Dinner

Asparagus, simple, she only had to steam it.  With hollandaise, already made.  Spring lamb noisettes stuffed with pine nuts and goat’s cheese and encrusted with herbs, done by the butcher.  New potatoes, crushed with butter, garlic and olive oil.  A salad from the garden.  Dark chocolate tart, bought, strawberries if she could find any, vanilla ice cream, also bought.  Plenty of wine.  Stilton and grapes.  More wine, smoking, it would all be fine.  Olives and nibbles beforehand.  Paul on the aperitifs.  The bus moved off in front of her and she put the car into gear.  Outfit.  Casual.  Doesn’t matter.  Something comfortable.  Black dress and gold earrings.  It was going to be fine.  Mending bridges was a good idea.  They were all grownups and Sarah was still with the guy, Ben.  Katia checked the mirror and indicated left.  So she’d fallen in love with someone else.  So what?  These things happened even if it was cack-handed and awful at the time.  She accelerated up the hill and settled down again, her hands relaxed on the steering wheel, the hedgerows thick with cow parsley.  Sarah probably should have told Will a lot sooner but who were any of them to judge?  It had been impossible.  Affairs were always dirty.  At least she hadn’t drawn any of them into it, at least she’d kept it to herself.  It had been a massive shock to everybody, it had broken up more than just a marriage.  The sun was dead ahead, she squinted and pulled down the visor.  Pulling her work from the gallery was the most heroic thing she’d ever done.  She was still waiting for Will to thank her but all he’d done since Sarah left him was cry on their sofa.  She paused in a siding to give way to a car coming the other way.  He’d stopped crying recently so it was time.  She smiled and nodded as the car passed.  She hadn’t planned it but she’d always felt a bit terrible for Sarah, even though it was awful.  It’s one thing to run off with someone and quite another to lose all your friends in the process.  She’d probably been incredibly lonely. 

Katia parked the car outside the house and lifted Percy from the back seat.  He was asleep, she could see through the grill him lain out, zonked by anaesthetic.  Silly cat.  He’d needed stitches.  She carried him into the house and set his box gently down in the airing cupboard.  She’d already put a bowl of water there and some food.  The vet had said he’d wake up in an hour or so.  She opened the plastic hatch and turned off the airing cupboard light.  He’d be safe in there.  He could sleep for as long as he liked.  She looked at her watch as she went downstairs.  Just past six.  Two hours.  She opened the windows in the dining room to air it and got out the placemats.  Everyone was more at home in the kitchen but there wasn’t room.  Maybe she’d been mad to make a party of it.  Maybe she should have just asked Sarah and Ben to macaroni cheese by the Aga and have done with it.  Too late now.  They were eight including her and Paul.  The other couples were local friends she’d thought were a safe bet.  None of the gang.  She didn’t want to put Sarah through that and the others would have put their foot down anyway, like Paul had tried to.  They hadn’t liked Sarah from the start, they’d only put up with her for Will’s sake.  They wanted a report, obviously.  Gossip was gossip but as far as peace making went, Katia was on her own.  Maybe it would be a one off.  It wasn’t like she wanted to rekindle anything, she just wanted Sarah to know that unlike the others, she, Katia, was a grown up and the past was the past.  Everyone makes mistakes. 

Once the placemats and napkins were out she had to use the silver; it would look odd not to.  Maybe she should use the kitchen plates or not wear any make up, kick off her heels after the lamb or wear her glitter pumps, tone it down a bit.  She went into the kitchen, got a jug from the dresser, filled it with water, placed it in the centre of the dining table on a silver coaster and went out into the garden for sprigs of orange blossom.  Paul was in the dining room when she returned.  He said, “Is the Queen coming?”  She put the sprigs in the jug and shut the windows again.  “It would be better if you helped me.”  Grand, yes but it also looked beautiful.  What the hell.  She’d use the crystal glasses.  She liked making an effort.  It would be over tomorrow, she could report back to the others and she’d have done her bit.  She didn’t want to be churlish that’s all, it didn’t sit right with her.  It was a peace offering and then they could go their separate ways and her conscience would be clean.  She didn’t like gang mentality.  Paul called it loyalty.  He followed her to the kitchen. She moved him out of the way to get the dish for the asparagus.  “Did you get the wood?” 

He picked the kettle from the Aga and filled it.  “We won’t need a fire.”

She crouched before the dresser, unable to decide between the large white oval and the blue porcelain.  “But it’ll be nice to have it laid.”

“Are we going to move through?” 

She picked the blue porcelain.  “And the vermouth.  Did you get that?” 

He put his arms around her waist and kissed her neck as she snapped asparagus tips. “I got all of it my darling.”

“Okay,” she moved a little to get him off, put the asparagus ready in the steamer and went over to the larder. 

Paul took the hissing kettle off the heat.  “How’s Percy?” 

“Upstairs.  Flat out.”  She ran the potatoes under the tap.  “Silly boy. That was his ninth.”

“Eighth,” Paul corrected.  “The roof, that car, the barbed wire,” he ticked them off on his fingers, “the other car, that dog -.”

“He’s got a dog.”

“Who?”

“Ben.  The guy.”

“So?”

“So nothing.  I was just thinking.”

Paul poured them both a cup of tea and rolled a cigarette.  “I can’t believe you’re making me meet him.” 

“It’s a Mastiff.  She told me she fell in love with the dog first.”

“I really don’t care.” 

“I think it was a relief for her to be able to talk about it.”

