Another Country by Anjali Joseph Page B

you have?’
    â€˜I’ll get it.’
    â€˜No, absolutely not.’
    â€˜Um, a gin and tonic please.’
    Amy was still beaming. Leela sat next to her, ran a hand through her hair, which was growing in unruly ways, and took in the table: Andrew’s mobile; Amy’s wallet; a near-empty glass of white wine, and an empty pint glass. She picked up a beer mat and put it down again; it was damp.
    â€˜He seems really nice,’ Leela said. She knew Amy believed her to be hostile to the relationship and wanted her friend to be happy, or continue to be happy.
    She began to hear murmurs of the chat around them.
    â€˜Ha ha ha! You fucking idiot!’ An Australian accent. Someone thrust out his elbow; Leela moved her stool. Someone else laughed. A few tables away was a throng of standing people.
    â€˜Oh yeah, Andrew has amazing manners. Obviously. You won’t have to go to the bar all night,’ Amy said. Leela felt slightly diminished, embarrassed as well as aggrieved, as though she’d either desperately wanted to be there or to consume drinks paid for by Andrew. Where would she have been if she hadn’t been here? At Richard’s, perhaps, with a magazine and a takeaway while he was out, or angry with him, looking at the time, or at her house, either absorbed in something or discontented; she couldn’t decide which.
    Andrew was back. ‘There’s a booth over in the other side, shall we go there?’ he asked. They picked up their stuff and followed him.
    The side room, behind panelled screens, was nicer. The people who had been in the booth were leaving; they waited, then slid in, Amy in the corner, and Leela opposite. In the snug she felt less antagonised.
    â€˜Leela, Amy tells me you’re a great reader,’ Andrew said. ‘I’ve been rereading lately, Our Mutual Friend . Do you know it?’
    â€˜Yeah, of course.’
    â€˜Is this Dickens? Am I wrong?’ Amy’s clear voice cut in.
    Leela grinned at her.
    â€˜The descriptions at the beginning – the river, and London. It’s amazing. I’d forgotten it completely, I now realise.’
    â€˜What did you do at university? I mean, what did you read?’
    â€˜English.’ He smiled at her.
    â€˜Oh, really?’
    He nodded, his face eager. ‘It stays with you, you know. The love of books, and the things you learn about how to read. You lose the knowledge, or at least I have. Terrible verbal memory. I can’t quote anything I read more than a week ago.’ He grimaced.
    â€˜I know, me too,’ Leela said.
    â€˜What are you reading right now?’
    â€˜I’m in between stuff,’ she said. She was finding it hard to face a book; she subsisted on magazines, weekend supplements, and the internet. Now, she had a sudden enthusiasm for going to a second-hand bookshop. ‘I decided I had too many books,’ she went on. ‘I thought I should stop buying them for a while.’
    Andrew smiled. It was a smile of great flexibility and understanding. ‘Ah, but books,’ he said.
    â€˜Books are things too,’ said Leela, without believing it.
    His azure eyes softened. He smiled as though he had enough grace not to believe she meant it either.

    Leela got into bed.
    Richard kissed her. ‘How was the evening?’
    â€˜Really nice actually.’ Her voice was warm.
    â€˜Really?’ He looked up from the book.
    â€˜Yeah, I really liked him.’
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜He’s great. I think he might be amazing for Amy.’
    â€˜Even though he’s married?’
    â€˜It was weird,’ Leela said. ‘He mentioned his wife at one point – really naturally. I thought I’d hate him for it, but it made me feel he was less of a bastard. I do think he really cares about Amy.’
    Richard looked at her for a little longer. ‘You really liked him, didn’t you?’
    â€˜Yeah,’ said Leela slowly. ‘I