Can We Still Be Friends (16 page)

As they walked into the largest of the rooms, expertly lit with a mixture of enormous table lamps, their light filtered through creamy silk shades, and large pillar candles which contributed to the flattering glow, Kendra could see her mother standing by the window with a bald man who seemed to be recounting something that he obviously found tremendously amusing. Alternately nodding and stroking the stem of her wine glass, Marisa was the model of concerned interest. It was, everyone said, amazing how Marisa could get people to tell her things. It was something to do with her knowing how to use silence.

‘Let’s get a drink.’ They pushed their way to a long table covered in a white linen cloth. Around it, people stood chattering, picking at the bowls of olives and pistachios.

‘Miss Kendra.’ Laila’s son, Alessandro, who always helped out on Thursdays, appeared by her side. ‘You like white wine?’ Kendra looked agonized at the way he addressed her.

‘Yes, please,’ jumped in Sal. Gioia nodded. Kendra led the group
back through the throng towards one of the smaller rooms, where Alfie’s startling head of blond curls was apparent. As the trio approached the wide-open double doors between the rooms, Art appeared, his trim frame made somehow smaller by the expansive Gioia next to him.

‘Hi, doll. And you are … Joy?’ Gioia took his hand in greeting. Art then gave Sal a kiss on the assumption – one he often made – that she was somebody he knew even though he had forgotten her name.

‘It’s
Gioia
.’ Kendra spoke crossly.

‘Quite a crowd. Quite a crowd tonight. We have some very, very close friends in town from the West Coast and we thought we’d rustle up a little party for them. We’ve mixed it up with the design gang Marisa’s gotten in with, now she’s doing some whacky charity exhibition. I say to her, “Maris. Make it easy on yourself. Why do these things? You know how it takes it out of you.” But she never hears it.’ He beamed at the notion. ‘You interested in contemporary design?’ he asked Gioia.

‘I’m more of a performance person. Music, dance, theatre – that kind of stuff.’

Sal moved away and stood by one of the long windows, the colour of her skirt a flash of cobalt against the white wall and heavy white curtains. She watched the clusters of guests shift around, gathering and dispersing to re-form a few feet away. Although she didn’t recognize anybody, she didn’t feel threatened. Instead, the evening housed possibility. For a few moments she happily stood alone. It was so different to her own parents’ sitting room, where the dark walls were covered in bookshelves, the few small watercolours invariably awry. She could only remember her parents giving a party once. What could it have been for? She had been impressed by the unfamiliar sound of the doorbell ringing again and again and the bang of the door with arrivals and departures as she sat in her bedroom. She must have been about fifteen.

‘Allow me.’ Sal looked up to see the flame of a lighter held by a man, his pronounced girth covered in a pink sleeveless pullover. ‘I
guess you’re with Art’s girl? Jim.’ He bowed slightly in introduction and lit her cigarette along with one of his own.

Sal knew who he was. Jim McKenzie. A Richard Branson type. It was one of those names that floated around the pages of the papers. He was exactly who she expected she would meet that evening. Was he in film? Publishing? Something like that.

‘Yes – Kendra’s one of my best friends.’

‘You been to one of these before?’

‘No. I don’t think Ken often comes. You know. She’s doing her own thing.’

‘Yeah, and she’s not so keen on her mum’s social vibe, I hear. Anyway. Tell me. Who’s the leather queen with her? She’s quite a piece of work.’

‘Oh, that’s Kendra’s boss. Gioia.’ Sal was certain that this was as far as Kendra would like her to go in explanation.

‘She is? Interesting.’ Jim drew the word out. ‘Come and meet my boy, Ryan. He’s somewhere around the place. More your age than I am, though, you know … I try, I try.’ It was coming to her. She could hear Ollie’s words.

‘Christ. Can you believe it? Katy … you know, the girl I told you about from university. She’s shagging Jim McKenzie. I saw them together at the Virgin bash. She showed me the necklace he’s given her. Tiffany’s, she said. Didn’t look much to me.’ It had been further ammunition for his theory about girls and married men.

Sal was grateful for the attention, particularly from somebody as well known as Jim McKenzie, but was relieved that she wasn’t going to end up having to extricate herself from an embarrassing situation. With his jowels and receding hairline, she couldn’t imagine how anybody of her age could bear to have sex with him. He had to be nearly
fifty
. She followed him across the room to where a young man was seated on the arm of a deep chair talking to a woman with a heavy fringe and the angry face of a Pekinese. He certainly didn’t resemble his father. She took in long legs and a suede bomber jacket.

