Friends to Die For

Two

It was Karen, the group’s earth mother, who made the suggestion that was to ultimately have such devastating consequences. But she didn’t know that then, of course. And neither did any of the other nine men and women sitting round the table that Sunday night.

‘Why don’t we play The Game?’ Karen asked, after everyone had settled down a bit. ‘We never have with all of us together here. I can’t even remember if we’ve all actually been here together before. I suppose we must have, but...’

George, the actor, groaned theatrically, but the others recognized it as affectation and not a genuine reaction to the suggestion.

‘Oh let’s,’ said Michelle, who neither looked nor sounded much like a police officer when she was off duty.

‘If only you were more interesting, George, we wouldn’t need to play games,’ drawled the legendary Marlena.

Tiny and Billy, surely the ultimate gay men about town, concentrated on looking cool. As did Karen’s husband Greg. Young Ari, whom the group regarded as being thoroughly spoiled in spite of his protestations to the contrary, tried to look bored and rather too sophisticated for such a thing. But that was normal. In fact, by and large, the group all rather liked The Game, which involved one of them asking a question that everyone would answer in turn. It might be something playful and light, like what would they do if they won the lottery, or what had been the best holiday they’d ever had? Or it could sometimes be something that invited a more thoughtful response. What was their greatest regret? Or what would they want to be or do in life other than what they were or did?

It was Sunday Club’s version of the Truth Game, but the emphasis was on entertaining conversation rather than revelation. Regardless of the subject matter, all ten of them knew they were obligated by the very ethos of Sunday Club to attempt to be amusing or surprising or shocking — preferably all three — both in their answers and in their reactions to the answers of the others. That was the whole point of The Game, though on this particular evening several of the group would fail to fulfil that obligation. After all, most people have secrets of some sort in their lives. Anyway, this was Sunday Club: nobody was going to be forced to reveal anything they didn’t wish to.

Since Karen was the one who suggested The Game, custom had it that she got to choose the question. She ran her hands through her spiky red hair, screwed up her eyes, and made a big show of giving the matter serious thought.

‘Has there been one great life-changing moment in your past, and what was it?’ she asked eventually.

Greg answered first. Quickly. Mischievously. His pale eyes sparkling disingenuously beneath a tousled fringe of mostly blond hair which, although now flecked with grey, remained abundantly curly, and still contrived to help him retain a boyish appearance.

‘When I met you, Karen, of course,’ he said, grinning, pleased with himself.

‘Oh, don’t be so daft!’ said Karen. But she seemed pleased too, if just a tad puzzled. With one hand she fiddled with the little steel spikes on a shoulder of her chunky black leather waistcoat. Karen dressed retro punk, but for all that she was earth mother at heart.

‘No, I mean it,’ Greg persisted. ‘I was Jack the lad. Me and my mate Wiz were a right pair. We got up to a lotta no good, and Wiz paid the price...’ Greg’s voice trailed off, his face momentarily clouding over.

‘What happened to him?’ asked Ari.

‘Oh, there was an accident. He died. We were at St Michael’s — that school they closed down ’cos it was so bad. Nothing saintly about that place, I can tell you. We got into a bit of a gang, that sort of thing...’

Greg paused, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. ‘But that’s another story,’ he continued in a brighter tone. ‘Anyway, I never thought I’d want to settle down with someone. Until I met Karen. She saved my arse, really, and all I wanted was to be with her and for her to have my kids.’

‘Aw,’ said Alfonso.

‘What a great softy you are,’ said Marlena.

‘That’s me, darlin’,’ replied Greg.

It was too. Certainly as far as his family were concerned. But it was most unlike Greg to make such a public declaration. Plus he was one of those who felt almost honour-bound to play everything for laughs. It was in his DNA. He had his cockney laughing-boy image to protect, and it wasn’t often that Greg let the act drop. Not for a moment. But just that morning he’d heard from someone he’d hoped never to hear from again. Indirectly. And rather obtusely. However, Greg was in no doubt that he’d been given a message. He was still sorting out exactly what that message was and how he was going to deal with it. But it had dredged up long-buried memories of Wiz, and St Michael’s, and a period of his life he regarded as the bad old days. And he knew it was unlikely to turn into anything other than bad news. For him. And even, Heaven forbid, for his wife and children.

