The Men in her Life

smiling slightly coquettishly at him. Her eyes were shining. Stop it, she told herself. Stop flirting with him.
    ‘I think I’d better be getting back,’ she said, picking up her bag from the floor.
    ‘I’ve an idea,’ Simon said, waving at their waiter for the bill. ‘Why don’t you come and have a cup of tea at my place?’
    ‘Well
    ‘Holly might be back,’ he suggested.
    ‘Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude on your last evening...’
    ‘I’m enjoying myself. This is far better than sitting worrying about whether I’m doing the right thing...’ His voice was unconcerned, but there was the hint of a question mark at the end of the sentence.
    ‘Of course you’re doing the right thing,’ Clare told him, ‘but I know what you mean. It’s daunting, isn’t it, the idea of making vows... I remember being really nervous...’
    ‘Were you?’
    ‘Absolutely. I almost ran away at the steps of the register office. I just didn’t know where to run to...’
    They walked back along a quiet street on the north side of the National Gallery.
    ‘It must be lovely living here, being able to pop in and out of the gallery,’ Clare said, breaking the moment of silent reflection.
    ‘I don’t think anybody who lives here ever does that stuff. Holly went to a lecture there once on a Sunday morning, and came back all evangelical about it, insisting that we must go every week...’
    Clare laughed as he imitated Holly’s unique brand of prescriptive enthusiasm.
    ‘But usually I’m out of town at the weekends, and, as a matter of fact, I can’t remember Holly mentioning it again...’
    ‘Perhaps she still goes but doesn’t tell you?’ Clare said.
    ‘Yes, I think that’s highly likely,’ said Simon, which made them both laugh a lot.

    ‘Home?’ screeched Colette, ‘you must be out of your mind. You’ll miss the Full Mountie... oops!’ she knocked over her vodka and orange with the extravagance of her gesture.
    ‘The Full Mountie?’
    ‘He’s Canadian, he wears a uniform and he’s hung like a horse...’
    ‘I’ll get the driver to take us home and come back for you, all right?’ Holly shouted above the roar of applause as a troupe of young men who called themselves All Sinners finished their act.
    ‘What’s your problem?’ Colette screeched back.
    ‘You know I hate Canadians,’ Holly replied, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, and thanks for... well... it was great, it really was...’
    ‘You all right?’ Colette asked.
    ‘Yeah... just can’t believe I’m prepared to give all this up,’ Holly gestured around the room. The walls were made of breeze-blocks and there were fluorescent sun shapes hanging from the ceiling, detailing the price of misspelt bargain cocktails in black felt pen.
    Colette was too drunk to recognize sarcasm.
    ‘We can still do stuff like this, if you like,’ she said, tearfully, ‘it’s not like anything’s going to be different...’
    ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Holly said, bending to kiss her, ‘be good.’

    ‘He’s sleeping like a baby,’ Philippa said, ‘he woke up once, but I sang “Bye Baby Bunting” and he went straight off...’ She sounded proud of herself.
    ‘I’m just having a cup of tea, and then I’ll be off,’ Clare told her.
    ‘Stay out as long as you like,’ Philippa offered generously.
    ‘Tom’s fine,’ Clare informed Simon.
    ‘Oh good.’
    ‘Philippa’s been singing him lullabies... I’m surprised she remembers the words.’ She tried to imagine her mother’s strident voice softened, and laughed to herself.
    ‘What?’ Simon asked, putting a mug of tea on the coffee-table and sitting down next to her on the beige sofa. For a moment, Clare felt slightly uncomfortable and wished that there was another chair in the room.
    ‘I was just thinking of the words to “Bye Baby Bunting”.’
    ‘And they are?’
    Clare sang softly, ‘ “Bye Baby Bunting, Daddy’s gone a hunting...’ ’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘You sort of think that they don’t listen to the words, but of course they do. The other day I was singing “Dance to your daddy, my little laddie”, and Tom suddenly said, “I can’t. My daddy’s not here.” ’
    She looked up. Simon was staring at her.
    ‘He must be mad to have left you,’ he said simply.
    ‘Oh, I’m sure that there was fault on both sides...’
    Clare was unused to receiving compliments, and flustered by the way Simon was looking at her.
    ‘No, you’re really lovely,’ Simon told her.
    ‘No