The Men in her Life

wasn’t interested. She fled...’
    ‘All right, all right, shut up. Just shut up. I believe you. OK?’ Holly shouted, unable to bear the passion with which he was defending her sister.
    She suddenly laughed drily.
    ‘Well, thank heaven I didn’t give up the lease on this place,’ she said.
    ‘I think I’m still going to move to Brighton . Be nearer the boat...’ Simon told her.
    ‘Well, don’t give up your lease either, because I’ve promised mine to Ella. She can have yours instead,’ Holly instructed, unable to resist adding, ‘it’ll be OK once that bloody awful sofa’s gone.’
    They looked at each other. There was surprisingly little to say.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Simon offered.
    ‘You can go to the restaurant and tell everyone what a shit you are. And pay the deposit,’ she told him as if meting out a punishment.
    ‘Of course,’ said Simon. Sensing that he’d been dismissed, he turned around, then stopped. ‘Look, I know now’s maybe not the right time, but I hope we can still be friends.’
    ‘Trouble is, we can’t. We can’t be friends any more. Not now that we’ve had sex. It would always be there, lurking around, and I don’t want to play all those bloody mind games with you. I can’t go through all that with you...’ she said, looking defeated. Then, visibly pulling herself together, she added, ‘Anyway, right now, I don’t even like you very much.’
    He looked so stricken, she almost relented.
    ‘I told you I’d lose you if we did it, didn’t I?’ she said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
    ‘Yeah, you did,’ he said, with a sad smile.
    ‘Well, why the hell didn’t you take any notice?’ she asked him as the doorbell rang.
    He turned and went downstairs, and in a moment the space he had left in the kitchen was filled by Colette.
    ‘Anything wrong?’ she asked.
    ‘Yeah,’ said Holly, ‘I’ve got no alcohol or cigarettes in the flat. Let’s go out and get plastered.’

Chapter 39

    The film had been received in silence. A shocked silence that was charged with thought and emotion and went on for several minutes, unlike the minute’s reverent silence at the beginning called as a mark of respect to the film’s director, which had been filled with several coughs, the odd rustle and the almost indiscernible noise of people trying silently to masticate the handful of popcorn they had just put in their mouths.
    Philippa stood in the red velvet foyer greeting a line of people she had not seen for six months.
    ‘Wow. Strong stuff!’ they said, and ‘Brilliant. That’s given us all something to think about...’ and
    ‘Darling, you look wonderful. What an amazing film. You must be so proud.’
    Her sense was that the reviews would tend to kindness because Jack was dead. Had he been alive, she thought that the knives would have been out.
    ‘Philippa Palmer?’
    The confident London accent startled her as she focused on the last person in the line, who was holding out her right hand to be shaken.
    ‘Hello. I’m Holly. I decided to come after all.’
    It was as if Jack had been reincarnated as he was when she first met him, but in female form. The woman’s eyes were his, and she was long and lean as he had been.
    ‘I’m so glad,’ was the only thing that Philippa seemed to be able to say.
    The two women stared at each other, conducting a silent assessment, then smiled.
    ‘Did you enjoy the film?’ Philippa finally managed.
    ‘I thought it was a bit like all those movies about Vietnam,’ Holly said, ‘they were never about what America did to Vietnam, always about what Vietnam did to the American psyche. Paying for It isn’t about what society does to the homeless, it’s about how guilty the homeless make people feel. If you want my honest opinion,’ she went on, as if she had kept it quiet so far, ‘I thought it was a middle-aged, middle-class wank...’
    The pale blue eyes dared Philippa to contradict her.
    Philippa’s mouth pursed. Inside, she felt as if she was about to explode, and suddenly she could control it no longer and her laughter burst out and bubbled around the murmuring crowd. Many eyes looked at her. Philippa looked only at Holly.
    ‘Are you free for dinner?’ she asked.
    Holly nodded.
    Ignoring everyone around them, the two women began to walk towards the exit.
    ‘What do you do?’ Philippa asked her, with the formulaic politeness of a good hostess.
    ‘I was an agent,’ Holly told her, holding open the huge, heavy door, ‘but