‘Oh, no.’
‘Don’t worry, Ellie, this isn’t a speech, just a toast.’
‘Good.’
‘You don’t know what Joe means by “toast”,’ warned Alison, standing beside me.
‘No, really – all I wanted to say was you’ve had a terrible time and I know I can speak for everyone when I say that we’re always here for you, through thick and thin. Happy birthday, Ellie.’
‘Happy birthday,’ came the ragged chorus.
‘Speech!’ someone shouted.
‘Just… thank you,’ I said. ‘All of you.’
‘More wine,’ commanded Joe.
‘Here.’ At the other end of the room, Fergus pulled a cork out of a bottle and a spume of froth flowed over its neck and on to the small table by the window. ‘Oh, shit, I’ve spilt it – what is this, anyway?’
‘Oh,’ I said, cursing myself for not having put it away. ‘That’s – Well, it’s my chart.’
Fergus bent over it, dabbing at the wine with his sleeve. ‘It’s very colourful. Is it work?’
‘No.’ I hesitated. ‘Actually, it shows where Greg was during the last few weeks of his life.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fuck, Ellie.’ He seemed dazed. ‘It’s amazing. It must have taken for ever. But why?’
‘Because…’ I was glad I hadn’t put out Milena’s chart: it was still a work in progress.
‘What is it?’ Jemma had joined us and so, a few minutes later, had most of the others in the room.
‘There’s almost no time unaccounted for!’ Josh sounded either impressed or scared, I couldn’t tell which.
I took a deep breath. These were my friends, after all, and suddenly it seemed important to make a public declaration. ‘I did it because I wanted to work out when Greg would have been with that woman. And you see…’ I waved at the chart ‘…he wasn’t. There are barely any gaps. He simply didn’t have the time.’
I stared at them. Nobody was smiling or nodding; everyone was looking at me gravely, or with embarrassment. ‘So, something else was going on,’ I said ominously, hearing my words fall into the silence. ‘Something bad.’
‘Bad?’
‘I think he was murdered.’
You could have heard a pin drop.
‘Let me pour you some wine,’ said Joe at last, taking the bottle from Fergus.
‘No, thanks. You all think I’m mad, I can tell.’
‘No!’ said Fergus. ‘We think you’re…’ I could see him searching for the right word ‘… tremendously loyal,’ he concluded. Jemma, beside him, nodded urgently.
‘I made a cake,’ Mary said, into the awkwardness. ‘Is now the right time to cut it?’
Everyone made over-enthusiastic noises; I blew out the symbolic candle on top of the coffee and walnut sponge, then slid in the knife.
‘It’s bad luck if we hear it touch the plate,’ warned Di, just as the knife audibly clinked against the china.
‘Fuck that,’ said Joe, scowling at her as if she was a criminal. He wrapped an arm round my shoulders. ‘It’s only good luck from now on,’ he said, kissing the top of my head.
‘Do you think I’m mad?’
‘Not mad. Sad.’
‘And a bit of a party-pooper.’
‘Meet Dan,’ said Gwen, appearing beside me. ‘Dan, this is Ellie.’
He was big and shy, with a quiet, rumbling voice. I liked him at once for the way he looked at Gwen.
‘Josh is about to light the rocket,’ said Gwen, tucking her arm through mine. ‘Come out and see it, and then I’ll send everyone home. Right?’
‘Right,’ I agreed, for suddenly I felt desperately tired and dejected. And lonely, too – lonelier now, in this crowd of too-eager friends, than I ever did when I was alone.
‘But I’ll stay and clear up. We can get a takeaway or something if you want. So steer clear of that cake for the moment.’
That was the best bit of the party: after everyone had left and the glasses were washed, the empty bottles put out for collection, sitting at the kitchen table with Gwen and her nice new man, eating curry out of foil cartons and not having to make an effort any more. There aren’t many people you can just be silent with.
At several points, I nearly told Gwen I had stolen her name and was passing myself off as an unsettled-maths-teacher-turned-office-assistant to the business partner of the woman who had died alongside Greg. But I stopped myself. It made me sound crazy.
Chapter Sixteen
After Gwen and Dan had left, I did the last of the washing-up and took out a bin-bag full of slimy, smelly party relics. I made a mug of tea and put the TV on, and by the time I got to bed it was after two. It didn’t matter because the next day was Saturday. My plan, if it could be called a plan, was to sleep until I woke and then to go back to sleep. If I left my bed it would be to eat and then I would return to my state of hibernation. Instead, I was woken from strange dreams – grey, hard-edged, dark, slow – by the doorbell. I pulled on a dressing-gown and went down the stairs, muttering to myself like a bag-lady. I was expecting to have to sign for something but instead I found Fergus on the doorstep.
‘Did I wake you?’ he said.
I was still fuddled with sleep. ‘Did you forget something?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ he said.
‘What time is it?’
‘Breakfast time,’ he said, smiling. ‘Can I come in?’
I was genuinely tempted to say no and slam the door. But I stood aside for him, then went upstairs, had a shower and tugged a pair of jeans up over my tired, pale legs. I put on an old sweatshirt of Greg’s and found some slippers in the back of a cupboard. I could already smell coffee.
When I came down to the kitchen Fergus had cleared the kitchen table and laid out mugs and plates. ‘I found a muffin in the freezer,’ he said. ‘I’m defrosting it. Unless you want bacon and eggs.’
‘I don’t even want a muffin,’ I said.
‘Of course you do,’ he said. He took the muffin from the microwave and spread it with butter, then raspberry jam, and put it on a little side plate and gave it to me. He poured a mug of coffee for me and one for himself. He sat down opposite me.
‘Am I that bad?’ I said.
He smiled and sipped his coffee. I felt cross and tired and blurry, and his insistent cheeriness was irritating, like music playing too loudly. ‘We’ve been having a conference,’ he said.
‘We?’
‘The usual suspects. I was the one delegated to come and see you. Well, I delegated myself, really.’
‘It’s the chart, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘I should have put it in a cupboard.’
‘We’ve not been looking after you properly,’ he said.
‘Everyone’s been looking after me,’ I said. ‘You came to my birthday party. I’ve been invited to dinner. People have put up with my deranged behaviour.’
‘You’ve not been deranged,’ said Fergus.
‘I’m just going through the stages of mourning: anger, bargaining, denial. Lots of denial.’ I paused. ‘Are they really the stages of mourning or are they the stages of dying? It doesn’t matter. I think I’ve had enough help. Maybe it’s time now to help myself.’
‘I’m not allowed to take no for an answer,’ said Fergus.
‘Says who?’
‘Says me and Gwen and Joe and Mary and no doubt other people as well.’
‘This is since the party?’ I said.
‘Some of it was at the party. But the lines have been buzzing as well.’
‘I wish people would just talk to me.’
‘I am talking to you.’
‘So what’s the plan? Is someone going to take me to the seaside? Are you clubbing together to pay for a massage?’
‘You shouldn’t be sarcastic,’ said Fergus. ‘It’s the lowest form of wit. The immediate plan is for you to eat your muffin, then show me round your house.’
‘You know what it looks like.’
‘Please, eat up.’
I nibbled at the muffin, feeling like a child who had been told off. It was dry in my mouth, hard to swallow. ‘I don’t need all this help,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t need it. He was your friend. You knew him much longer than I did. Losing him must have been as bad for you as it was for me, maybe worse.’