“When did you see her?” 

“I mean in the emails.”

“I thought that was to do with work,” he dug around in his pocket for a lighter.

“It was.  I couldn’t exactly say, please arrange for the plinth to be delivered on Friday, regards, Katia.”

“You could.”

“Well I didn’t.  She might not have done it for a start.”

“She had to do it.  It was already bought.  It was her fault it wasn’t delivered in the first place.”

“They didn’t want it in the first place.”

“You’re sticking up for her.”

“I just don’t think it’s right to be so cold.  Either have no contact at all or be nice about it.”

“The first one,” he exhaled a long line of smoke.

“Oh get over yourself.  Will wasn’t Mr. Perfect.  It didn’t just happen to him.  If he’d bothered listening rather than trying to turn her into his mother he’d have noticed that she’s not the mothering type.  The fact that it took him forever to persuade her to marry him in the first place should have told him something about how she felt and he never listened.  He went on and on about sharing responsibilities but he was asking her to give up everything she’d worked for and have his babies while he carried on being him, mooching about and dreaming of putting his feet up.”  She skirted round Paul, carrying the lamb carefully in front of her.  “She was frustrated.  I’d be frustrated if you treated my work like a hobby.”

“You wouldn’t let me.”

“Well she couldn’t stand it that’s all and then she fell in love with Ben or his dog or whatever and there was someone who took her seriously.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about it.”

“We’ve been emailing, that’s all and I don’t know an awful lot about it I’m just guessing from what she’s said and what I knew before.  You’re forgetting how much time we spent together.”

“All right, all right, she was your new best friend and now you want to show her that you’re better than the rest of us.  I get it.  I still can’t believe you’re making me meet the guy, that’s all.  You could have gone over there, met her for coffee, I don’t care.”

“I’m not making you meet him.  I’m doing the civil thing and inviting them round for dinner.  Will’s got all of us.  Who’s she got?  You just have to be in the same room as him for a few hours, shake his hand, get him a drink,”

“I’m not shaking his hand.”

“All right, don’t.  Keep your hands behind your back.  Serve him a martini with your teeth.”

“I’m not serving him anything. Or her.”

“Oh grow up, Paul.”  She wiped her hands on her apron and looked about the kitchen, wondering what job to do next.  “She was never right for Will.  She’s right for Ben or whatever he’s called.”

“You know he’s called Ben and just because they’re still together it doesn’t mean jack shit.  She was with Will for years.”

“Whatever. Her and Will weren’t right together, you said that all along so I don’t know why you’re being so childish. You’ve got your best friend back and Sarah’s happy.”

“Because she broke my best friend’s heart and she’s a bitch and she did it horribly.”

“You can’t do it nicely.”

“She could have told him as soon as it happened.”

“Maybe she didn’t know as soon as it happened.  It could have been a mistake.”

“I didn’t know mistakes were permissible.  I wish someone had told me.”  He tipped the dregs of his tea down the sink and threw his cigarette stub out the window.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“It’s biodegradable.”

“Jesus, Paul.”  She went outside and knocked the stub off the rose where it had landed.  When she came back in she said, “anyway, you know what I mean.  There’s no nice way to do it, that’s all I’m saying.  She fucked up, she broke his heart, it doesn’t make her a bad person.”

“No,” Paul was on his way out the door.  “Lying about wanting kids with him makes her a bad person.”

It was true.  She’d kept on saying maybe next year, I want to get the gallery established, there’s plenty of time.  Poor Will.  It was that, that had devastated him more than anything. 

The lamb was in its dish, silver foil over it even though Percy was in no state to jump up anywhere.  Asparagus ready to be steamed, hollandaise out to get to room temperature, potatoes rinsed, garlic smashed, salad washed, stilton unwrapped and on the board, pudding out on the side under a plate.  “Strawberries,” she said out loud even though Paul had gone upstairs.  She picked up the colander and went into the garden again.  It had been a beautiful day and was turning into a beautiful evening, warm, the sky scudded with wisps of cloud, a cuckoo called in the wood.  She crouched in the fruit cage and cut strawberries into her hand.  It hadn’t been all Sarah’s fault.  It was stupid to look at it like that.  Nothing was that black and white, except Percy, she heard Paul’s voice in her head.  He always said that.  He knew it made her soften.  She counted the strawberries.  Not really enough but enough for a few on the side of the deep, dark tart to make it look casually pretty.  She stood up and walked back to the house.  It was simple.  She wasn’t going to get all caught up in it again. They’d been over it a million times.  He’d fallen in love with a girl everyone had told him wasn’t right for him.  He’d wanted to settle down, they’d moved out of London, she’d quit her job on the promise that she could open her own gallery, he’d supported her and not just emotionally either, and privately imagined that being in Somerset near all his oldest friends would make her maternal but it was obvious to take one look at Sarah that she wasn’t like that.  She would have got close with the others if she’d wanted what they had but she’d never shown a moments interest in them or their children.  She’d opened her gallery and hung out with Katia and Paul.  Their foursome was the no kids half of the gang.  It should have been obvious.  

Paul was lying on their bed when she got upstairs.  She said, “You’re going to have a shower, right?”

“I thought I’d intimidate him with my manly scent.”

“Lovely for Pru and Gareth.”

“You haven’t asked them have you?”

“You’ve seen the table.  Pru and Gareth, Sarah and Ben, us and Nell and Jay.  I thought Gareth might get on with Sarah, they’re both in the art world and Jay’s techi so he and Ben can get on.”

