I see, Valerie said. And are you two …？
Oh no, said Bobbi. Once, but no.
No, I suppose not, Valerie said.
Bobbi and I glanced at one another and looked away so as not to laugh or scream.
Frances is a writer, Evelyn said.
Well, kind of, I said.
Don’t say kind of, said Melissa. She’s a poet.
Is she any good? Valerie said.
She had not looked up at me during this exchange.
She is good, said Melissa.
Oh well, Valerie said. I’ve always thought poetry rather lacks a future.
As an amateur without a real opinion on the future of poetry, and because Valerie hadn’t appeared to notice my presence anyway, I said nothing. Bobbi stepped on my toe under the table and coughed. After dessert, Nick went to the kitchen to make coffee, and as soon as he left, Valerie put down her fork and peered at the closed door.
He doesn’t look very well, does he? she said. How has his health been?
I stared at her. She had not addressed a single comment or question to me directly, and I knew she would pretend not to notice I was looking.
Up and down, said Melissa. He was great for a while but I think he had a bit of an episode last month. Over in Edinburgh.
Well, he had pneumonia, Evelyn said.
It wasn’t just pneumonia, said Melissa.
It’s a shame, Valerie said. But he’s very passive really. He lets himself get overwhelmed by these things. You remember last year.
We don’t need to drag the girls through all this, do we? Evelyn said.
There’s no need to be secretive, said Valerie. We’re all friends here. Nick suffers from depression, I’m afraid.
Yes, I said. I know.
Melissa looked up at me and I ignored her. Valerie looked at the floral arrangement and distractedly moved one blossom slightly to the left.
You’re a friend of his, are you, Frances? Valerie said.
I thought we were all friends here, I said.
Finally she looked at me. She was wearing some artistic brown resin jewellery and had handsome rings on her fingers.
Well, I know he wouldn’t mind me asking after his health, said Valerie.
Then maybe you can ask after it when he’s actually in the room, I said.
Frances, Melissa said. Valerie is a very old friend of ours.
Valerie laughed and said: please, Melissa, I’m not that old, am I? My jaw was trembling. I pushed my seat back from the table and excused myself from the room. Evelyn and Bobbi watched me go, like little nodding dogs in the back window of a disappearing car. Nick was in the hallway bringing in two cups of coffee. Hello, he said. Oh, what’s happened? I shook my head and shrugged, silly gestures that meant nothing. I walked past him, down the back staircase and into the garden. I didn’t hear him follow me, I supposed he had gone into the dining room with the others.
I walked down to the bottom of the garden and opened the gate onto the back lane. It was raining and I was wearing a short-sleeved blouse but I didn’t feel the cold. I slammed the gate shut and went on walking away from the house, toward the beach. My feet were getting wet and I rubbed my face hard with the back of my hand. The headlights of cars passed by in blazes of white but there were no other pedestrians. The path to the beach wasn’t lit by streetlights and I did begin to feel cold then. I couldn’t go back to the house. I stood there shivering with my arms crossed, feeling the rain soak through my blouse, the cotton sticking to my skin.
It seemed unlikely that Nick would be distressed by what Valerie had said. He’d probably just shrug it off, even if he did find out. My anguish on his behalf seemed to be unrelated to anything he might personally feel, a phenomenon I had experienced before. In our final year of school Bobbi had run for president of the student council, and one of the boys had beaten her by thirty-four votes to twelve. Bobbi had been disappointed, I could see that, but not upset. She’d smiled and congratulated the winner and then the bell had gone and we’d collected our books. Instead of going to class I had locked myself in a cubicle in the upstairs bathrooms and cried until I heard the lunchtime bell, cried until my lungs hurt and my face was rubbed raw. I couldn’t explain what made me feel that furious, consuming misery, but sometimes even still when I thought about that election my eyes filled up stupidly with tears.
Eventually I heard the back gate open again and the clap of sandals, and Bobbi’s voice saying: you complete goose. What are you like? Come inside and have coffee. I couldn’t see her in the darkness at first and then I felt her arm slip under mine, the crackle of her raincoat. That was a nice little performance, she said. I haven’t seen you lose your temper like that in some time.