The Men in her Life

why she should not have dinner with Simon.
    ‘I’d love to,’ she agreed.
    ‘Not Indian, though,’ Simon said, ‘and by the same token not Chinese, Thai or Malaysian. What do you like to eat?’
    ‘Anything, really...’
    ‘OK. Let me just dump this lot.’ He pointed at the bag of provisions.
    When he returned, they began to wander across Leicester Square in the direction of Covent Garden in silence. It was difficult to know how to begin a conversation with Simon, Clare found, because although she had heard so much about him that she felt she knew him, they had only met very briefly once.
    ‘How about this place?’ Simon said, stopping suddenly outside a restaurant called Brown’s. He glanced up and down the menu. ‘Doesn’t look too offensive, does it?’
    ‘It looks lovely,’ Clare said, peering through the door. There were potted palms everywhere and ceiling fans that made the vast room seem like a colonial club.
    ‘How’s your boat?’ she finally said, when the waitress had placed them at a table near the grand piano.
    ‘Very well, thank you,’ Simon said, as if the boat were a relative after whose health she was politely enquiring.
    ‘Shall we have a bottle of champagne? You can’t get drunk on champagne, can you?’
    His eyes had a lovely scrunched-up look when he laughed, Clare noticed.
    ‘All right,’ she said, suddenly beginning to enjoy herself.
    They both ordered salmon fishcakes and salad.
    ‘I think I’m going to be very sensible and have a milk shake too,’ Simon said, ‘to dilute the alcohol, of course.’
    ‘Of course,’ Clare said, ‘I’ll have one as well. They sound delicious!’
    ‘How are your children?’ Simon asked, slurping on his straw.
    ‘Both very well, thank you.’
    ‘And your husband?’ Simon asked.
    How much did he know of what had happened, Clare wondered, unwilling to land Holly in it by saying something amiss.
    ‘He left me,’ she decided to reply. It was the simple truth. Technically, she had thrown him out, but, as usual, Joss had gone one better. She sometimes wondered how long he would have gone on having clandestine sex in cyberspace if the events of the first week of September had not pushed them past breaking-point.
    ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Simon said.
    ‘I’m not,’ Clare said.
    ‘I knew about... Holly told me... I thought perhaps...’
    ‘No,’ Clare said, understanding immediately what he was trying to say. ‘Don’t worry. The thing with Holly was nothing really, just the catalyst. It should have happened ages ago. It’s fine.’ Unwanted tears sprang to her eyes. She dabbed them away with her napkin.
    ‘Oh, I’m...’
    Their waiter arrived with two large white plates.
    ‘No. Really it’s fine. I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m actually very happy,’ Clare said, staring down at the table. ‘I suppose you’re the first person I’ve told who didn’t know him, you see,’ she said, trying to explain her tears, ‘everyone else just thinks, oh, well, what did you expect with Joss? And that sort of makes me feel more of a fool for asking myself what I did to deserve this. D’you see what I mean? I don’t know which is worse, being left by a shit, or realizing that you’ve lived with a shit for almost twenty years... oh, I’m sorry, this is not great talk for your wedding eve, is it?’

    On balance, Holly was relieved that her single life was almost over. She couldn’t deny that seeing a male strip show had never crossed her mind, but now that she was at one, it just seemed so desperate. Even Robert, who had matched her shot for shot in the vodka bar, added a camp spin to the outrageous flirting in the singles telephone bar, done a magnificent John Travolta impression in the Seventies disco, hadn’t the stomach for the sleazy finale Colette had organized in a kind of converted concrete garage somewhere on the way to Essex.
    Holly and Robert stood in the entrance sharing a cigarette like two schoolchildren who’d been sent out of class. It was raining. In the dripping darkness the white limousine looked vaguely sinister parked alongside the rows of Vauxhall Astras, like something out of Goodfellas.
    ‘I thought you’d given up,’ Robert said, as he passed her the last drag.
    ‘I have,’ Holly said, inhaling so hard the embers burnt right down to the filter.
    ‘Given up buying them,’ Robert said sulkily.
    ‘No wonder you’re gay,’ Holly said, jerking her thumb back towards the hall, ‘when you see