“I thought Ben hired teepees to idiots.”

“Yes, but festivals, dj’s, it’s all the same thing.”

“No it’s not.”

“Please take your shoes off.”

“It seems like a bloody stupid effort to me.”

“You don’t wash the sheets.”

“I meant tonight,” his shoes dropped one after the other to the carpet.

“It’ll be fun.”

“No it won’t.”

“When was the last time we had a dinner?”

“I’ve wiped it from my memory.”

“Ages.  Probably before Will and Sarah even arrived.”

“Probably for Will and Sarah’s arrival.”

“Oh yes.”  She’d held a welcoming dinner for them.  The whole gang had come.  “Well anyway, it needs doing.”

“Not according to Will it doesn’t.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“He’s trying to be fine about it but actually he thinks it’s a really rubbish thing to do.”

“Tell him it was nothing to do with you.”

“I have.  He means you.”

“Will loves me.  He’ll get over it.  I’m not going to invite her to stay.”

“You shower first.” Paul put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

“Why don’t you get out a clean shirt.  Wear your dark blue one.  I’ll be one minute.”  She pulled her hair out of its band and went into the bathroom. 

Under the gushing water, she closed her eyes.  Stone dust fell away from her.  She felt like she needed to lie in an oil bath to have any chance of rehydrating her skin.  Hours in her studio, her ears muffled from the saw of the grinder, her face covered with a mask, her arms aching but she was getting somewhere.  This latest piece was emerging like a Fibonacci sequence from the rock, tendrils like a snail had merged with plant, a sea urchin in the act of exploding, an octopus with a curl at its heart.  Something like that anyway.  She never knew what it was until it was finished.  It was big.  In the past she’d have shown it to Sarah.  She’d passed the gallery the other day and noticed through the window that they’d opened up the back. There were gravel paths and trees in pots.  Somebody already had their work out there.

In her black dress and gold earrings she went to check on Percy.  He blinked in the light and stood up on wobbly legs, his tale like an anchor flattened to the floor as he stepped out of the box and lost balance.  She picked up the bowl of food.  “Here Perce,” she held it near him.  He sniffed and stood up again.  She stroked his head.  “You’ll be all right.  Poor Perce.  When will you ever learn?”  She put the water bowl near him too.  He curled up on the sheepskin rug she’d put there especially, his green eyes on her as she stroked him.  “You’ll be all right.  She stood up and switched off the light.  Lamb on at eight and potatoes at eight-thirty.  Asparagus as they were moving through and Paul faffed about with wine.  Dress the salad, arrange the pudding, light the candles, that was it.  Music?  Too complicated.  Paul would do it. 

“Hello!”  Katia opened the door with a smile and stood back to welcome her first guests.  Not Sarah, thank God - she’d been watching from the kitchen window.  Pru and Gareth.  She wanted Sarah to enter into the fray when it had already started, clinking glasses and introductions, the atmosphere set.  A normal happy dinner party.  No room for anything deeper.  She imagined a quiet word somewhere near the end, a look of thanks and maybe a squeeze of her hand, a silent agreement to behave as if nothing had happened, that they’d all moved on.  “Good to see you.”  She kissed Pru, a whiff of rose, a powdered cheek, the skin pale and thin.  Pru had coiffed her hair and Katia was relieved she’d made an effort in the dining room.  

“Gareth,” said Paul behind her.  The two men shook hands. 

“Come in, come in.  Paul, will you take Pru’s coat?  Lovely dress.  Come and have a drink.  Oh, there’s Nell,” another car drew to a halt on the gravel.  “Paul will you take them through?  Paul’s in charge of drinks.”

“Where do you want this, old man?”  Gareth held up a bottle of red.  He called Paul old man every time they met.  It annoyed the hell out of him but Katia always made a point of saying hello at the village fair. It was good to have local friends even if they weren’t cool. Pru looked after the church and Gareth had been in banking.  They were on the Parish Council.  She used to sail and he’d become a private collector.  Their converted barn was a gallery in itself.   They followed Paul down the hall while Katia stood on the doorstep and waved to Nell who emerged from her car a sea of red hair and freckles.  They’d met over a fence out walking and bonded over Giacometti.  “Hi!”  She tottered over in heals.  “The wine Jay,” she looked behind her.

“Coming.”  He was bent into the back seat. 

“Lovely to see you.  Look at those shoes,” said Katia.

Nell showed them off.  “Vivienne.  I couldn’t resist.  Am I overdressed?”

“Not at all,” Katia looked at her own bare feet.  “I’ve been cooking.  Come on in.”

“I do love your home,” Nell paused in the hall.

Katia’s heals were on the stairs where she’d left them when she’d decided to wear her sparkly pumps but then forgotten and gone into the kitchen barefoot.  She held the banister rail as she put them on.  “It’s getting there, isn’t it?”

Nell touched the grey blue walls.  “I love this colour.”

“Isn’t it?” Katia stood up two and a half inches taller.  The colour, the hall, her home; all of it was lovely.  They both admired the broad staircase and flagstones, the lantern hanging from the ceiling that she’d found at a car boot sale, the copper umbrella stand from Paris, the muted grey panelling and smell of warmth.  “There’s always something to add.  Look.  I found this the other day.”  She showed Nell the skull of a bird.

“One of Percy’s dinners?”

“Christ,” said Katia.  “You know he’s upstairs completely zonked out.”

