The Men in her Life

laughter.
    ‘Come on,’ said Joss, ‘let’s go down to the bloody pub.’

    Clare heard the door slam as the two of them departed. They were both so selfish it probably hadn’t even occurred to them that they might wake Tom. She lay still for a moment on the top of her counterpane, listening to the sharp metallic tap of their footsteps on the tarmac road and Holly’s giggling getting softer and finally fading away. Tom did not wake. Clare had not known that Holly was so selfish before. Holly had always said that the two of them were as different as Baby and Scary Spice, but she had not believed her. She had assumed that Holly’s tough, ebullient exterior was a good disguise for a softer centre, but over the last Week Holly’s inability to feel anything about Diana’s death had disturbed her. She hated the way that Holly laughed at the simple tributes that most normal people found touching. You can mock, Clare wanted to say but you’re lucky you don’t know what it is like to marry a man who betrays you.

    ‘…and so my friend Richard said to this woman, “This is Joss, we were neighbours in another life,” ’ Joss was regaling Holly, ‘and the Italian woman says, “’Ow interesting, ’ow do you know zis?”...’
    Holly laughed. ‘... she actually thought you meant another life? Like reincarnated...?’
    ‘Exactly.’ Joss finished his pint.
    ‘That’s brilliant,’ Holly said, congratulating him on his anecdote and trying to find something to match it. ‘I’m waiting for the first sighting of the vision of Saint Diana, aren’t you? Where do you think she’ll appear? England ? Ireland ? Perhaps I could pretend to see her and set up a shop selling relics and things...’
    ‘You always see the commercial possibilities,’ Joss remarked, ‘you always see a way of making money...’
    ‘Yes, well, when you’ve grown up without money, you want it,’ Holly replied, defensively, ‘people like you get very righteous about not having money, but I bet you had a lovely middle-class upbringing, just like Clare did...’
    For a fraction of a second his face showed that she had scored a hit.
    ‘You’re very like your father,’ he told her, reaching forward and brushing a ringlet of hair from her face.
    His touch was delicate. She felt herself flushing. Sparring with him was sexy. It was as if they knew exactly where each other’s weaknesses lay. She had exposed something in him, and he knew how to reciprocate. It was like finding erogenous zones to stroke with infinite sensitivity, producing the electric tingle of one human being touching the core of another.
    ‘Do you mean in looks?’ she asked, flustered by the way he was staring at her.
    ‘You have his eyes,’ Joss said, holding hers for so long she had to look away, ‘candid eyes.’
    What did he mean by that? Were candid eyes attractive?
    ‘But I meant his personality. You’re very strong...’
    ‘That’s what he used to say. Holly, he said, the last time I saw him, you’ll find it very difficult to find a man to marry you because you’re so uncompromising...’
    ‘Do you want to get married?’ Joss asked her softly.
    ‘Is that a proposal?’ she shot back, delighted with her own wit.
    ‘I don’t think I make a very good husband...’ Joss said, leaving the sentence open for her to add what she wanted to it.
    ‘I don’t think I’d make a very good wife,’ Holly said, trying to maintain her ground, ‘far too selfish, I’m afraid.’
    They were talking in code. He was telling her that he wanted to be her lover, she was telling him that she would not cling, or maybe neither of them were saying anything at all, she told herself. If twenty years of flirting had taught her anything, it was that men and women saw it completely differently. Women listened and remembered, chewing over every word afterwards with their friends, assuming that men thought as hard about the messages as women did. Men just said the first thing that came into their head and sounded good and could never remember it afterwards. Or at least, that was their story.
    ‘Come on,’ Joss said, suddenly, ‘let’s go.’
    She would have liked another pint or two. It was nowhere near closing time. Disappointed, she stood up and followed him. Outside it was very dark and her eyes took a moment to find him. He was walking towards the harbour. The tide was high and the sea was heaving, waves bulging against the harbour wall, occasionally tilting over the top,