Greg emptied his glass in one. A dribble of red wine escaped and ran down his chin, forming rivulets in his designer stubble. He wiped it away with the back of a hand.

‘Soft as shit,’ he muttered.

‘I don’t think I ever heard you say anything like that before, Greg,’ said Karen, still puzzling over her husband’s public declaration of love.

Greg shrugged. ‘What, “shit”?’

‘You know what I mean,’ said Karen.

‘It’s the truth, babes. Changed my life in spades, meeting you,’ said Greg.

‘Oh, pass that sick bag,’ exclaimed George. ‘Seems I’m just a humble amateur when it comes to being nauseating.’

‘Don’t be such a dreadful old cynic,’ said Marlena.

‘Well, honestly,’ continued George. ‘I think we should make a rule here and now that meeting your bloody boring life partner isn’t allowed as an answer to this question...’

‘Who are you calling bloody boring?’ asked Karen.

‘I’ll rephrase that,’ said George. ‘It’s not the partner, whoever they are, who’s boring. Well not necessarily...’

He glanced towards Karen, who pretended to throw a punch in his direction. She was actually pleased that George was teasing her, just the way he usually would. A few days previously the two of them had been helping Marlena get rid of some unwanted furniture — never easy in Covent Garden — and afterwards she’d plied the pair of them with champagne. Karen wasn’t a big drinker. She’d quickly got rather drunk and George had offered to take her home. Greg had been working late. The kids were on a sleepover with school pals. Karen had made a silly pass at George. In her own flat. George, thankfully, had rejected her advances — most regretfully he’d said — on the grounds that they were both spoken for. The very thought of it now made her squirm with embarrassment, but at least George appeared to have dismissed the episode as a moment of madness. And so must she. The only thing that mattered was that Greg should never find out, which could only ever happen if she or George were to tell him. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to. And George was showing no such inclination. Underneath the self-obsessed bluster, he had always seemed to Karen a kind man, and certainly without malice. She should stop worrying, she really should. It wasn’t as if anything had happened.

‘It’s just that particular answer is bloody boring,’ George continued, cutting through Karen’s jumbled thoughts.

‘Sure you’re not jealous, George?’ asked Ari.

‘I’ve got my gorgeous Carla,’ said George.

And thank God for that, thought Karen.

‘Yeah, for five minutes if your previous form’s anything to go by, Mr Slap and Tickle,’ said Ari.

‘Oh please,’ said George.

During a previous Sunday Club session of The Game he’d made the mistake of revealing that his earliest childhood memory was his mother reading him the Mr Men books. And he’d confessed that his favourite was Mr Tickle. The friends had instantly seized on this; in view of his womanizing reputation, they’d dubbed him Mr Slap and Tickle.

‘Maybe the gorgeous Carla’s chucked you already. She hasn’t rung you back,’ continued Ari.

‘Really, Ari,’ said Marlena. Then turning to George, ‘Take no notice, sweetheart. But why don’t you give her another call? Get the girl here and shut the lot of us up.’

George protested mildly, but ultimately agreed to try Carla’s number again. With, as it turned out, the same result.

‘Oh dear, I’m still getting your voicemail, baby, and I soooooo want to speak to you. Please come to Johnny’s if you can. This lot are driving me mad. They’re desperate to meet you. But don’t be put off. They’re all right, honest. All my love, baby-face. More kisses.’

After that, the entire group joined in poking fun at George.

‘Listen, get off me, I’m sorry I said anything,’ he exclaimed. ‘Let’s everybody tell the story of their true-love life-changing moment. Why the hell not?’

‘Well, you won’t be getting an answer of that sort from me,’ said Michelle, her expression suddenly darkening. She’d been drinking quickly, knocking back the wine faster than the others, though nobody had noticed. She reached for a carafe and poured herself another glass. Her voice was hard and brittle when she spoke again.

‘I haven’t got a partner — bloody boring or otherwise. Mind you, come to think of it, meeting my ex was certainly life-changing. Or should that be life-destroying?’

‘Bambina, bambina,’ interrupted Alfonso. ‘Let’s not get too heavy, eh? C’mon, George, your turn. Clockwise round the table as usual. So let’s see how exciting you can make your answer.’

George propped one elbow on the table, rested his chin on his hand, and made a great show of being deep in thought. Which he most certainly wasn’t.