“Did they operate?”

“Just stitches.  They think it was a fox.  Jay,” she smiled at Nell’s husband, all battered jacket, jeans and handsomeness.

“That’s his best dressing up,” said Nell.

“You know me,” said Jay, spreading his arms. 

Katia kissed him.  “You look lovely.”

“Where’s your man?  I’ve got something to show him.”

“If it’s about Glastonbury then I don’t want to know.” Katia led her guests into the sitting room even though she didn’t feel like it.  She looked at her watch.  Maybe they weren’t coming.  She left Paul to the introductions and went to check the meat.  She had to take it out in five minutes.  She may as well stay there.  Paul could cope.  With her hands in oven gloves she stood absently staring at the gravel drive beyond the kitchen window. 

A beeper went and she nearly jumped out of her skin and thought it was the phone till she checked and remembered.  The meat.  The potatoes.  Everything.  Dinner party.  Shit.  The lamb came out of the oven sizzling and smelling divine.  She covered it loosely in foil.  She checked the potatoes and drained them, letting them sit and release their steam while she warmed olive oil, garlic, salt and chives in the pan.  There was chatter and the clinking of glasses coming from the sitting room and the sudden sound of a car crunching to a halt outside.  Katia waited for the man in the driving seat to turn off the engine and get out, get a view of him when they’d think no one was looking.  She saw Sarah glance up at the house through the windscreen and say something to him, probably here we go.  She saw him lean over and kiss her.  Katia looked away.

She opened the front door as they reached the steps.  Sarah had her arm outstretched for the knocker.  “Oh,” she nearly fell in through the door. 

“Oh, sorry!”  Katia laughed with her.  “I saw you through the window.”  They were off to a good start, they were already laughing as if they’d seen each other yesterday.  She looked more relaxed than Katia had expected.  Hair in a ponytail, hardly any make up, jeans but her face too, a bit plumper maybe, a bit younger, less strained.  She looked like she had, after all that, actually started settling down.  Katia made a bold and confident move to hug her like normal and Sarah hugged her back, the bottle of wine in her hand pressed into Katia’s back.  Over her shoulder she saw the man, Ben, looking strained.  A leather leash was wrapped around his hand and his arm was being pulled out of its socket by a huge, soft brown dog that bounced and strained against its collar.

“You’re all dressed up,” said Sarah as a shot of laughter came from the sitting room and Paul emerged carrying an ice bucket.  “Oh God, Kat,” she looked at her jeans and put her hand up to her hair.  “I didn’t know it was a party, they’re not -”

“No, no, just a few friends, you’ll like them, I thought -” she trailed off.

“This is Ben,” said Sarah quickly, her hand on his arm.  Average height, blonde hair thinning.  He offered his other hand, the one that wasn’t being constricted by the leash.  Katia shook it sideways.  He too was in jeans and faded shirt, his boots scuffed and muddy.

Sarah said, “I thought it was kitchen supper.  We can go.”

“No, no, Christ, it’s fine.  It’s only a few local friends and us.  I just thought we’d be more comfortable in the dining room and then you know how it is.  I always get carried away.  You look fine.”

“Really?” 

“Really,” said Katia smiling.  She looked at the dog.

“This is Conner,” said Sarah touching its head.  “But we can leave him in the car, can’t we Ben?”

“Sure,” said Ben, of course we can.  No problem.”  He turned away.

“I spend all day in heals,” said Sarah.  “I didn’t think.  I should have known when I saw the other cars.  I thought Paul might be working or something.”

“No, no, friends.”  She’d said dinner, hadn’t she?  Come for dinner.  She’d check the email later if she remembered.  Still, it was okay.  Jay was in jeans.  What they all needed was a martini.

“Have you left a bowl of water?”  Said Sarah when Ben came back.

“The windows are open,” said Ben.

“But it’s too hot, don’t you think?  You should leave the boot open.”

“He’ll jump out,” said Ben.

“I’ll check on him.  God, sorry Kat, I really didn’t know.  We’d have left him with the neighbours.”

They reached the sitting room.  Ben and Sarah stood behind Katia as if she was their parent introducing them at a birthday party.  She practically had to shove them forward.  Thank God for Nell who got up from the collapsing sofa that had almost swallowed Pru.

“I think I’m stuck here for life!” said Pru, a martini spilling in her hand.

“Have another olive,” said Paul, taking Nell’s place.

“Nell,” said Nell, holding out her hand to Ben.

“And this is Sarah,” said Katia.

“These martinis are lethal,” said Nell, leading Sarah to the drinks table where the olives, shaker, vermouth, ice and vodka were strewn about the damp cloth.

“Ben, come and meet Jay,” said Katia.

Jay was at the windows to the garden talking to Gareth who held his martini glass as if he’d rather a whisky.  Jay smoked a roll up.  The smoke blew back in.

“Gareth, Jay, meet Ben.  Ben runs Glamp It Up.”

“The teepees?” said Jay.  He had no free hand so he raised his glass.

“Right,” said Ben.

“Another festival goer,” said Gareth.

“What’s that noise?” said Paul, standing up and sending another wave of martini over Pru’s hand. Above the chatter and Alabama Three came the sound of howling. 

“I’ll go,” Sarah was already halfway across the room..

“What is it?” said Pru, looking up at Katia.

“I think it’s their dog,” said Katia, leaning a little down to her.  It was enough to wake Percy.  Thank God she’d shut the airing cupboard door.