Jim slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Ryan. I found you some lovely
company. Jill, let’s leave the youth to get acquainted. Chaim’s over there. We should have a word.’

Kendra had left Gioia discussing Coltrane with her father. She was thrown by Gioia’s willingness to engage with him and her own annoyance about it, and walked through the deep architrave over to Alfie and John, who sat squashed on a small straight-backed sofa. At their feet crouched a woman Kendra recognized as one of Marisa’s friends from Pilates, her legs encased in black stirrup pants finished off with the double ‘C’ of Chanel pumps.

‘Kendra. Our favourite girl.’ John stood to embrace her. He looked even more gaunt than he had at Christmas. In contrast, Alfie was rotund, a superannuated choir boy, the effect highlighted by his penchant for bright reds. Tonight it was a turtleneck which gave him the appearance of a supermarket tomato.

‘So, we assume
that
is the mysterious Gioia whom we have heard so little about?’ Alfie raised one well-maintained eyebrow. Kendra had noticed the look Alfie had given John as they saw her arrive; it had been knowing and arch.

‘Hello, Jacquetta,’ she said, appealing to Marisa’s friend as a shield against any awkward questions. ‘Are you still doing Pilates with Mum?’

‘Oh yes. Me and Marisa. Dreas calls us his early birds. We simply swear by him to keep us in one piece. Did she tell you we had Christopher Lambert in the other day on the reformer next to us?’

‘What?’ Alfie shrieked, opening his eyes in exaggerated interest. ‘Tarzan. Ooh … some
girls
get all the luck. Do dish. What’s the body like?’

‘Alfie! Don’t be so trashy. Jacquetta, I am sure, had her mind on higher things.’ John smiled fondly at his partner. Kendra was only partially listening. She could see Marisa had joined Art and Gioia and appeared to be attempting to claim her husband, gesturing towards the other end of the room.

‘Bring her over here.’ Alfie followed Kendra’s gaze. She beckoned to Gioia, who walked through the throng, head held high.

‘Gioia – meet Alfie and John. You know, I told you about them. And this is Mum’s friend Jacquetta.’

‘So, you must be some woman to have captivated our Kendra.’ John smiled kindly. Kendra felt a blush climb up her neck. ‘She tells us that your outfit, the place you run, is quite, quite wonderful. Alfie. Do you remember that unit Patsy had down near Christopher Street when we were in New York? We had a friend who did something a little similar. I don’t know if she’s still there. The neighbourhood’s changing so much.’

Thank God. He had only been referring to the Chapel, and not their relationship. Still, Kendra had had quite enough, but Gioia had removed her jacket and accepted another drink. The crowd was starting to thin out and, in the distance, Kendra saw a glimpse of Sal’s blue skirt as she left the room with Jim McKenzie’s son.

It seemed like ages, but it was no more than twenty minutes later when John said he and Alfie should be going. Alfie had made a date to come and look at the Chapel. He gave Kendra a warm hug goodbye.

‘Now you look after yourself. Call me for a chat sometime. We could have a nice dim sum and you could fill me in on things.’ She watched them leave, John’s jacket hanging loose, even to her inexpert eyes.

‘Some place your family have, Ken,’ Gioia said as they moved towards the stairs. ‘I guess I understand why you didn’t want me to come here. But, you know. We all have to play the game, and they’re not so bad. Well, your dad was fine.’

‘I can’t tell them tonight, Gioia.’

‘Sure. No sweat. Let’s go.’

As they walked down the stone staircase, its broad steps with the indentations she knew from childhood, Kendra was confused by a momentary desire to stay in the house, tucked up in her bed in her room with its familiar view high above the gardens. A door opened, and Sal and Ryan emerged together from the downstairs loo.

‘Hi, Ken. Are you off?’ Sal appeared unembarrassed, unlike Ryan, who hovered lankily next to her.

Kendra turned to see Marisa and Art at the top of the stairs.

‘Where you going, doll? We can get Gioia a cab on the account. No need to see her into a taxi, it’s cold out there.’ They made a stately procession down the stairs towards the foursome.