‘I think it was probably my Hamlet in the final year at drama school...’ he began.

‘Yeah, it prepared you for panto and you’ve never looked back!’ sniped Tiny.

‘Oh, all right then, maybe it was my Rutger at the King’s Head.’

‘Your what, darling?’ Marlena interjected.

‘Rutger. Norwegian play. I was the eponymous lead. Thought you knew your theatre.’

‘I do,’ said Marlena.

‘So, all right, it wasn’t the most important play in the world, and it did only last a week in Islington, but I like to think I grew as an actor while I was playing it.’

‘Oh, come on, George,’ said Bob. ‘Be serious. Give us a proper answer.’

‘I am being serious. I’m a very serious actor. In fact every time I step onto a stage or in front of a camera it changes my life.’

‘That’s why he wears tights,’ said Alfonso.

‘I gave you an honest answer, man. I mean, I carried that play, everybody said so.’

‘Butterfingers,’ said Marlena, sparking another outbreak of laughter around the table.

‘Oh, leave him alone,’ said Billy. ‘We all know you can never get any sense out of George.’

George smiled enigmatically. Or at least he hoped it was enigmatic. He had done what he liked to do, played what he considered to be his true role in life: he had entertained his friends, and at the same time wound them up a bit. He didn’t mind being laughed at. He had, after all, set out to make them laugh. He enjoyed being part of the group. Although he would never publicly admit it, Sunday Club was actually very important to him. In spite of his flamboyant and confident demeanour, there was a deeply introverted side to George. He could never reveal his innermost thoughts to his friends. It wasn’t in his nature. He liked to keep his hopes and his dreams to himself. He was what he was. And he saw no need to share his soul with anyone, that was all. But he sensed it was necessary to give just a little.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘What really changed my life was learning how to deal with bullies. When I was a kid I seemed to attract bullying. And it felt like I had nobody to tell. Then I discovered that if I could make the bastards laugh it was all right. So I learned to be funny.’

‘That’s what you think you are, is it?’ remarked Alfonso, but he was smiling.

‘Yeah, there was one kid at school I taught a proper lesson to though...’ George’s voice tailed off.

‘Go on then, tell us,’ encouraged Alfonso.

‘Oh, it’s history. Hey, it must be your turn, Bob.’

Bob hesitated. He always felt he was the least amusing of the group. Sometimes he wondered why they bothered with him. George, Alfonso and Ari were sharp as tacks and being witty came as second nature to them. Tiny had a dry humour, a big belly laugh, and bucketloads of charisma. Billy, clever, cool Billy, was a natural conversationalist with a knack of almost always saying the right thing. Marlena was Marlena, legend on legs, she both looked and was extraordinary and when she spoke the entire room fell silent. Greg oozed old-fashioned cockney charm and sometimes was the funniest of them all. Karen was quieter and seemed more ordinary, but she too had a quick mind; Bob thought she was exceptionally bright and intelligent but deliberately played it down so as not to outshine Greg. Plus she was a great audience. Her laughter came easily and was irresistibly infectious. Michelle was young and so pretty she didn’t really need any other attributes. Bob thought he must surely seem like a sad old man to them. He certainly felt like it that day. It should have been a special day. Always had been a special day. In the past.

Bob ran a hand over his close-shaven head; his thinning hair, once dark brown but now pepper and salt, had been cropped in that drastic way to hide the bald patches. Fortunately the look was quite fashionable.

‘Spit it out, Bob,’ said George.

‘Sorry, it’s Daniel’s birthday today. His thirtieth. I’m a bit preoccupied. Probably shouldn’t have come out...’

‘We’re glad you did, Bob,’ said Karen.

Nine pairs of eyes, their expressions ranging from compassionate to plain embarrassed, stared at Bob. Most of them knew, more or less, why Daniel was a painful subject.

Bob had been a career soldier but had quit the army in order to bring up his only son after the boy’s mother died of breast cancer not long after his birth. Danny was just seventeen and still at school when he’d fallen in love with a backpacking New Zealander, some years older. Out of the blue she’d announced that she was pregnant and on the same monumental day decreed that she was going home and taking Danny with her. Doe-eyed Dan, a bright boy who until then had seemed destined for university and a choice of illustrious careers, or so his father had hoped, went along with it at once. He would travel the world with the girl he loved and their unborn child, and nothing was going to stop him, not even the father who’d devoted his entire existence to him.

