The Men in her Life

going to change her life. At the time she put the strong sense of presentiment down to the events of the day.
    ‘Philippa, it’s Clare.’
    ‘Darling, he’s dead,’ Philippa said. Her voice was surprised, as if she had said the words over and over but could not make them sound true.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Jack. He died this morning.’

Chapter 9

    ‘Well,’ said Holly, ‘that was fun. Completely staged of course, but this lot really know how to put on a good show...’
    The cheering had finally subsided and the crowds with their Union Jacks and red roses were beginning to wander away dazed, not quite knowing what to do next.
    ‘D’you fancy a drink before dinner?’ Simon asked, as they pushed their way back up Whitehall .
    ‘I’d love a drink... where?’
    ‘I’ve got a bottle of Bollinger in the fridge.’
    ‘Have you?’ Simon occasionally had a few cans of Stella Artois . Bollinger seemed so unlike him. ‘Well, let’s go and drink it immediately,’ Holly said.
    Simon rewarded her with a huge smile. He really looked nice when he smiled like that, Holly thought, with his eyes all scrunched up.
    ‘So how’s things in the world of broking?’ Holly asked him ten minutes later as she lolled in his comfortable but beige sofa.
    ‘It’s underwriting. I haven’t been a broker for over five years.’
    ‘But it’s still Lloyds, isn’t it?’ Holly tried to cover her mistake. She had never really understood what Simon did and whenever she asked him she found her mind wandering around about the second sentence of explanation.
    ‘Well, yes, but
    ‘All right, perhaps I should have said how’s the world of insurance?’
    ‘It’s fine, thank you. More champagne?’
    ‘It’s a bit unusual for you, champagne, isn’t it?’ Holly asked.
    ‘It’s my birthday,’ Simon said.
    ‘Oh God,’ Holly reeled with guilt, ‘I am so sorry... what with the election and everything... oh no, we were meant to be going out for dinner, weren’t we?’
    ‘We were...’
    ‘It’s just that my father’s in town and, oh, look, can we just forget today and pretend it’s your birthday next time we see each other... please... I’ll take you out to any restaurant you want?’
    Simon looked at her very crossly, and then his face softened and he smiled.
    ‘All right,’ he said.
    ‘You’re thinking I’m incredibly selfish, aren’t you?’ said Holly.
    ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but it’s OK.’

    Afterwards Holly didn’t know how she would have heard the news if she hadn’t been unable to resist turning on the television to see whether she and Simon had been picked out by the cameraman in the celebrating crowds outside Downing Street . How long would she have waited for Jack at his table in the Ivy? Would a waiter have taken pity on her, or would they simply have asked for the table back for the second sitting? If she had to be told by someone who didn’t know her, better an anonymous newsreader than an embarrassed maître d’, she thought later, with the weird hypothetical reasoning of the bereaved.
    The ironic thing was that she was on television, four times in all that evening, although it was only on the third playing that she recognized herself. The same clip of the moment she had surprised Jack the evening before was shown again and again. It was incomprehensible to see him so alive and yet to keep being told that he was dead. At one point she thought that she must have died as well, as she sat in her darkening bedroom watching herself embrace her father on the flickering screen.
    ‘And finally, some sad news tonight. Jack Palmer, film director and prominent supporter of New Labour, died today of a heart attack. Palmer, pictured here at the South Bank in the early hours of this morning, began his career in advertising but moved on to directing films in the early 1980s. He was fifty-nine...’
    Holly picked up her handbag and took out a packet of cigarettes. As she lit up she realized that it was her first of the day.

Chapter 10

    ‘I simply cannot understand why you’re going,’ Joss said later, as Clare hunted for a sponge bag in the chest of drawers in their bedroom.
    ‘Well, nor can I exactly, but I just feel I need to,’ she replied.
    ‘Middle-class guilt.’
    ‘Joss, there’s absolutely nothing middle-class about it, and even if there were, so what? We are middle-class, actually. I know you don’t like to be reminded of it, but you’re a vicar’s son.’
    Your father is still alive was the