The Reunion

OK. I’m OK. I think I’m OK. I hit my head. But I think I’m OK. It’s just this heat, I think. And the booze. I shouldn’t have had that glass of wine earlier, I haven’t eaten anything today.’
    Conor helped her up into a sitting position. She was aware, all of a sudden, that she was surrounded by a crowd of people, all peering anxiously down. She could feel sweat at the nape of her neck and on her lower back; she felt as though she were radiating heat.
    ‘Could I just have some water?’
    Lilah was crouching down next to her. Jen was aware of an expanse of tanned flesh, Lilah’s long legs, bright pink toenails, wedge heels. ‘Here you go, sweetie.’ A glass in one hand, a tissue in the other. She was dabbing at Jen’s head. ‘It’s not too bad, just a little cut. You don’t need stitches.’
    Lilah and Conor helped her to her feet. She was standing in the middle of the kitchen in Andrew’s flat. Andrew came running in from the garden where he’d been doing the barbecue.
    ‘What happened? Bloody hell, Jen, what happened?’ They took her into the bedroom, laid her down on the bed. The pillow smelt of Chanel No. 5. Lilah. Conor was talking about taking her to casualty. Lilah leaned over her, laid a wet flannel on her forehead.
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Con, it’s just the heat,’ Jen said. She reached out for his hand again, gave it a squeeze. ‘I’ll pop down and see the doctor tomorrow if I’m not feeling well.’
    Lilah drew the curtains, Andrew went to fetch her another glass of water. Conor kissed her on the head.
    ‘Leave me a minute, OK?’ she asked him. ‘I just want to lie here for a bit. I’ll be out in a sec. OK?’ Reluctantly, he left and, just as she’d hoped (or feared or dreaded), it wasn’t long before there was a knock at the door.
    ‘You OK, Jen?’ Dan was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, his skin tanned a deep brown following three weeks of relentless sunshine. He shut the door behind him, sat down at her side, leaned over and kissed her on the lips.
    ‘Don’t.’
    ‘Sorry.’
    He placed his hand, cool and dry, on her waist, slipped it under her shirt, just above the waistband of her skirt.
    ‘Dan, don’t.’ He stopped, but she didn’t want him to. At that moment she wanted desperately for him to lie down with her, for the door to be locked, the flat to be empty, the two of them to be alone. She closed her eyes and felt the tears squeeze out of them.
    ‘You should go,’ she said, and he left her.

Chapter Twenty-eight

    September 1995
    HALF THE BOXES were still unpacked. They’d shifted them all into the second bedroom and piled them up against a wall. They had intended to get everything done before the party, but they’d been too busy having sex all afternoon.
    ‘It’s better like this anyway,’ Conor said, lazily grabbing at Jen’s calf as she tried to get up off the floor. ‘This way if the party gets really wild then only half our stuff will get trashed.’
    Jen laughed, kicking his hand away. ‘Yeah. I’m sure it’ll get super wild. There’s only going to be, like, fifteen people there.’
    ‘True,’ Conor conceded, ‘but one of those people is Lilah, so frankly all bets are off.’
    Jen pulled a T-shirt over her head and slipped her knickers back on. Conor grimaced.
    ‘Ah, don’t do that. You’re so much prettier without.’
    ‘Oh really? You’d like me to greet our guests at the front door with no clothes on?’
    Conor lay back on the floor, stretching his arms above his head. ‘Nah, probably best not, you’ll give the old boy next door a heart attack.’
    ‘You want something to drink?’ she asked him, walking into the kitchenette. ‘Cup of tea?’
    Conor propped himself up on his elbows, watching her walk away. He loved to watch her walk. He loved to watch her reach her hands back to the nape of her perfect, pale, graceful neck and twist her long, dark hair up into a knot, he loved the way it stayed there, piled on her head, without a clip. Like magic. The idea that he was going to get to look at her, every day, first thing in the morning, last thing at night, it made him feel as though his heart might burst with happiness.
    ‘I’d love a cup of tea, ta,’ he said.
    She turned to look at him over her shoulder. ‘Are you planning on getting dressed at all?’ she asked, grinning, a big dimple opening up in her left cheek.
    ‘Not right now,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘They won’t be here for at least an hour