Thirteen years on, Bob still missed his son terribly. Danny’s leaving had undoubtedly been a life-changing moment. But Bob didn’t want to talk about that.

‘It was the army, going through the first Gulf War, that changed my life,’ he said. ‘There was a lad killed — first death I saw. He wasn’t much older than my Dan when he pissed off. I always felt I should have saved him — I mean, I was the lad’s sergeant... Never the same after that.’

Marlena reached across the table and put her hand on Bob’s.

‘I’m sure you did all you could,’ she said.

Bob smiled at her bleakly. ‘Not enough though. I still think about it...’

‘My old man was a squaddie,’ remarked Greg, filling the silence. ‘What was you in then, Bob?’

‘Scots DG.’

‘Hey, that’s one tough outfit,’ said Greg.

‘The what?’ queried Billy.

‘Royal Scots Dragoon Guards,’ said Bob.

‘I thought they were all funny hats and skirts,’ remarked George.

Greg turned to face him.

‘Shut up, you prat,’ he said mildly, then addressed Bob again.

‘You were in the thick of it, then, in the Gulf, weren’t you?’

‘Yep, we sure were,’ said Bob.

‘Man,’ said Greg. ‘And you were an effin’ sergeant. Respect, mate, respect.’

Bob smiled at him. You could see in his eyes that he was remembering something long forgotten, another life, another world.

Karen nudged Tiny. It was his turn.

‘Everyone can guess mine, I expect,’ he said. ‘Finally accepting I was gay. I mean, who’d have thought, right?’

Tiny placed a hand on one hip and stuck out his elbow, camping it up.

The group giggled obediently.

Then Tiny turned towards Bob. The camp gone. Serious. Perhaps picking up on the mood of the night.

‘And that meant losing my family, my kids — my missus never let me see ’em again — so I know how that feels, Bob. It was down to me though. I was the one who walked away.’ Tiny paused. ‘And then I threw in my all with this skinny little tyke.’

He wrapped an arm around Billy’s narrow shoulders.

‘Oh, sorry, not supposed to mention partners, are we? Tricky, though, when the fucker’s sitting right by you, eh, Greg?’

Greg grinned and nodded. Karen addressed Billy then.

‘So, how are you going to follow that?’ she enquired.

‘Well, by saying that it’s much the same for me, of course,’ Billy began, leaning back in his chair and looking as if he were about to make a speech.

‘Is it fuck!’ interrupted Tiny, his big bass voice reverberating around the restaurant, causing a nearby weekend dad to glower in the direction of the Sunday Club table. ‘Would you believe I have to move out of the flat when his bloody mum and dad come to visit?’

The entire table erupted into cries of ‘No!’ and ‘No way!’

‘You’re right, Tiny, nobody believes you,’ said Ari. ‘You’re kidding, eh?’

‘No, I fucking well am not,’ said Tiny. ‘Go on, Billy, tell ’em.’

Billy blushed and began fiddling with his moustache in earnest.

‘Do I move out or do I not?’ Tiny persisted.

‘Well, I mean, we haven’t got a lot of room, and...’

‘Billy, you bastard, tell the truth. Your parents don’t know that you’re gay, nor that you live with me, do they?’

‘Well, I’m sure they know, deep down,’ Billy said.

Tiny harrumphed. ‘Really? You’ve never effing told ’em!’

Billy coloured even more.

‘Nor those precious fuckers you work with.’

‘Well, yeah, but it’s such a straight set-up at Geering Brothers; better to fit in and keep collecting the luncheon vouchers — you’ve always agreed with me on that, Tiny.’

‘Oh yeah. And would it make any difference if I didn’t?’

From around the table came cries of ‘settle down’ and ‘domestic’.

‘So after all that, come on, what is your life-changing moment, Billy?’ asked Karen.

