine a man alive that would not have a soft spot for Jayne. 'Kate has a heart of gold,' Lloyd pointed out. Tash nodded. 'And if Ted is a bit distant at the moment it's because he has things on his mind. I know Mia can be sharp, but '

'But what? What's her excuse for such constant rudeness? She has relentlessly worked to make me feel barred and unwelcome.'

Lloyd shrugged and chose not to reply. Tash had thought Lloyd would understand how it felt not to be accepted as part of the select crew, as he had so clearly been excluded of late. Hadn't he noticed? They were both on the outside. It annoyed Tash that he was blinded by what she considered to be misplaced loyalty.

'So Mia is the problem.'

'She seems to do her utmost to make me feel inadequate. I am so sick of listening to her historical anecgloats! I feel I'm marrying into a mafia.'

Lloyd chuckled, 'That's exactly what Sophie used to say. She was always making jokes about finding a horse's head on her pillow.' Tash didn't see the joke. 'We're mates, though, aren't we?' asked Lloyd.

Tash looked at him and smiled. 'Yes, we are,' she confirmed. Tash patted Lloyd's leg, pecked him on the cheek and stood up, 'I've said and drunk too much. I'm going to bed to sleep this off. Good night.'

'Night.' Tash strode through the snow. It crunched under her new pink, fluffy boots. 'Nice boots,' called Lloyd.

'Thanks,' yelled Tash back into the blackness; she was already fifty yards away. She ground her footprints into the snow. b.l.o.o.d.y Rich hadn't even noticed them. Barbara Cartland pink, furry, knee-high boots, and he hadn't even noticed them. What was he thinking of? Tash wondered if she had the courage to ask. The pitch darkness helped. Lloyd wouldn't be able to see her humiliation.

'Lloyd?'

'Yes?'

'Do you think there is anything going on between Rich and Mia?'

'Hah. Good G.o.d, no.'

Tash grinned, cheered by the emphatic answer, and went on her way.

Lloyd listened to the sound of her feet scrunching through the fresh snow. He listened until the scrunching died away, then he listened to the silence of the black night and the huge Alps. Lloyd couldn't decide if he was simply very, very drunk, but he felt strangely buoyed up, almost elated. This was twice on this trip when he'd set out to offload some of his problems and found himself in the position of confidant. It felt rather good. He felt important and needed.

Lloyd wondered if he should make his way back to the hotel, too. It wouldn't do to get so drunk that he pa.s.sed out. He'd get hypothermia.

49. Kiki.

'She's cute, her. Look over there.' Jason was pointing towards a ma.s.s of girls on the dance floor. They looked to Mia as though they all still read Just 17, i.e. about thirteen years old. They still had flawless skin and puppy fat, most of which was on show because they all wore very short skirts and tiny, strappy tops.

'Which one? They all look alike,' Mia moaned. She was bored with indulging Scaley Jase in his game of pointing out 'cheeky chicks'. She actually wanted him to stop looking around the bar and look at the girl who was standing right next to him.

'That one there. The one with bra-strap-length hair.'

Sometimes it wore a little bit thin, the constant s.e.xual innuendos. Mia wasn't prudish, but there had been a couple of occasions when she'd thought it would have been more agreeable, more grown up, if Scaley Jase didn't insist on commenting on the t.i.ts or b.u.t.tocks of every girl he came into contact with, every pop star snapped in magazines and even the cartoons pictured on the rude postcards.

'Can't you just say shoulder length like everyone else?'

she grumbled.

'No, it's not as h.o.r.n.y.'

'And that's the be-all-and-end-all is it, what's h.o.r.n.y?'

'Well, it is important.' Jase grinned. 'I'm looking for some action between the sheets. Of course I'm looking for someone foxy to play with.'

'What about what's real?' asked Mia, exasperated, but Jason wasn't listening to her as he was offering to buy someone a drink. The girl at the receiving end of his attention was unlikely to be older than twenty. She wore very heavy, dark eyeliner and layer upon layer of mascara. It was a wonder she could open her eyes with the weight.

'The nightlife here is entirely seaside resort,' moaned Mia.

'I know. It's fantastic, isn't it?' Scaley grinned, missing her point.

'I preferred the bar we were in last night,' she shouted above the noise. Jason shrugged and started to hum the chorus of 'YMCA', which was currently playing. Mia marvelled. Jason was normally so London. He usually spent his time in the most chic and groovy clubs in town. He had private membership to Home and Soho House (which Mia had always found confusing and which had led, on one occasion, to her waiting for him at Home when he was at the House such poor planning to have the names of two of London's most coveted private members clubs being so similar; she wondered whom she should write to to complain). How could he be happy knee-deep in cheese and tack? She had forgotten that last night she'd believed that it did not matter where you were, just who you were with. Her limited supply of patience was quickly being spent. She had seen Jayne off, she'd accepted the inevitability of Jason indulging in a quickie with the busty bottle-blonde, but enough was enough. When was he going to notice her? What did she have to do? Strip naked and tattoo 'Take me' across her b.o.o.bs?

Jason paid for the drink, then started up a conversation. The girl was Dutch. Scaley Jase became visibly more excited when she revealed this. He clearly thought that because s.e.x workers were legal in Holland every woman born there was more likely to be open to the weird and wonderful. After a few minutes of pleasantries, the girl picked up her drink and walked back to her gang of friends.

'Crashed and burned?' asked Mia, hardly able to keep the joy out of her voice.

