When he comes back he sits down with a sigh. ‘Cath, I’ve had enough.’
‘What?’
‘This is ridiculous now. You and I sit here speculating about the state of Josh’s love life, and the only person who seems to know what’s going on, other than Josh of course, who would never tell us, is Portia. You’ve got to confront her.’
‘Me? Why the hell must I do it?’
‘Because I’m not feeling well, and anyway you were always closer to Portia. I think you need to call her.’
‘Si, I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Even though I don’t believe you, but there’s no way I’m doing this on my own. I’ll only confront her if you come too. The three of us could meet and talk about it. We could ask her straight out, because the one thing about Portia is she’s a crap liar, and your bullshit detector’s far better than mine.’
‘Oh shit,’ he suddenly whispers. ‘Do you think Josh and Lucy are watching? Because Lucy might be thinking what we’re thinking…’
‘Oh shit. I’ll call them.’
I pick up the phone, praying they’re out, that they haven’t seen the programme, and Lucy picks up the phone, out of breath.
‘Lucy? It’s me.’
‘Cath, my sweet! Everything all right?’
‘Fine, fine. Did you see the show?’
‘The show?’
‘Portia’s show. Si’s here and we thought perhaps you’d be watching it.’
‘Oh bugger, damn and blast,’ Lucy says. ‘I completely forgot. Josh is out again tonight and put the strawberry jam down, there’s a darling. Sorry, Cath, I’ve been busy helping Max make jam tarts. Did I miss anything?’
Thank God.
‘Nope. Just the usual. I’d better not keep you. It sounds messy.’
‘Oh God,’ Lucy groans. ‘My darling Cath, if you only knew.’
I put down the phone and smile at Si. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’
‘Good news.’
‘She didn’t see it.’
‘Bad news?’
‘Josh is out again.’
‘Oh shit. Where’s Ingrid?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask.’
‘Oh God. Cath? Do you really think that Josh and Ingrid have been having an affair?’
‘Well, hopefully Portia will be able to shed some light on the matter once and for all.’
I ring Portia mid-afternoon, when Lucy’s furiously busy serving the rush of customers that always seems to appear from nowhere on a Friday afternoon. We arrange to get together for a drink on Monday evening, and I manage to make my voice sound as normal as possible. Even though I’m convinced she knows why I’m phoning, she doesn’t give anything away.
We don’t mention the show. In fact, she doesn’t mention the fact that I’ve obviously been avoiding her, just sounds genuinely thrilled to hear from me, and as soon as I mention getting together she suggests Monday, which is rather keen, even for Portia.
‘Cath, can you come here a sec?’ I say goodbye to Portia and wander over to Rachel, who’s looking upset. On the counter in front of her is a dog-eared copy of a novel that’s currently number four in the bestseller charts.
‘What seems to be the problem?’
A young woman in a black puffa jacket with a sour expression on her face gives a deep sigh. ‘As I was just explaining to your colleague here, I was given this book for my birthday and I already have it, so I’d like to exchange it.’
‘Oh, I see.’ I pick up the book and examine the bent spine, the creased pages, the coffee mark on the cover. ‘Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but it does appear to have been read, so I don’t think there’s anything we can do.’
She looks up disdainfully. ‘Actually, it was like that when I got it.’
I almost start to laugh. ‘What? Had a bent spine and coffee stains?’ My voice is as disbelieving as my face.
‘Yes,’ she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘I imagine that’s what happens when you open a bookshop that has a café in it.’
‘Right.’ I can see I’m getting nowhere, and quite frankly, although it’s quite clear she’s trying it on, I have to remember that the customer is always right, and that it’s far better to keep her happy than to refuse an exchange and have her tell all her friends.
‘No problem,’ I say, smiling. ‘Why don’t you have a look for something else?’
‘I’d rather have the money,’ she says, evidently amazed that it’s this simple, to which I nod, pull £5.99 out of the till and hand it to her.
‘Have a nice day,’ I say, as she turns on her heel and walks off.
‘Cath, did you see this?’ Rachel, who’s been standing next to me the whole time, opens the flyleaf of the book to reveal the following:
2 November 1999
Dear Caroline ,
Happy Birthday!
Lots of Love,
Emily xxx
‘I can’t believe that!’ Rachel gasps. ‘I can’t believe she brought it back when it’s not only been read, but also inscribed! Jesus Christ! What a nerve!’
‘Rachel.’ I turn to her with a shrug, knowing that it’s yet another book we’ll just have to write off. ‘The customer, unfortunately, is always right.’
At the end of the day Lucy brings me over a pile of books that have been left in the café. ‘Cath, my love, are you going to be around the weekend of the twenty-seventh? You and Si, actually. It’s just that’s the weekend Ingrid’s off to Paris with the grand passion, and bloody Josh has just announced that he’s got to go to Manchester for a meeting, and normally I wouldn’t mind but you know how I can’t bear being on my own, and I thought the three of us could have a lovely cosy evening on the Saturday and maybe you’d stay?’ She pauses to take a breath, and my blood runs cold.
I think back to last night. To Jacob and Lena grappling on the kitchen floor in the TV series. Ingrid and Josh. It can’t just be a coincidence, that they’re both away at the same time. Oh God. Oh no.
But how would Portia know? How does she know all this stuff about our lives? And then I remember the time I came in and found Portia sitting in the kitchen with Ingrid. They’d obviously been chatting, had evidently become friends, and Ingrid must have confided in her, must have told her what was going on.
‘Cath? Are you listening to me?’ Lucy’s voice filters through as I try to collect my thoughts, and I manage to tell her that the twenty-seventh sounds fine, and I’d have to check with Si, but even if he couldn’t make it I’d definitely be there.
And she walks off back to the café as I stand there feeling sick. I don’t understand. How could we not have seen this? How could we have thought that Josh’s affair was over just because he and Lucy are having conversations again?
I can’t understand what’s going on. I sit there feeling confused – first Portia, now Ingrid – confused and hurt, so I do what I always do when life throws these obstacles in my path – I go home and ring Si.
He picks up the phone sounding morose, and I start by telling him about Portia, that we’re meeting her at the Groucho on Monday at seven, and then I tell him about Josh being away on the twenty-seventh, when he interrupts.
‘I couldn’t actually give a fuck about Josh being away,’ he starts, the coldness in his voice almost making me jump. ‘I’ve got AIDS, Cath.’
I am about to interrupt and tell him that he hasn’t got AIDS, that he is HIV positive, which is a very different story, when I realize that he has been drinking, and that now would perhaps not be the time to say anything at all.