Billy didn’t have an answer. He wished Tiny hadn’t revealed that particular detail about their private life. It was all quite true, of course, and Billy was embarrassed. About himself, not Tiny. And angry with himself too. This was the twenty-first century, an era in which almost all the gay men and women he knew no longer felt the need to be secretive. In the UK equal rights were protected by law, civil partnerships were commonplace and same-sex marriage was surely on its way. Billy liked to give the impression of being a cool, slightly sardonic, very together, thoroughly modern guy. He was reasonably good-looking, reasonably well off financially, very successful in his work, and successful, too, by and large, in his relationship with Tiny. Billy worshipped the ground that rocked as the big guy walked on it. Which made it even more ridiculous that he did not always publicly recognize the existence of the man he loved and shared everything with.

The truth was that Billy had never managed to become totally comfortable with his own sexuality. If he had he would tell his parents, and take the risk at work too. Surely he would. But he could never quite bring himself to do so, and that annoyed and bewildered him even more than it did Tiny.

Billy, born into an achingly conventional suburban family, had been a confused and awkward teenager. He was all too aware that, although appearances were totally to the contrary, he had in so many ways merely grown into a confused and awkward man. And it infuriated him.

He didn’t have the strength to be witty.

‘Well, obviously my life-changing moment was meeting Tiny,’ he said. ‘Only I’m not allowed to say that, apparently.’

‘Situation normal, then, as far as you’re concerned,’ said Tiny.

What Tiny had not revealed to the group was that Billy’s parents were due to visit that week, and he and Billy had quarrelled about it shortly before leaving home. Tiny was still angry, largely because he was so hurt by Billy’s inability to give him full recognition. That was why he’d blurted out this aspect of their life together which until now had always been just between him and Billy. And he’d no intention of letting Billy off the hook. Not yet, anyway.

‘Can’t quite bring yourself to tell anyone about your big slice of black arse, can you, darling?’

He softened the remark by squeezing Billy’s shoulder and giving the smaller man a peck on the cheek.

Nonetheless, the tension between the two was obvious, not least because it was unusual. Karen was quick to move on around the table.

It was Alfonso’s turn. The Italian, his beard immaculate, his black hair slicked back with gel, had a penchant for dressing formally and was the only man at the table wearing a tailored jacket. He always seemed to be rather out of his time, and had once been described by Marlena as a kind of debonair gigolo who belonged in 1930s Cannes. The description seemed apt enough, but nobody really knew what made the Fonz tick. They weren’t even entirely sure whether he was gay or straight. Alfonso’s habit, both at work and at play, was to reveal as little as possible about his private life. However, his manner was such that nobody ever really noticed.

Alfonso knew what his most life-changing moment had been. It was when his father had died when he was in his mid-teens. His mother made him promise he would never leave her. And the crazy thing was, he never had. He’d threatened to, promised himself that he would, the next day or the next week. But he’d never quite been able to do so. Every day, he trekked back to Dagenham to the little terraced house they shared; unless he was on late shift, in which case he stayed at his gran’s place in King’s Cross. And there were other aspects of his life that he considered to be even more embarrassing than shuttling back and forth between his mum and his gran. It didn’t exactly fit the profile he was trying to cultivate, that of the most dashing waiter in London.

Sometimes he wondered how he managed to keep his dark secret from the Sunday Club. It certainly took a lot of work. Over the years, he had developed protecting his privacy into a fine art, evolving into a brilliant ‘make-up’ artist: tall tales emerged from him like water gushing from a bottomless well, all in the name of entertainment. So far as the others were concerned, he was perpetually caught up in the social whirl, forever on the verge of moving into a new flat, or staying with unspecified friends while he looked for somewhere new. He envied Ari, who was quite open about his living arrangements and didn’t seem bothered when the gang kidded him about still living with his mum. But then, why should it bother him? Ari was much younger than Alfonso and actually had his own apartment in his parents’ large and rather grand London house.

Tonight, Alfonso found he could not be bothered to come up with an entertaining diversion. And so he told the truth.

‘Getting my job at the Vine,’ he said.

‘Oh, so so boring, darling,’ said Marlena.

‘Yeah, well, I haven’t led the life you have.’

‘Is that a veiled insult or a tragic complaint?’

‘Both, probably. Anyway, it did change my life. I found out how much fun being a waiter could be. Before that, I was at the Reform Club. God knows how I ended up there, so bloody stuffy. Now I’m pouring water for Madonna.’

‘Thrilling,’ interjected George. ‘Come on, Marlena. Brighten things up. Let’s hear yours.’

‘I suppose it was crashing my motorbike, if I were to tell the truth,’ responded the older woman, surprising herself.

