This Is Your Life by John O'Farrell Page B

behind me. The room was small and private but it was only after twenty seconds or so that I realized with a start that I was not alone. I’d been so preoccupied with my own hunger that I’d failed to notice a woman sitting silently in a chair in the corner. I could tell that she was a guest rather than a waitress, but I couldn’t see her face, nor did she choose to look at me, even though she must have been aware of my presence all this time. She just sat immobile, her face in her hands, not so much in despair but in world-weary exhaustion. Like me, she had evidently come in here to escape.
    â€˜Oh, I’m terribly sorry!’ I blurted out through a mouthful of battered prawn Szechwan. ‘I didn’t see you there . . . I’ll leave you in peace.’
    â€˜No, you’re all right, don’t worry,’ said the voice from behind the hands.
    Her defeated posture reminded me that I was at a funeral. This was someone who had needed to get away from the gossipy cacophony in the main hall.
    â€˜I just needed a moment away from the crowd,’ I volunteered, deciding to put the smuggled supplies to one side for later consumption.
    â€˜I know just how you feel,’ she said, and then she lowered her hands and I recognized her immediately. Back from the cremation and now hiding from the hordes of drunken celebsnext door was Stella Scrivens. I had gatecrashed a celebrity funeral and now I found myself confined in a tiny room with the widow and forced to make small talk.
    â€˜You’re Stella Scrivens, aren’t you?’
    â€˜That’s right, yes. I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you . . . ’
    This was not said in a suspicious or accusing way, but still I could feel the warm rush of blood to my face.
    â€˜Sorry, no, we’ve never met. Jimmy Conway – are you sure you don’t want to be on your own?’
    â€˜No, you’re fine, it’s actually quite nice not to recognize someone. I don’t know half the people here. I just keeping thinking I do because I’ve seen them on the television.’
    â€˜Oh, that’s not just me then?’ I said, and we shared a smile of recognition.
    â€˜No, everyone does it. Even Billy does it,’ and she sighed and corrected herself. ‘Did it.’
    â€˜I’m very sorry,’ I said helplessly.
    â€˜Thanks,’ she said.
    Apart from the embarrassment of talking to the widow at a funeral I had no right to attend, I was doubly discomfited by her almost oppressive loveliness. She was so strikingly beautiful I felt I had to look away, that it would seem like I was staring at a disabled person. She couldn’t help it; it wasn’t her fault she was born that exquisite. I had not been so attracted to anyone for a very long time but something told me I should banish any thoughts of finding out if she was available at the moment.
So, tell me, are you seeing anyone right now?
It might not go down very well.
No need to blub, darling. There’s nothing wrong with being on your own.
No, it definitely felt wrong, I’ve always been a good judge of these things.
    Trying not to be too obvious about my fascination with allthe people who had turned up, I quizzed her a little further about the celebrity guest list.
    â€˜Some of the stars out there didn’t even know Billy,’ she revealed. ‘They’d never even met him, not once.’
    I winced inside, while shaking my head in disbelief at the cynicism of some people. ‘Really?’ I tutted. ‘That’s awful. But then again, you know, the whole country
felt
like they knew him. When you’re as famous as Billy was, it’s like you’re an old friend for people who you didn’t even know existed.’
    â€˜No, it’s not that.’ She smiled. ‘They’re here to get on the front page of the newspapers. To be seen as one of the in-crowd. They’re not here for Billy’s sake or my sake. They