“Can’t they bring it in?”

“I think it’s a bit big.”

“Sounds like a wolf,” said Gareth from across the room.

“He’s a Mastiff,” said Ben. 

“How old?” said Gareth.

“Is there a trick to this Katia?”  Nell held up the shaker.

Paul had gone outside with Jay, the garden doors stood open, they sat on the low wall looking at some gadget in Jay’s hand.

“‘Scuse me,” she stepped round Ben and Gareth.  “Paul?  Nell can’t get the shaker open.”

“A puppy, really.  Fourteen months,” said Ben.

“My father used to have wolfhounds,” said Gareth.

“Ben?” Sarah came in from the hall.  “Sorry Kat, everyone, Ben?  Can you come?”

“Is he all right?” said Katia joining Sarah.

“He doesn’t like being left alone,” said Sarah.

“Bring him in,” cried Pru from the sofa.  All Katia could see was her cream silk sleeve and hand of paper-thin skin raised as if she was calling orders to shore.  Too many martinis.

“What’s happened?” said Ben.

“He’s torn up your seat,” said Sarah as he followed her out of the room. 

The lamb.  The potatoes.  Shit.  Maybe they should just go through.  In the kitchen Katia checked everything for the hundredth time.  All good.  Lamb warm and resting, potatoes crushed and garlicky, salad dressed.  Should she put the asparagus on now?  No, wait.  Wait till they’re sitting down.  It only takes five minutes.  Through the window she saw Ben and Sarah get the dog out of the car.  He bounced and strained in their hands, Sarah held him as Ben inspected the seat.  She couldn’t hear what they were saying.  Sarah knelt down and cuddled the dog’s head.  Ben leant on the roof of the car.  Katia moved aside a little in case they looked her way but they were too busy trying to put the dog back in the car and the dog was too busy trying to stop them. 

Christ.  Okay.  They could shut him in the tv room.  It would be fine.  She’d put paper down.  She went outside.

“I’m so sorry Kat,” said Sarah when she saw her.  “Maybe we should go.”

“No, no really.  It’ll be fine.  Why don’t you bring him in?  We can put him in the tv room.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Ben.

“He’s used to being with us,” said Sarah.

“Won’t he be fine in there?” said Katia.  “We’ll be right next door.”

“He will if you don’t value your furniture,” said Ben.

“But what do you do at home?” 

The dog lay down at Ben’s feet.  Sarah said, “he gets nervous, that’s all.  He sits under the table or whatever, or on his bed.  As long as he can see us.”

“He’s young,” said Ben.

Paul came out of the house.  “I think everyone’s had enough martinis.  Hi Sarah.”  In the sitting room they’d managed to avoid each other.  Katia had done everything she could not to look.

“Paul, hi,” Sarah gave the lead to Ben and came over but stopped about two feet from him; Paul didn’t move at all. They nodded at each other like mutes. Sarah tucked her hands in the back pockets of her jeans.

Paul said, “Shall we eat?”

“And this is Ben, unless you’ve already met,” said Katia.  Better out here.  More space.  They could get their sparring over before dinner.

“Hi,” Ben raised his free hand.

“Right,” said Paul.  “I’ll tell everyone we’re eating then shall I?”  He went back in before she answered.

“Sorry.”  Katia smiled at Ben.

“It was bound to happen,” said Sarah.

“He’s protective,” said Katia.

“Of course he is,” said Sarah.

“He’ll be fine after a few glasses of wine.”

“So,” said Ben.

“The dog, right,” said Katia.

“He’ll be fine if we can let him sit under the table next to Ben,” said Sarah.  “He can keep him on the leash, can’t you?  Unless you’ve got an old sheepskin or something we can throw in the corner.”

Katia thought about Percy upstairs on the sheepskin.  “You know under the table will be fine.  He’s very handsome.”  She touched his head lightly. 

“And he’s good with cats,” said Sarah, “Ben’s mother has an old Tabby that scares the b’jesus out of him.  How is Percy?  Oh,” she held her hand to her mouth, “he’s still alive, isn’t he?  Have I put my foot in it?”

“Oh gosh, no, yes he’s fine, well not that fine actually, usual Percy behaviour.  He’s upstairs sleeping off half a dozen stitches.  You won’t see him.  Probably better that way anyway.  He’s a bit wobbly.  He’s nearly fifteen.  Can you believe it?”  They’d reached the dining room.  Conner sniffed the chairs.

“I say,” said Pru.  “Is he sitting next to me?”

“You’re down here,” said Paul, pulling out the seat next to him. 

“And me?” said Nell.  Paul patted the one on his other side.  “Oh good.  Shall we sit?”

“Sarah and Gareth at my end, Ben on Gareth’s other side, Jay next to Pru, Nell, you’re on Paul’s left.  Have I got that right?” said Katia.

“Can I help with anything?” said Paul, still standing at his end.  The way he looked at her she could see that later, much later, he was going to kill her but right now he was playing host.

“Wine.”  She could play along right with him.  “And could you shut the garden doors?  Now, is he all right?” she put her hand on Ben’s shoulder as she passed him.  Conner’s tale stuck out, the rest of him was hidden under the table.

“Fine, fine, he’ll be fine,” said Ben, turning his head awkwardly to see her.

“Good, good.”

“Lovely table,” said Nell.  “Can I bring anything in?”

“No, no,” Katia smiled.  “I’m getting the asparagus.  Have some wine.  Paul?”