That had indeed been a life-changing moment, but not something she’d talked about nor even thought about for many years. Marlena had led a roller-coaster of an existence with many life-changing moments to choose from. A good number of those were best forgotten, but there were also plenty she liked to remember, and surely everyone had secrets? Marlena was not a woman who dwelled on the past, who allowed herself regrets. The only reason her motorbike accident had come into her mind so vividly was because of a TV documentary she had watched the previous evening. She’d been kept awake half the night by troubling dreams of the incident and its consequences. Not that she had any intention of sharing that with her friends.

‘Crashing your motorbike?’ queried Greg. ‘You had a motorbike?’

‘I certainly did. A Triumph Norton. I’d had it sprayed shocking pink.’

‘Good God, when was that?’ asked Karen.

‘Oh, back in the Dark Ages, darling. It must be thirty-odd years since I got rid of it.’

‘But why?’

‘Finally grew up, I suppose. Realized it was too dangerous. I always rode too fast — but then, that was the whole point of it really.’

‘I thought you thrived on danger, darling,’ remarked Alfonso.

‘There’s danger, and then there’s danger,’ replied Marlena enigmatically.

‘How did crashing your bike change your life?’ persisted Karen.

‘I was on my way to visit my sister in Scotland — hadn’t seen her for years, we’d been brought up apart. Then fate intervened and I never made it...’

Marlena seemed lost in memories until Alfonso’s voice brought her back to earth.

‘Were you badly hurt?’

‘Not really. Barely at all, in fact.’ Marlena paused and looked down at the table. ‘It was life-changing because it confronted me with reality and marked the end of a lot of silly dreams I suddenly knew I was never going to realize...’

She stopped again abruptly. There was silence around the table, unbroken until she chided the others: ‘Oh come on. You’ve got better things to do than listen to an old woman like me make a fool of herself. Ari, what about you? It must be your turn. I’m sure I jumped my place.’

Ari looked blank.

‘I don’t think I’ve had a life-changing moment,’ he said.

The truth of it hit him as he spoke. Sometimes Ari’s entire existence seemed empty to him, which was perhaps why he was inclined to fill the hours with alcohol and cocaine. He made himself sip his second large Hendricks slowly. Sunday Club was a low-key evening out for Ari, but, as with George, it had become a curiously important fixture in his life. It was one of the few occasions when he tried to stay moderately sober, in order that his behaviour would not attract attention, so that he could at least appear to fit in with the others. Ari had many acquaintances and hangers-on, but few friends. He considered the regular Sunday group to be the nearest he had to friends. Not that he could face them without a pre-supper line or two before leaving home. Indeed, he couldn’t imagine being out and about without that.

‘Maybe that’s what’s wrong in my life,’ Ari continued. ‘Nothing has ever changed really. I even live at home. Can’t match my dad, that’s probably my problem. Dad came over with my grandmother in 1972, refugees from Idi Amin’s Uganda. He built his business from scratch, starting with a street stall then a corner shop. Now he trades all over the world. He just assumed that I would go into the business with him, so that’s what I’ve done, more or less. ’

‘Where was his shop?’ asked Greg.

‘Wanstead, first of many.’

‘He must have been some man to have turned that into what he’s got now.’

Ari nodded. ‘He was only seventeen when they arrived,’ he said. ‘And he did it all on his own; my gran never learned to speak English and my grandfather was already dead. I haven’t a clue how he did it. Beyond me, I’m afraid.’

He took a big drink of his Hendricks, and allowed the strangely aromatic gin to drown his brief moment of introspection.

‘So there you are, I’m just a spoiled rich boy.’

‘Yep,’ said Greg.

‘We love you, though,’ said Karen.

‘And I’d hardly describe your living arrangements as classic shacked-up-with-mum-and-dad,’ said Bob. ‘You’ve got an apartment bigger than most people’s houses. That potted palm I got for you looked so bloody lost in it, I had to go back and get you a bigger one.’

‘Bigger the pad, better the party,’ said Ari.

‘Thought you’d been banned from all of that since your arrest,’ murmured Alfonso.

‘It was only the tiny weeniest itsy bitsy soupçon of coke,’ said Ari.

‘Ummm, and when are you getting some more?’ asked George.

‘I didn’t hear that,’ said Michelle.

