“In what way?” Jean looked nervous again.

“Well…” George scanned his memory of the meeting rapidly to make sure it contained nothing that might upset Jean. “He said everything was a bloody mess back at the house.”

“Well, he was right there.”

“He said that I was the sanest person in the family. I think it was meant to be a joke.” It was obviously a better joke than George realized because Jean started laughing quietly. “It seemed a little unkind to you, I have to say.” He took hold of Jean’s hand. “It’s good to see you laughing. I haven’t seen you laughing in a long time.”

She started crying again.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” He let go of her hand. “I’ll give Ray a ring. See if I can set things straight.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Trust me,” he said.

He did not know whether it was wise. Or whether he could be trusted. To be honest, he had very little idea why he had made such a foolhardy suggestion. But there was no turning back. And if there was some small thing he could do to make Jean happier, then it was the least he could do.

87

Jamie got home from work to find a message on the answerphone from Katie saying the wedding was back on. She seemed positively jubilant. And her cheeriness made him feel more optimistic than he’d done in a while. Perhaps everyone’s luck was turning.

He was tempted to ring her straight back, but he needed to sort something else out first.

He parked just round the corner from Tony’s flat and gathered his thoughts, not wanting to fuck it up this time.

Seven o’clock on a Monday evening. If Tony was going to be in at any time, he was going to be in now.

What was Jamie going to say? It seemed so obvious what he felt. But when he tried to put it into words it sounded clumsy and unconvincing and sentimental. If only you could lift a lid on the top of your head and say, “Look.”

This was pointless.

He knocked on the door and wondered whether Tony had actually moved house, because the door was answered by a young woman he’d never seen before. She had long dark hair and was wearing men’s pajama trousers with a pair of unlaced Doc Martens. She was holding a lit cigarette in one hand and a tattered paperback in the other.

“I’m looking for Tony.”

“Ah-ha,” she said. “You must be the infamous Jamie.”

“I’m not sure about infamous.”

“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…” Shit. 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.

“Glass of wine?” Becky waggled a bottle at him.

“OK,” said Jamie, not wanting to seem rude.

She filled a glass. “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 glass. “It’s a theater. I work in the theater.” She said the word theater 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 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. “Shit.”

“Shit because?”

Jamie wasn’t sure if Becky was prickly in general, or whether she was being specifically prickly 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 glass 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 fuck had Tony never said so? Jamie had always assumed Tony felt exactly the same as him, not wanting to leap in and make commitments.

Tony loved him. He loved Tony. How in God’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?”

“God 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.”