No Longer Safe(16)

‘I love Where the Streets Have No Name,’ Jodie jumped in, which led to a heated debate about our greatest hits.

‘Mine would have to be I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,’ I said.

‘And have you, Alice?’ Mark asked, over a fork piled high with mince and mash. ‘Found what you’re looking for, that is?’

‘That’s a big question.’ I couldn’t work out if he was trying to make fun of me or not.

‘Come on – tell us. Have you found out what it’s all about, since Leeds?’

‘Well, to be honest, I feel like I’m only just starting out. I’m making serious plans for once, to decide what I really want. I’m going to explore loads of things; teaching, psychology, philosophy. I want to try archaeology, learn kick-boxing.’ I took a breath and realised they were all looking at me. ‘But isn’t it more about the journey you go on, not just stuff you do? Isn’t it about who you become on the way?’

No one made a sound.

‘Nicely put,’ he said eventually, a bit taken aback.

I smiled to myself. There was no way I’d ever have come out with a statement like that when I knew them at Uni. I realised something important. The ‘Alice’ I used to be felt like a long-lost acquaintance to me. Someone I’d felt compelled to leave behind at Uni, who would have held me back if I’d kept her in my life. Since then, not only did I no longer feel a failure, but I’d made friends with the new ‘Alice’.

‘You had that awful stammer back then,’ said Jodie. ‘You seem to have got over that now – thank goodness.’

Diplomacy wasn’t Jodie’s middle name. She had a tendency to speak before thinking – some might even say a honed talent for putting her foot in it. I found her an odd combination of sweet but insincere – earnest in many ways, but also thoughtless.

Karen brought out the crumble. Jodie slid a piece the size of a fig onto her plate. ‘I haven’t got much of an appetite,’ she explained, ‘since Mum died.’

‘Oh, God – I’m so sorry,’ I said.

Jodie hadn’t shown any obvious signs of grief; although perhaps that was why I sensed her frivolity was an act. She must have been covering up her feelings admirably.

‘It was kind of expected,’ she said. ‘She’d been ill for ages.’

‘Still,’ said Karen with gravitas. ‘It’s a big thing to cope with.’

Jodie licked her lips and half-shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

She didn’t reflect for long. ‘Do you remember that guy my textiles tutor hung around with…the one with the false leg?’

And so it went on. Meaningless banter. I had flashbacks of Karen, always the centre of attention, looking exquisite. At parties, she would work the room, making sure she shared a song with every individual – male, female, eligible, attractive, or not.

Somehow she managed to find out everyone’s birthday and without fail she’d present them with flowers, a bottle of local ale or some other token on their big day. She was amazing like that – generous and giving of herself. She must have run up terrible debts by the time we left.

By the end of the meal Mark had drunk too much. His head was rolling forward like his neck had turned to rubber and his eyes kept closing. That didn’t stop him reaching out to refill our glasses, but Karen said she needed a clear head for the baby and I put my hand over mine. He topped up Jodie’s and his own, then went to the larder and helped himself to another bottle.

‘We’re on holiday!’ he declared to quell any disapproval.

Jodie was knocking it back, too. Although she’d claimed she loved old rustic places, she had clearly expected more home comforts: ‘I thought there’d be radiators… There won’t be any creepy-crawlies will there…? Anyone brought any fabric softener…? Where’s the tumble dryer?’

She’d already made several complaints about the cold, having brought all the wrong gear: tops with low necks, capri pants, short sleeves. Even her slippers were open-toed, decorated with sequins and feathers. Karen offered to lend her a thick cardigan and I brought down a pair of thermal socks.

‘I don’t wear socks!’ she said and wiggled her bare toenails, which were painted a lurid lime green.

Jodie had brought along various kits for making tiaras and hair combs. When I asked if she made them for a living she said she worked in the jewellery section of a major department store on Oxford Street, but was going to be opening up her own boutique in Notting Hill.

‘Wow – that’s brilliant,’ I said.