‘You haven’t shared your life-changing moment, Michelle,’ said Alfonso. ‘You’ve told us what it wasn’t, but not what it is. Come on, let’s have it.’

Michelle made herself smile. Though Bob wasn’t aware of it, the two of them had something in common that Sunday. For both it was an anniversary connected to someone who’d caused them much unhappiness. In Bob’s case the birthday of the son he felt he had lost, in Michelle’s the anniversary of her marriage to the man who had abandoned her. They’d married young, and it would have been their tenth, known as the tin anniversary — which Michelle thought rather appropriate as tin was cheap and buckled easily under pressure. Like Bob, she was feeling uncharacteristically maudlin that evening. She’d thought she was over the hurt, but days like this reminded her that the pain was still with her, as it would be, she sometimes believed, for as long as she lived.

‘We might not be allowed to have meeting our partner as our answer, but leaving them ought to count,’ she growled. ‘Or in my case, being left by the fucker.’

‘Oh God,’ said George. ‘We are a cheery bloody lot tonight, aren’t we?’

‘Fair enough, Michelle,’ said Karen, ignoring him. ‘We all know how much it changed your life when your Phil walked out on you. New job, new town, new friends — not so much a change of life as a brand-new one, eh?’

‘Too fucking right,’ muttered Michelle through gritted teeth.

‘Oh, come on, it’s not all bad, is it?’

‘No,’ said Michelle. She paused for a moment, thinking things through. ‘No, of course it’s not,’ she continued. ‘And working for the Met does kind of beat being a Dorset plod. Or it would, if I wasn’t stuck in effing Traffic.’

She spat out the last sentence, but then lapsed into maudlin again: ‘It would have been nice to have been able to make a choice, that’s all.’

‘You did: you chose to come to London,’ said Karen.

‘Maybe. But I didn’t have much choice about leaving the town I’d lived in all my life and the force I’d joined when I was eighteen, did I? My bloody ex not only moved in with his girlfriend at the end of the same street, he worked in the same bloody office as me. I could see his effing desk from mine. If I hadn’t moved away, I might have damned well killed him.’ She paused. ‘Or her — smug bitch.’

‘Surely not? And you sworn to uphold the law and all.’ Marlena, full of mock severity, peered at Michelle over the rim of her half-moon spectacles.

‘I dunno,’ responded Michelle. ‘I’d definitely have gone barking mad.’

‘No danger of that now though,’ said Marlena, dry as dust. ‘You’ve certainly found sanity with us.’

Michelle managed a small smile again. ‘Would have been different if my dad was still alive,’ she said. ‘He’d have beaten the hell out of Phil.’

‘Bit of a bruiser, your old man then?’ enquired Greg.

‘You might say that,’ responded Karen. ‘He was a DI in the Met. Old style. Detective Inspector Dave English. Nobody messed with my dad, I can tell you.’

‘Crikey,’ said George. ‘Come on, Karen. Give us yours.’

Karen didn’t hesitate. She was perhaps the most straightforward of the group. She certainly appeared to be. And, after a couple of drinks, totally caught up in the question game, she’d more or less forgotten all about that silly lurking embarrassment concerning George. Her family was her entire world, she told herself, and always had been. She glanced across the table at George. Apart from that brief exchange upon her arrival he had taken little notice of her. There was no reason why he should, of course, and it would have embarrassed her further if he had. She still couldn’t believe what she’d done. And if George hadn’t kept his head, it would have been even worse.

‘Having my children,’ she said. ‘My family. It’s all that matters to me. You see, when I was a kid things were pretty bad. Me mum was always great, but...’

‘But what, Karen darling?’ asked Marlena.

Karen glanced at Greg.

He took her hand. ‘Karen’s dad went to prison when she was four. He was a drinker, killed a man in a fight. Got himself sent down and ended up dying in jail. That’s why I gotta be a good boy, eh, baby?’

‘You better had.’

‘That’s quite a story,’ said Ari. He looked around the table. ‘Any of you lot know that before?’ he asked.

They all shook their heads.

‘I try not to think about it,’ said Karen. ‘It was just Greg being so soft that got me going...’

‘Hey, Michelle,’ said George. ‘Maybe your old man was the one who arrested Karen’s old man.’

‘That isn’t funny, George,’ said Marlena.