“White or red?” said Paul as Katia left the room.

Christ.  Dinner parties.  Why did she do it?  She stood in the kitchen watching the steamer.  Never mind.  They’d all get drunk and that would be that.  She was busting for a cigarette but there wasn’t time.

The first course plates were piled by the sink and the carving board was scattered with herb crust.  Katia came back for the mint jelly.  It crossed her mind to check on Percy but she hadn’t started her lamb yet and everyone else was eating.  She’d do it later.  Who’d ever bought the bottle of red she’d been drinking had chosen well.  It was divine.  She should probably stop.  She tottered across the hall and into the dining room.  “Jelly,” she held it up.  Who wanted jelly.”

“Oh lovely, said Pru. 

She leant between Nell and Ben and handed it over the table.

“Delicious,” said Sarah as Katia sat down. 

Katia kicked off her shoes and flexed her toes.  She never felt like eating at dinner parties, especially her own.  She’d rather smoke and admire her work but she dug in anyway, better to help everyone along.  The lamb was delicious.  She’d made it all perfectly.  The garlicky oil in the crushed potatoes complimented the meat, there was just enough seasoning and the salad, not that anyone had touched it, would bring a refreshing zing.  “Salad,” she pointed at the bowl in the middle of the table.  “Will everyone help themselves?  It’s from the garden.”  The candles flickered, the table gleamed and eight happy people ate and chatted and drank.  Seven happy people.  Paul was munching through his evening with one eye on the clock.  She could tell from the way he piled too many potatoes on his fork.  Nell was laughing.  Pru was in a discussion about streaming.  She heard her say, “but what is Spotify?”  Gareth had got on to the time he went to Glastonbury in the eighties and lost his shoes and Ben was listening attentively, a pile of responses building in his face like a choir boy who’d never get to sing.  So that made six happy people.  Never mind.  She smiled at Sarah. 

Sarah smiled back.  “Here we are then.”

“Here we are.”

“It was kind of you to ask me.”

“Not at all.”

“No, really, it was kind.”

“Well you know.  I said, didn’t I?  Nothing’s black and white.”

“Except Percy.”

They both laughed.  That’s right, thought Katia, she and Sarah used to be friends.  She’d been a part of their lives. 

“How’s it been?”

“The gallery?”

“No, no I meant you.  How’ve you been?”

Sarah put down her fork.  “Well, you know, pretty awful really.  I mean Ben,” she looked at him and smiled, “he’s great.  I told you he was great, didn’t I?  I mean, I don’t mean perfect but, you know, we suit each other.” They could speak privately and freely down their end.  Everyone was chatting, Paul had put his music on shuffle - the dinner party mix that swapped Edith Piaf for Bob Dylan followed by Massive Attack.

He seems nice,” said Katia.

“He is what he is,” said Sarah.  “He’s a good guy.”

Katia remembered the hours they’d spent at her kitchen table, Sarah with her knees up, smoking endless fags, talking about Will.  “But the rest of it?”  She may as well know.  

Sarah raised her eyebrows and exhaled slowly.  “Pretty bad.”

Katia nodded.  “It was a shock to everyone.”

“It was a shock to me,” retorted Sarah.  “I didn’t know it was going to happen.  I wasn’t looking for it.”

“You were unhappy..”

Sarah leaned back in her chair.  “I was fucking unhappy.  I suppose the others aren’t talking to me.”

“They’re still sore.”

“They’ll always be sore.  Sorry.  I know they’re your friends and they’re Will’s friends.  It was always going to be like that.  I didn’t mean to cause such a -” she rubbed her forehead.  “How is he?”

“Bruised.”

“Still?”

“Yes, Sarah, still.”  Katia collected herself. “You know Will.  He’s a lover not a fighter.”

“You always said that about him.”

“We knew him better than you did.”

There was a kerfuffle down the table and both women looked.  Ben had pushed his chair back and his arm was being pulled down so that his chin was the same height as Gareth’s elbow.

“He can smell the meat,” said Ben, pulling himself upright again.  Conner’s enormous head appeared on his lap.

“Maybe you should take him outside,” said Sarah.

“Does he want something to chew on?” said Katia.  “I can give him some bread, or -”

“Have you any carrots?” said Sarah, “or, Ben, isn’t there one of his chews in the car?”

“He can have the scraps when we’re finished,” said Katia.  “Maybe you could put him in the garden for a bit?  Paul will help you.  Paul?”  Katia called down the table at her husband.  “Can you help Ben?”  Paul and Nell looked round.  “There’s bread in the kitchen, not the loaf under the cloth, there’s a heel in the bread bin,” continued Katia.  “He can have that.  He can sit in the garden, can’t he?  Use one of the seat covers.  They’re old.  And you can loop his lead over the fence post by the wall, I mean, tie it round.  Paul will show you.  It’s not going to rain, is it?”  She looked through the window behind her.  “Has he got a coat?”

“He’s a bloody dog,” shouted Gareth. 

“I meant for a quick run and a pee,” said Sarah.

“His father had wolfhounds,” said Pru to Sarah, leaning forward to speak past Jay.

“Do you want a hand?” said Jay, getting up.

Christ, thought Katia.  Her dinner party broken up by a bloody dog.  It would all be fine.  She watched Paul do his duty and Ben and the dog follow him out of the room.  “No, no, Jay.  You’re fine.  He’s a bloody dog.”  She laughed with Gareth and turned quickly to Sarah, “Men make such a fuss.”

