Another Country by Anjali Joseph Page A

May?’
    â€˜Pretty much. We’ll have a few warm days then it’ll be over anyway.’
    â€˜That’s true.’ She sighed.
    â€˜Try the cheese.’
    She passed him the lemonade. ‘No, I’m full.’
    â€˜Sure?’
    She nodded resignedly.

    Leela texted Amy: So are we still on for today?
    Amy: Yes! But Andrew won’t be free till slightly later. Is that okay?
    Leela, heart sinking: When?
    Amy: About 8.30. We could meet a bit before, if I get done with work.
    It was the middle of an uninspiring week. The date had been set up on Sunday – Amy had rung, Leela hadn’t picked up, then Amy had left a teary-sounding message. Weekends were difficult for her, and Leela sometimes avoided the resentful telephone calls that Sundays brought. She rang back, and Amy asked her to come for a drink and meet Andrew.
    â€˜He’s definitely going to be there, he’s got a meeting before that, he’s definitely staying over on Wednesday.’
    She often sounded angry when she talked about him.
    â€˜Right, okay. Wednesday?’ Leela said. She rolled her eyes at Richard, who was reading a magazine in the background. She raised her eyebrows; he nodded.
    Now, she sighed. She’d have to hang around in town and wait for Andrew to be done with his meeting. Amy, she had a hunch, wouldn’t appear much before. Richard had gone to see a school friend in Hampstead, at the flat he shared with his girlfriend. Leela had a mild pang. Not because the girlfriend was particularly attractive, but because Richard went to see them from time to time, when Leela happened to be busy, probably because there was a freedom and simplicity in their company that her presence would have impaired.
    She wandered around the centre of London, killing time, and remembered again how pointless and depressing areas like Leicester Square were. Finally Amy rang. There turned out to have been a missed call.
    â€˜Where are you?’ Amy’s well-bred tones enquired.
    â€˜In Leicester Square, waiting,’ said an irritated Leela.
    â€˜What are you doing there? We’re here.’
    â€˜Where’s here?’
    â€˜In the pub. On Whitehall. Get here when you can.’
    She had a silent, sarcastic conversation with Amy on her walk past lit-up late-evening windows and hurrying figures. There was a shadow in the sky as it darkened; a wind blew dust.
    Turning into the door of the pub, she left behind an emanation of the city – traffic fumes but also a scent of summer, perhaps from trees coming into flower somewhere near the Mall. She went into the classic atmosphere of a pub in London: carpet spray, crisps, smoke, beer, damp suiting.
    Inside she became lost amid the repeated motifs of overcoats and work shirts, pink and blue and white, the features above them as alien as the clothing. Fucking drones, she thought, but was intimidated by their raw, pink faces.
    She saw an attractive young woman, then a man’s shoulder – his back was to her, he had close-cut grey hair. He leant into the girl, and she laughed. Leela’s first impression was of her charisma; then the woman waved and the world slid into focus and became unforeign. It was Amy.
    â€˜Leela!’ she cried.
    â€˜Hi,’ said Leela, diffident, moving closer, but unable to help grinning as her friend, like a toddler, threw up her arms for a hug. Leela kissed her on the cheek.
    â€˜Good to see you!’ said Amy, an utterance both formal and heartfelt that reminded Leela of Amy’s father.
    â€˜Hi,’ she said again, so aware of being the new arrival that it was hard to look at Andrew properly. Now she saw the cropped silver hair and blue eyes she recognised vaguely from TV. ‘I’m Leela.’
    â€˜Hi Leela, great to meet you. Look, let me get you both a drink. Darling, another glass of wine?’
    â€˜That’d be lovely,’ Amy said. She beamed. Leela was taken aback.
    â€˜Leela, what’ll