and Art’s PA, Siena, plus Dan and Perry with their wives.
The party is in full swing. The majority of Art’s colleagues are here. I haven’t seen most of them for a while, though I know practically all the Loxley Benson staff well: Art
doesn’t stand on ceremony and runs his office with something I once heard Tris describe as a ‘flat hierarchy’.
The room is also full of the friends who were once mine and are now ours: Sue and Hen and their husbands among them. Hen squeezes my hand when she arrives.
‘Sorry I was on edge before,’ she whispers. ‘I need to talk when you get a moment.’
I nod, wondering what on earth she has to tell me that she couldn’t have said earlier. For a second I wonder if it’s something to do with Beth, but before I can ask, Hen has moved
into the middle of the living room, and half the guys from Art’s work have surrounded her. She’s in her element, though poor Rob looks a little stiff and awkward. He has followed her
over and is sticking to her like she’s going to save his life, which, socially, I imagine she often does. I watch, fascinated, as Hen flirts and charms her way around the group, while Rob
gazes at her in adoration.
Art’s working the room, chatting and smiling to everyone. I should have known that no matter how tired he feels, he wouldn’t let it show in public. He’s easily as charming as
Hen, but there’s something commanding about him too – a way he has of making everyone he speaks to feel like the only person in the room. Right now he’s with a couple I
don’t recognize. Must be clients. Personally, I wouldn’t have invited business contacts, but Art likes to mix business and pleasure. Well, to Art, business
is
pleasure.
I don’t mind, but it does mean Art and his colleagues have to watch how outrageous they get. And I do too, I suppose. Not that anyone’s likely to get that out of control.
‘Hey, Gen, come and dance!’
It’s Boris, one of the Loxley Benson directors and a good friend of Art’s. The whole board are here: Boris, Dan, Perry, Leo, Tristan and, of course, Kyle.
I let Boris drag me over to where the others are dancing. Dan and Perry both got married last year and they’re with their new wives. Two tall, dark, handsome men with two petite, pretty,
blonde women. I start moving to the music – George Michael, ‘Outside’, which I don’t remember being on my iPod. I glance over at the stereo . . . a different iPod is in the
slot.
Tris – very posh, very gay, very camp – grabs me around the waist and starts twirling me round. He’s tall and smells lightly of something vaguely musky and hugely expensive. He
sings the chorus in my ear, then laughs. ‘You look gooorgeous, darling. I love that bracelet.’
I glance down at Morgan’s gift which has been getting admiring comments all evening.
‘Is this yours?’ I shout over the music, pointing at the iPod.
Tris makes a mock-penitent face. ‘What could I do, darling? George was just begging to be played.’
I grin. Tris throws his hands flamboyantly up in the air. I try to give myself up to the dance, letting Tris twirl me around. I don’t want to think about IVF and Beth and all my unanswered
questions right now, and yet, despite the music and the chatter and the general organized chaos of the party, my doubts cling to me, refusing to be put down.
After a minute or two, Boris drags me away. He’s half Tris’s height, but built like a brick – solid and ruddy-faced. I’ve always suspected he had a bit of a crush on
me.
‘She’s mine, you ridiculous queen,’ he says.
I glance over at Boris’s wife, standing in the corner. Like Boris she’s Russian; unlike him, she has never fitted in. At this moment, she’s staring at me as if she’d like
to kill me.
I disentangle myself from Boris and back away, into Kyle.
‘Gen? How’re you doing?’
I smile up at him. Kyle Benson’s a sweetheart. A big, lumbering bear of a man and Art’s partner at
The party is in full swing. The majority of Art’s colleagues are here. I haven’t seen most of them for a while, though I know practically all the Loxley Benson staff well: Art
doesn’t stand on ceremony and runs his office with something I once heard Tris describe as a ‘flat hierarchy’.
The room is also full of the friends who were once mine and are now ours: Sue and Hen and their husbands among them. Hen squeezes my hand when she arrives.
‘Sorry I was on edge before,’ she whispers. ‘I need to talk when you get a moment.’
I nod, wondering what on earth she has to tell me that she couldn’t have said earlier. For a second I wonder if it’s something to do with Beth, but before I can ask, Hen has moved
into the middle of the living room, and half the guys from Art’s work have surrounded her. She’s in her element, though poor Rob looks a little stiff and awkward. He has followed her
over and is sticking to her like she’s going to save his life, which, socially, I imagine she often does. I watch, fascinated, as Hen flirts and charms her way around the group, while Rob
gazes at her in adoration.
Art’s working the room, chatting and smiling to everyone. I should have known that no matter how tired he feels, he wouldn’t let it show in public. He’s easily as charming as
Hen, but there’s something commanding about him too – a way he has of making everyone he speaks to feel like the only person in the room. Right now he’s with a couple I
don’t recognize. Must be clients. Personally, I wouldn’t have invited business contacts, but Art likes to mix business and pleasure. Well, to Art, business
is
pleasure.
I don’t mind, but it does mean Art and his colleagues have to watch how outrageous they get. And I do too, I suppose. Not that anyone’s likely to get that out of control.
‘Hey, Gen, come and dance!’
It’s Boris, one of the Loxley Benson directors and a good friend of Art’s. The whole board are here: Boris, Dan, Perry, Leo, Tristan and, of course, Kyle.
I let Boris drag me over to where the others are dancing. Dan and Perry both got married last year and they’re with their new wives. Two tall, dark, handsome men with two petite, pretty,
blonde women. I start moving to the music – George Michael, ‘Outside’, which I don’t remember being on my iPod. I glance over at the stereo . . . a different iPod is in the
slot.
Tris – very posh, very gay, very camp – grabs me around the waist and starts twirling me round. He’s tall and smells lightly of something vaguely musky and hugely expensive. He
sings the chorus in my ear, then laughs. ‘You look gooorgeous, darling. I love that bracelet.’
I glance down at Morgan’s gift which has been getting admiring comments all evening.
‘Is this yours?’ I shout over the music, pointing at the iPod.
Tris makes a mock-penitent face. ‘What could I do, darling? George was just begging to be played.’
I grin. Tris throws his hands flamboyantly up in the air. I try to give myself up to the dance, letting Tris twirl me around. I don’t want to think about IVF and Beth and all my unanswered
questions right now, and yet, despite the music and the chatter and the general organized chaos of the party, my doubts cling to me, refusing to be put down.
After a minute or two, Boris drags me away. He’s half Tris’s height, but built like a brick – solid and ruddy-faced. I’ve always suspected he had a bit of a crush on
me.
‘She’s mine, you ridiculous queen,’ he says.
I glance over at Boris’s wife, standing in the corner. Like Boris she’s Russian; unlike him, she has never fitted in. At this moment, she’s staring at me as if she’d like
to kill me.
I disentangle myself from Boris and back away, into Kyle.
‘Gen? How’re you doing?’
I smile up at him. Kyle Benson’s a sweetheart. A big, lumbering bear of a man and Art’s partner at
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