“He’s only young,” said Sarah.

Katia gave up on her plate and fetched her tobacco from the window seat.  When she sat down again, Gareth had refilled her glass. 

“How’s the sculpture?” 

He always called it the sculpture like she was forever working on one piece.  He was yet to buy any.  “Hard, you know.”  She scratched the back of her neck.

“Did you finish the colossus?” said Sarah.

“Half, almost.  It’s changed quite a lot.”

“What I need is something for that corner of the garden by Pru’s bench.”  Gareth got out his cigarettes.

“There is more,” said Katia.  She almost called it down the table but found she couldn’t be bothered.  She was too tired.

“It was delicious,” said Gareth lighting a Marlboro. 

Katia got another ashtray from the sideboard.  “What sort of piece?”

Gareth blew out a plume of smoke.  “Something large.  White.  To go with the river.”

“What about that piece you made last year, Kat - the spear?  Do you still have that?” said Sarah.

No one else called her Kat. “It’s in the studio.”

“You’d love that,” said Sarah to Gareth. 

It was one of the ones she’d had to pull.  It had sat in her studio ever since.  Too big to put anywhere. 

“Not that I know your taste,” Sarah continued, “but it’s a brilliant, beautiful piece of arching joy.  I always thought it looked like it was in the act of diving into water, like a reed about to drop its head.”

Sarah described her work so well.  Like she knew it and loved it like Katia did.  “I’ll show it to you,” she said, smiling at Gareth.

“Do,” said Gareth.

Ben and Paul came returned and the table dissolved into cigarettes and more wine.  Nell and Jay cleared the plates.  “There’s cheese,” Katia managed to call to their departing backs.  Fuck it.  Her job was done.  “Sarah has the gallery at the bottom of Coombe Street, Gareth.”

“Lincoln & Marc,” said Sarah. “I used to be in London but there’s such a scene here, the chance of running my own place was irresistible,” she smiled and quickly stopped.  “Other reasons too, obviously.”  She looked at Katia.  “But it’s exciting to be part of a hub like this.  We showed Katia.” 

“I remember,” said Gareth.  “Red dots galore.”

“Who’ve you got it in?” said Katia.

“Oh,” Sarah retreated, hesitant.  “Well we’ve got a lovely girl from Bath showing woodcarvings and I’m right in the middle of seducing this amazing Moroccan painter who we’re desperate to have.”

“And you’ve opened up the garden,” said Katia.

“Yes,” Sarah looked surprised.  “Have you seen it?”

“Are you open on Wednesdays?” said Gareth.

“You must come and see, I mean only if you want,” said Sarah to Katia.

“Wednesdays I like to take the afternoon off.  Do a little shopping.”

“I’d love to,” said Katia.

Gareth was drunk and the rest of the table was in disarray.  Jay and Paul stared at Paul’s laptop, their faces white lit.  Nell had moved next to Pru and Ben was looking at his watch.

“I’ll make coffee,” said Katia.

“I’ll help you,” said Sarah following her to the kitchen. 

The chocolate tart had an unappealing flag to it despite it’s pretty dish and surrounding of strawberries.  Too much wine, too many nerves.  Maybe the others would like it.  She could serve it in thin slices with espresso. 

“Pudding as well,” said Sarah, sitting automatically at the kitchen table, a habit of years. 

Katia leant against the Aga.  “That was the best show I ever had.”

“It was the best show the gallery ever had.  Your guest list was like a who’s who of the county.  I couldn’t ever compete with that.  I can’t decide if they stay away because of what happened or because the work isn’t as good.”

“I never told people to stay away.”

“It’s a small town, Kat.”

“But I would never let personal get in the way of work.”

“You pulled your work out.”

“I had to.”

“And took your little black book with you.  We’re really struggling.”

“I didn’t want to, you know.”

“I know you didn’t.  I know.  I just miss you, that’s all.  I miss the work, I miss the company, we were a good team.  You know someone asked after one of your pieces and I had to tell them we weren’t in touch anymore.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I couldn’t.  It was when it was all going on.  I thought I’d better just leave it all alone.”

“Jesus, Sarah.”

“It’s not too late, you know.”

“I thought you had some girl from Bath.”

“They’re only small.  We want you, Kat, we want you back.”

Katia bit her thumbnail.  The coffee erupted into the sound of a steam train.  “I don’t know.  Paul would kill me.  And Will, and the others.”

“I’m here aren’t I?  And what’s it to them?  Don’t they want you to succeed?  All your life, all those years we talked at this table, all you ever wanted was to get your work out there, get a foothold.  I’m the foothold and you’ve got the contacts.  Come on, Kat.  They wouldn’t want you to fuck your career for some stale piece of loyalty that doesn’t mean anything anymore.  We don’t have to be best friends.  We can help each other.  If they love you they’ll want what’s best for you.”

Katia poured them each a cup, ignoring her dinner party and lighting a cigarette.   “I’ve felt completely stifled since I brought the work back.  It’s sitting in my studio, piling up in corners.  I can’t get it out anywhere, I can’t move.  I couldn’t believe it when it happened.  I felt like kicking you and kicking Will.”

“I don’t think you have to choose anymore.  I’ll keep my distance, I promise.  We can be professional.”

“Paul will go fucking nuts, you know that?”

“Who cares,” said Sarah, they both laughed, their hands up to their mouths, co-conspirators again. 