‘It’s OK,’ said Karen. ‘I grew up with my dad inside. It can’t hurt me any more. Like I said, my children changed everything for me. I think any mother would say the same. One minute you’re a selfish cow thinking only of yourself and your own problems, and the next you have these little people with your face and you realize you’d sacrifice anything for...’

Karen stopped, aware of Michelle’s eyes boring into her.

Abruptly the young policewoman rose from the table.

‘Must go to the Ladies,’ she said.

Her head was down as she hurried away, the high heels she liked to wear when she was out of uniform tap-tapping on the wooden floor. Karen thought she saw her shoulders begin to shake. Michelle had never made any secret of her deep-seated desire to be a mother, and how that unfulfilled longing had been her greatest regret when her marriage ended. But the woman was young enough not to be worrying about her biological clock for some years, and bright and attractive enough to surely be able to find the right man sooner or later. All the same, Karen kicked herself for being so tactless.

Though the men around the table did not appear to have noticed anything amiss, it hadn’t escaped Marlena’s observant gaze.

‘Well done, old girl,’ she murmured softly to Karen.

‘Oh fuck,’ said Karen.

I made my excuses as we left the restaurant, needing to be on my own. Fast. Not only that, I needed to be out in the open, to get some air into my lungs, to let myself be swallowed up by the sounds and smells of the night.

I hurried down Wellington Street and across the Strand towards Waterloo Bridge where I took the steps to the left, by Somerset House, leading down to the Embankment. The city was quiet, peaceful even, or maybe it just seemed that way compared to what was raging inside my head.

I crossed over to the riverside and leaned over the river wall near Temple Pier. It was spring high tide, and I could see the Thames lapping against the tall stone balustrades. A police barge went by, travelling at speed, sending up a sizeable wave in its wake. Water splashed against the wall and a drop or two hit my face. My skin felt so hot I was almost surprised it didn’t turn to steam on contact.

I stayed there, hoping for another splash to cool me down, but it didn’t come. Eventually I pulled myself away and sat on a bench under a plane tree. It was the last Sunday in February and the branches were bare, but it seemed darker and more secluded there under the tree’s spreading arms. I felt in some way shielded, protected.

It wasn’t a cold night. If anything, it was quite warm, one of those spells of good weather in what had been a bitter winter. I’d hoped the air would be cold enough to cool my burning skin. But it would have to have been well below zero to do that.

I sat there for ages, trying to get things straight in my head, to make some sense of the thoughts racing round my brain.

There could be no doubt, could there? Had I misunderstood? Was it possible that this was sheer coincidence, totally unconnected to anything in my past? Was I trying to make a connection where none existed?

I don’t know how long I sat there, going over those words again and again. The more I thought about it, the more certain I was that, far from misunderstanding, I had finally understood.

And now that I understood, I had no choice but to act.

My skin seemed to be getting hotter until I felt as if I was on fire.

In spite of everything, against all the odds, I’d made a life for myself. Nobody knew what I was. Nor what I might have been. Even I didn’t know that. All I knew was that I had been turned into a creature like no other. Like some kind of alien that passes for human. As if there was another being inhabiting my body, controlling my impulses.

Whenever I’d watch sci-fi programmes or films like Close Encounters, I’d see those humans whose souls had been invaded and think of them as kindred spirits. For almost as long as I can remember, I’ve been wrestling with that alien being within — the creature that made its home inside me, uninvited and beyond my control.

There had been times when it all got too much and I gave up the fight, let that dark side lead me where it chose. I ought to regret those times, but I can’t. It was inevitable, given the unbearable pressure, the strain of trying to contain it.

That pressure was building within me again, with every moment that I sat there under the tree. And inevitably it would be released, just as it had been in the past. Soon. I knew that. I’d known it in the restaurant, the words of the others washing over me. Somehow I’d kept up a pretence of joining in despite the voice screaming inside my head. But then, I was used to pretending, keeping up appearances.

Calm now, my skin once again cool to the touch, I got up from the bench. My mind was clear, all doubt removed. From this moment on I would be following the path of my destiny, although my route would not be as others might expect. It would be designed to create the maximum confusion before I allowed my true purpose to become apparent. But there would be no turning back. Not until it was settled. All of it. My misery avenged and my honour restored. Finally.