'On the contrary,' smiled Jason. He folded up a beer mat and slipped it into his jeans pocket. 'She gave me her apartment details and told me I should swing by at about eleven for a few drinks with her and some of her friends.'

'She did what?' asked Mia, amazed. 'You'd only been talking to her for two minutes.'

'That's my fatal charm,' confirmed Jason.

'But you could have been anyone. You could be a rapist or a murderer. What was she doing giving you her details so quickly. She must be brainless.'

'I expect she knows how to look after herself. Besides, I'm not a rapist or a murderer,' pointed out Jase.

Mia huffed crossly. She felt old. But, then, even when she was young she couldn't remember being so idiotically trusting. Jason could see that Mia was upset and so tried to rea.s.sure her.

'I let her see my platinum card. It happens all the time.'

'What?' He'd failed. Mia's disquiet turned to fury. 'Are you saying that the girl is only interested in you because she knows you are rich?'

'Well, I like to think I'm great company, too, but as you pointed out she hardly had time to find that out. Mia, don't sweat it, she's a certain type of girl. She wants a good time, and she knows I can pay for it. It's all just a bit of fun. I tell you, that girl will be able to handle herself.'

At that point their conversation was interrupted. A small, plump girl approached Jason. She wore her hair in a blunt, raven bob, except for her fringe, which was scarlet.

'I saw you flashing your money about, mate. You don't want to be wasting your time on those foreign birds, they never follow through. All Catholics are p.r.i.c.k teases. Now, mine's a Malibu and c.o.ke. The liquid variety, that is, unless you have something else to offer.'

The girl winked and laughed. Her laugh was deep and gravelly. She was clearly confident that Jason would buy her a drink, which he did.

'Actually, she was Dutch and the Dutch aren't an especially Catholic nationality, even if your stereotype about Catholics were correct,' said Mia snootily.

She really wished Jason wouldn't waste their time by messing around with this sort of girl. Mia had to admit she had a pretty face, big smile and large, brown eyes, but she needed to cut back on the pies and, in any case, she was clearly very common.

'Whatever.' The girl didn't feel it was necessary to talk to Mia. She looked like someone's mother, she was unlikely to have a platinum credit card and, even if she did, she would not buy the Malibu.

Mia stuck by Jason for another hour. She didn't join in their conversation, which was mostly about bands she hadn't heard of and TV programmes she didn't watch. She loathed reality TV and prided herself on the fact that she hadn't ever watched a single episode of Big Brother. The girl's conversation was depressingly predictable, mostly about how she 'got right f.o.o.kin' smashed and vommed everywhere'. Mia suggested they all dance because at least that way she wouldn't have to listen to the ridiculous chatter. Unfortunately, at the moment Mia made the suggestion, the tempo of the music changed to a slow, romantic number. Jason grabbed the hand of the Malibu and c.o.ke girl and led her on to the tiny dance floor.

Mia was left alone propping up the bar. Her body ached from the boarding bruises, and her head ached with what felt like the onset of a hangover. She hadn't even been drinking. Slowly her optimism eked away. She had begun this evening so sure of her plan. She'd been convinced that the photos had done the trick. For a while Jason had looked at her in, well, a different way than normal. More intensely, more carefully. He'd talked to her all evening, and they hadn't stopped laughing. Even when they were arguing it had been fun. (He was wrong about the Finlay Quaye lyrics. He needed his hearing tested.) Mia watched as Jason and the girl crawled all over one another. She had seen Scaley Jase dance with countless women. She had seem him emerge dishevelled from women's bedrooms the morning after the night before. She had been privy to endless stories of his conquests; it wasn't as though his provocative dancing really marked anything different from everything she'd seen before.

And yet.

Yet.

She felt odd.

She felt sad. Weary and disappointed. Clearly if Scaley slept with this floozie tonight instead of her, her chances of conceiving were obliterated, but it was more than that. She was too good for this. She shouldn't be standing on the sidelines of a dance floor waiting for a drunken ex to notice her again. And Jason was too good for this. He shouldn't be dancing with a girl whose fingernails, eyelashes and b.o.o.bs were fake.

Jason came back to the bar. 'Do you remember where I left my jacket?' he asked. Mia pointed to the floor. Their jackets were rolled into tight b.a.l.l.s and shoved under a bar stool.

'Are you leaving?' she asked.

Jason slid his arm into his jacket sleeve, 'Oh, yeah, I think my luck's in.'

'Of course it is, she was hardly going to present a challenge,' snapped Mia. Jason didn't reply.

'Kiki has just gone to get her jacket. You can walk back to the hotel with us if you like, or are you planning on staying here for a bit longer?'

'Kiki?'

'It's not her real name.'

'Thank heaven for that.' Mia bent down to pick up her jacket. Not even her own name. How could he ever get close to someone if the people he cavorted with didn't even know who they were? Sunday had been Jayne. Monday, the busty blonde. Tuesday, Kiki. With every day and every lay, Mia saw her chances of conceiving recede.

She was going to have to revisit the idea of a sperm donor. Her plan was preposterous. Jason wasn't fit to be a father, even in the most perfunctory sense. He was still a child himself. She would accept the offer of an escort back to the hotel, order a hot chocolate and then read the next chapter of her novel. She would not demand, 'Jason, how could you sleep with a woman like her?'

Whoops, it just sort of popped out.

'And how is she, exactly, in your opinion, Mia?' Jason asked with irritation. Even if Mia hadn't been expecting to pour scorn on the situation, Jason had been expecting her to do so. Sometimes he knew her better than she knew herself.