tentatively raising her hand, the fingernails glossed with black nail varnish. All around her, girls seemed to be putting their hands up. At first, they looked at each other with vague embarrassment but then they began to smile and it seemed that their shared discomfort was turning swiftly into a badge of pride. As more and more girls identified themselves, Caroline began to feel faint. But she was aware, simultaneously, that people were scanning her face to gauge her reaction. She told herself that she must be a good sport and so she tried to smile, fixing her lips in place so that no one could see how horrified she actually was.
There were dozens of them: brunettes and blondes, blue eyes and brown, the blow-dried Pony Clubbers like Amelia – the blousy girl that lived down the road – and the drop-out, creative types with too much make-up and translucent skin, like the girl by the door whom she didn’t recognise with dyed red hair, her wrists weighed down with thick metallic bracelets. The girls seemed to have nothing in common, no defining feature that would enable Caroline to understand why Max had picked them. But the sheer number of them took her aback. She thought that she would have known if her son was out kissing a different woman every night, but apparently not. And not only that, but he seemed so, well, indiscriminate in his taste. How could she not have known? This Max – the man that Adam was describing – was not her Max at all.
‘I thought as much,’ Adam was saying. ‘In case any of us were in any doubt, here is the physical evidence that Max Weston was a legend.’ There were loud cheers and clapping. ‘I have many favourite memories of my mate Max,’ Adam continued. ‘He was always game for a laugh, always braver than I was. I knew him from the first day of primary school and I don’t think there was a single day that passed when Max didn’t do something that surprised me.
‘I remember once when we were teenagers and Max was staying over at my house, we climbed out on to the roof through the attic window. It was evening and the sun was just about to go down. We were having a cheeky beer –’ he broke off and winked. ‘And Max said to me – like, completely out of the blue – “I bet I can jump across to your next-door neighbour’s roof.” I was like, “Yeah, whatever, mate.” But then he stood up and, before I could stop him, he only bloody went and did it. It was a good six-foot gap and he cleared it easily. Just like that. And then, afterwards, when I asked him why he’d done it, Max just said “Why not?” ’
Adam’s voice started to go. He stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. ‘He might not have lived beyond the age of 21 ,’ Adam said, looking up, ‘but he achieved more than most of us will have done when we’re twice his age. So, here’s to my mate Max.’ He raised his glass and downed it in one. ‘To Max’ said the voices in the room, breaking into raucous applause as Adam stepped away from the fireplace.
Caroline remembered too late that she didn’t have a glass in her hand so she had to stand there, with a forced smile on her face while all the time she could feel her chest constrict. The room started to spin around her and she thought how odd that was, how she had always previously imagined it was the type of thing that happened only in films or books and never in real life.
‘Caroline?’ She heard Andrew speaking but could not find the words to reply. She felt herself being guided out into the hallway. ‘I think you need to sit down,’ he said and then he found a chair and asked someone to get her a glass of water and something to eat and he told her to put her head down between her knees until she felt better.
‘It’s all been too much for you,’ he said, stroking Caroline’s hair with a gentle, rhythmic motion that was strangely soothing. ‘They’ll start to leave soon and then I think you should have a
There were dozens of them: brunettes and blondes, blue eyes and brown, the blow-dried Pony Clubbers like Amelia – the blousy girl that lived down the road – and the drop-out, creative types with too much make-up and translucent skin, like the girl by the door whom she didn’t recognise with dyed red hair, her wrists weighed down with thick metallic bracelets. The girls seemed to have nothing in common, no defining feature that would enable Caroline to understand why Max had picked them. But the sheer number of them took her aback. She thought that she would have known if her son was out kissing a different woman every night, but apparently not. And not only that, but he seemed so, well, indiscriminate in his taste. How could she not have known? This Max – the man that Adam was describing – was not her Max at all.
‘I thought as much,’ Adam was saying. ‘In case any of us were in any doubt, here is the physical evidence that Max Weston was a legend.’ There were loud cheers and clapping. ‘I have many favourite memories of my mate Max,’ Adam continued. ‘He was always game for a laugh, always braver than I was. I knew him from the first day of primary school and I don’t think there was a single day that passed when Max didn’t do something that surprised me.
‘I remember once when we were teenagers and Max was staying over at my house, we climbed out on to the roof through the attic window. It was evening and the sun was just about to go down. We were having a cheeky beer –’ he broke off and winked. ‘And Max said to me – like, completely out of the blue – “I bet I can jump across to your next-door neighbour’s roof.” I was like, “Yeah, whatever, mate.” But then he stood up and, before I could stop him, he only bloody went and did it. It was a good six-foot gap and he cleared it easily. Just like that. And then, afterwards, when I asked him why he’d done it, Max just said “Why not?” ’
Adam’s voice started to go. He stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. ‘He might not have lived beyond the age of 21 ,’ Adam said, looking up, ‘but he achieved more than most of us will have done when we’re twice his age. So, here’s to my mate Max.’ He raised his glass and downed it in one. ‘To Max’ said the voices in the room, breaking into raucous applause as Adam stepped away from the fireplace.
Caroline remembered too late that she didn’t have a glass in her hand so she had to stand there, with a forced smile on her face while all the time she could feel her chest constrict. The room started to spin around her and she thought how odd that was, how she had always previously imagined it was the type of thing that happened only in films or books and never in real life.
‘Caroline?’ She heard Andrew speaking but could not find the words to reply. She felt herself being guided out into the hallway. ‘I think you need to sit down,’ he said and then he found a chair and asked someone to get her a glass of water and something to eat and he told her to put her head down between her knees until she felt better.
‘It’s all been too much for you,’ he said, stroking Caroline’s hair with a gentle, rhythmic motion that was strangely soothing. ‘They’ll start to leave soon and then I think you should have a
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