A crash and pounding feet upstairs made Katia’s hand fly out, catch her coffee cup and send it crashing to the ground. “Jesus Christ, what was that?” Both women left the kitchen and ran into Ben who came flying along the hall.  He slowed to a casual fast walk when he saw them. 

“What is it?” said Sarah.

“Have you seen Conner?” He held the leash and empty collar.

“Wasn’t he -” Sarah looked at the collar, Katia looked up the stairs.  She ran.  Ben and Sarah ran after her.  From the end of the upstairs corridor she could see the airing cupboard door was open.  She hadn’t left it open, had she?  She thought she’d shut it.  It had a latch, no dog, however big, could have opened it.  She was sure she’d shut it.  She switched on the light and there was Percy’s sheepskin rug, Percy’s box, his empty bowl of food, no water and no Percy.  She doubled back along the corridor to her bedroom. 

Conner rolled on her bed, his enormous jaws clamped around the black and white body of the cat which hung limp and toy-like, unresisting as he rolled and chewed and pulled at it between enormous paws and gigantic teeth. “Conner,” shouted Ben.

“Jesus Christ,” cried Sarah.  Katia just stood.  More feet up the stairs.

Paul’s voice behind her.  “Fuck.”

Conner bounded up to Ben who grabbed him by the scruff but Conner wrestled and got away.  He leapt between them, along the hall and down the stairs.  A chair fell over in the dining room as he madly circled the table, Nell screamed and Pru knocked over a wine bottle.  In the sitting room Conner’s legs got tangled in the leads from Jay’s speakers, drawing them taut and tying in the coffee table as he pushed past it, sending martini glasses flying.  Gareth, snoozing gently in an armchair, woke to his legs being used as a springboard for the garden doors which swung open as Conner crashed against them.  Paul ran, Ben ran, Sarah, Nell and Pru made it as far as the lawn, Jay got down on his knees and pulled at wires and Gareth said, “what?” but Katia stood.  She just stood.  Then she made them all come in and have pudding.

“I really think we should go,” said Ben.

“Kat,” Sarah put out her hand and withdrew it again quickly.

“I’ll have some,” said Gareth.

“Let me get the plates,” said Nell.  “Jay, leave that, just come and help.”

“I could put on a requiem,” said Jay.

“That’s not funny,” said Nell.

“Poor you,” Pru took Gareth’s seat and touched Katia’s wrist.

“Have you chopped its balls off?” said Gareth to Ben.

“Sit down, Ben,” said Paul.  “Have some tart.”  He shoved a huge slice down the table at him.

Sarah sat beside him, on the edge of her chair, easy to leave.  “I’ll share it with him.”

“I think you should have your own slice,” said Paul. 

“Jay darling, be a love and get the ice cream would you?  And the coffee.  Or shall we just drink ourselves sick?  Yes,” Katia decided to answer her own question.  “Let’s drink.  Gareth, would you open another?”

“Got to drive, you know,” he stood up anyway. 

The table fell silent.  Chocolate tart was forced down unwelcoming throats.  Sarah’s head was bent to her plate, half a strawberry stuck to her fork but her fork wasn’t moving.

“He was fifteen,” said Katia.

“You should have that dog shot,” said Paul. 

“We got him when we first moved here, didn’t we Paul?  A little stray kitten from the newsagent.”

“I really, we, we really are very sorry, Kat, Katia, Paul,” Sarah addressed Paul for the second time that night.

“I’ll bet you are,” said Paul.

“It wasn’t our fault exactly,” began Sarah, “I mean, we didn’t know, we wouldn’t have brought -”

“You brought a bloody maniac into our house,” said Paul.

“You invited us over,” said Sarah.

“Katia invited you to dinner.  Who brings a bloody dog?”

“We didn’t know.”

“You shouldn’t take that dog anywhere,” said Gareth.

“Would it help if we offered to get you -”

“No it bloody wouldn’t,” shouted Katia, slamming her hand down on the table.  “You can’t just replace one thing with another, an old cat for a new one, one old life for another new life, can you Sarah.  You can’t just swap around as if it’s a market, a bring and buy, chuck out the old loves, bring in the new.  Everything gets ruined, doesn’t it?  Everything.  You move one thing because it doesn’t suit anymore and all the pieces fall.  You can’t replace things.  When they’re gone they’re gone.”  She was shaking.  She wiped her nose on her napkin.  “Where’s my tobacco?”

“I’ll get it,” said Nell.

“People’s lives, Sarah.  People’s lives.”  She couldn’t get her sentence to go further than that.

Pru leant towards Jay and said, “I don’t think she’s talking about the cat.”

“Of course I’m not talking about the bloody cat,” shouted Katia and this time she cried.

“We’re going to go,” said Sarah.

“Us too,” said Jay.

“We’d better scram,” said Gareth.

She didn’t say goodbye to Sarah.  To Pru she gave a kiss and Gareth said, “love to come to your studio one of these days,” as he put on his coat.  Nell hugged her and Jay gave her shoulder an awkward squeeze.  After they were gone Katia went back into the dining room, the mess, her seat at the end of the table, her wine glass.  The candles burnt low.  They’d already put him in a box, what was left of him, prised out of Conner’s jaws by group effort.  The stitches had looked pathetic beside the ripped gullet and half a head, the chewed paws and one leg missing.  Paul put him up on the rafters in the shed so that the foxes wouldn’t get him overnight.  They’d bury him in the morning.  She lit a cigarette and stared at the candle flame.  “Good dinner?” said Paul, coming in.