Jake’s old schoolmates called him Stooks, their stupid nicknames were a minor-public-school thing, like smashing up restaurants after a few drinks. Rosie could never remember what Bosey’s real name was. Anyway. ‘Oh, right?’
‘An interview saying he was an oddball and bullied at school. Comprehensive school. Total fucking bollocks. He was fucking head of house at our
private
school, head of orchestra, head of chess club. All right, so he never had a proper girlfriend until he met you, unsurprisingly with a face like that, but Christ …’
‘The journalist probably made it all up to have a better story,’ Rosie said firmly, reaching for her phone to google the
Comet
.
‘Do you think?’ Bosey sounded mischievous. ‘I don’t. I think it’s Stooks trying to play the plebeian card. Anyway, tell him from me, he’s a prat and to call me.’
‘I will. Actually, listen, Bosey, I’ve been meaning to get in touch. You and Stella must come over soon. It’s been ages.’
‘That’s because Stooks is always so busy hanging out
with Jonathan Ross and Alan Carr.’ Was there an edge to Bosey’s voice? Before Jake had shut down his Facebook account some of his old school friends had been rather snarky about his change in fortune. The landline started ringing. ‘Bosey, I have to go, there’s a call waiting. I’ll text Stella and put a date in. Hello?’
‘Rosie,’ said Yolande’s voice. ‘Have you read the interview with Perry in the
Comet
?’
‘Um, not yet. I’ve only just heard about it. I’ll have a—’
‘Comprehensive school, indeed! He went to the best school money could buy, and thrived there. We put all our money into the children’s education, that’s why … well, never mind. And why do they say you’re still living in that horrible Neasden? Did he do the interview before you moved?’
‘Journalists make things up,’ Rosie said, still trying to google the darn thing but her phone had misread ‘comet’ as ‘comic’.
‘But surely not to this extent!’ Yolande exclaimed. ‘I mean, did he really say he was a fish out of water at school? He was so popular.’
‘I have no idea what he said. I wasn’t there.’
‘He was desperate to go to Oxford,’ Yolande continued. ‘I remember him working all summer holiday before he applied to have the relevant experience. And the stuff about him not fitting in there … he adored the place. Still, it’s a lovely photo of him. They’ve done something to his hairline … and how lovely that he’s
been taking the boys into the Essex woodlands, I didn’t know he did that.’
‘
What?
’ Jake was the man who thought nature was all about sticks and things that sting you, whose idea of entertaining the boys was to hand over the iPad and then lie on a sofa with an eye mask on. Her phone was beeping again. ‘Sorry, Yolande, that’ll be Jake on the other line, I have to go …’
‘Just tell the boys that I went out with Dorothy and her little granddaughter the other day. It turns out she’s learning the piano. Not Dorothy. The granddaughter. Have you thought about Toby taking up the piano, only—’
‘Yolande, I have to go, we’ll talk about piano another time.’
‘It says he has all this work lined up. He doesn’t. Only the next
Archbishop Grace
. He’s keeping his options open.’
‘Like I said, papers get loads of things wrong.’
‘You are still coming to the party? Fraser will be there after all. We rearranged his flights for him.’
‘Of course! Sorry, I have to go. Hello?’
‘Oh, hello, Rosie?’ A woman’s voice. Light, friendly. Probably one of the book-club mums.
‘Yes,’ Rosie replied warmly. ‘Sorry if I sound a bit harassed, I was talking to my mother-in-law and—’
‘Mothers-in-law, oh tell me about them. It’s Isobel Orchard from the
Sentinel
here.’ She spoke as if Rosie were an old, old friend. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine. Um. Do I know you?’
Isobel ignored this pertinent question. ‘I
‘An interview saying he was an oddball and bullied at school. Comprehensive school. Total fucking bollocks. He was fucking head of house at our
private
school, head of orchestra, head of chess club. All right, so he never had a proper girlfriend until he met you, unsurprisingly with a face like that, but Christ …’
‘The journalist probably made it all up to have a better story,’ Rosie said firmly, reaching for her phone to google the
Comet
.
‘Do you think?’ Bosey sounded mischievous. ‘I don’t. I think it’s Stooks trying to play the plebeian card. Anyway, tell him from me, he’s a prat and to call me.’
‘I will. Actually, listen, Bosey, I’ve been meaning to get in touch. You and Stella must come over soon. It’s been ages.’
‘That’s because Stooks is always so busy hanging out
with Jonathan Ross and Alan Carr.’ Was there an edge to Bosey’s voice? Before Jake had shut down his Facebook account some of his old school friends had been rather snarky about his change in fortune. The landline started ringing. ‘Bosey, I have to go, there’s a call waiting. I’ll text Stella and put a date in. Hello?’
‘Rosie,’ said Yolande’s voice. ‘Have you read the interview with Perry in the
Comet
?’
‘Um, not yet. I’ve only just heard about it. I’ll have a—’
‘Comprehensive school, indeed! He went to the best school money could buy, and thrived there. We put all our money into the children’s education, that’s why … well, never mind. And why do they say you’re still living in that horrible Neasden? Did he do the interview before you moved?’
‘Journalists make things up,’ Rosie said, still trying to google the darn thing but her phone had misread ‘comet’ as ‘comic’.
‘But surely not to this extent!’ Yolande exclaimed. ‘I mean, did he really say he was a fish out of water at school? He was so popular.’
‘I have no idea what he said. I wasn’t there.’
‘He was desperate to go to Oxford,’ Yolande continued. ‘I remember him working all summer holiday before he applied to have the relevant experience. And the stuff about him not fitting in there … he adored the place. Still, it’s a lovely photo of him. They’ve done something to his hairline … and how lovely that he’s
been taking the boys into the Essex woodlands, I didn’t know he did that.’
‘
What?
’ Jake was the man who thought nature was all about sticks and things that sting you, whose idea of entertaining the boys was to hand over the iPad and then lie on a sofa with an eye mask on. Her phone was beeping again. ‘Sorry, Yolande, that’ll be Jake on the other line, I have to go …’
‘Just tell the boys that I went out with Dorothy and her little granddaughter the other day. It turns out she’s learning the piano. Not Dorothy. The granddaughter. Have you thought about Toby taking up the piano, only—’
‘Yolande, I have to go, we’ll talk about piano another time.’
‘It says he has all this work lined up. He doesn’t. Only the next
Archbishop Grace
. He’s keeping his options open.’
‘Like I said, papers get loads of things wrong.’
‘You are still coming to the party? Fraser will be there after all. We rearranged his flights for him.’
‘Of course! Sorry, I have to go. Hello?’
‘Oh, hello, Rosie?’ A woman’s voice. Light, friendly. Probably one of the book-club mums.
‘Yes,’ Rosie replied warmly. ‘Sorry if I sound a bit harassed, I was talking to my mother-in-law and—’
‘Mothers-in-law, oh tell me about them. It’s Isobel Orchard from the
Sentinel
here.’ She spoke as if Rosie were an old, old friend. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine. Um. Do I know you?’
Isobel ignored this pertinent question. ‘I
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