‘No. It’s OK, Dad. Thanks. Um …’ Kendra grabbed Gioia’s hand. ‘I’m … I’m going home with her. You know, don’t you?’ she said quickly, furiously. ‘You know what’s happening.’ She yanked Gioia out through the front door, which slammed, the sound bouncing harshly off the stone.

‘What the hell – ’ Art stared at the door.

‘
Quién sabe?
’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Marisa. Is Kendra some kind of dyke? What’s going on here?’

They looked at Sal, who, although fizzing with the two lines of coke she had just shared with Ryan, was unsure now which way to move or what to say. She shrugged off any knowledge of her friend’s behaviour, heartily wishing that they had stayed in the loo rather than becoming involved in Kendra’s coming-out scene. The ensuing silence demanded some comment, but for once she was lost for words. And Ryan obviously had no idea what was happening.

Marisa glided back up the stairs to the sanctuary of the tail-end of the party, while Art shuffled down the corridor.

Sal made a bid for the front door. ‘It’s all getting a bit Tennessee Williams. Let’s get out of here before we have to start doing group therapy. I don’t think we need to say our goodbyes.’

The countryside was bursting with the promise of spring when Annie and Kendra pulled up at Letty Brenham’s house for the weekend. Since Jackson was filming in America, Annie had taken the opportunity to suggest to Kendra that she come home with her for the weekend. ‘It’s been ages since we’ve been just us. We can go for some walks and catch up. Mum’ll love looking after us and Sal can come after she knocks off on Saturday.’

The entrance hall of the farmhouse smelt of furniture polish overlaid with drifts of scent from small vases of freesia and narcissi placed as companions to the unchanging tablescapes – silver photo frames, china ashtrays and small ceramic animals, regularly dusted and replaced, just so.

‘I know it’s April but, really, there’s still such a chill, isn’t there?’ Letty showed them into the sitting room, where the fireplace housed a welcoming blaze. ‘How nice to have you girls with me. Kendra, I’ve put you and Sal in the blue room. The bathroom is just down the hall. There are towels on the bed.’

It occurred to Annie that her mother would have been thoroughly thrown if she had realized that Kendra was now having sex with a girl. Certainly she wouldn’t have known
what
to do about ‘the sleeping arrangements’, as she called them.

‘That’s great, Mrs Brenham.’

‘Oh Kendra, I think we know each other well enough by now for you to call me Letty.’

As Letty brushed the wave of her fair hair back from her face, Kendra could see her friend in the older woman. They shared the same light colouring and slim figure, but whereas Annie’s pallor was luscious, her almost clear eyes captivating in the way they took
on reflected colour, Letty was like a tracing, a faint outline that sometimes threatened to fade entirely.

‘I do hope the traffic wasn’t too terrible. I always say to Annie that it would be so much better if she could get on the road by four, and that way she’d miss the worst of it. But you girls with your jobs. She tells me nobody leaves the office until at least six, by which time that bit all around Twickenham is a complete nightmare.’ Letty plumped the square cotton-covered cushions that lined the sofa back. ‘And then poor Sal, she has to work Saturdays, doesn’t she? What time is she arriving tomorrow?’

‘She’s going to call. What’s for dinner?’ Through the window, Annie saw that her mother’s purple hyacinths were still in place. There had been a discussion last spring about whether it would be better to swap them for white.

‘I’ve got a coq au vin in the Aga. There’s only the salad to toss. You two must be starving.’

Kendra sensed that Annie was about to remind her mother, a little late in the day, that she was vegetarian. She shook her head to prevent her. She’d had years of practice hiding pieces of meat under her knife and fork or scooping vegetables out from casseroles. The warmth and undemanding comfort of the house was lovely and she didn’t want anything to spoil it.

The next morning when she came downstairs she found Annie in her dressing gown sitting at the table with her mother, digging into a boxed honeycomb.

‘It’s so nice for me to have you girls here. I’m hoping I might be allowed to meet Annie’s boyfriend one day.’ Both Kendra and Annie knew she had deliberately brought Jackson up between offers of toast, tea and eggs, hoping Annie might be more open on the subject in front of her friend. But the truth was that Annie didn’t really know what to tell her mother, and she certainly couldn’t imagine bringing him home to meet Letty.

The more she was with Jackson, the more she wanted to be with him. She never felt she had had enough of him, and there was
always this horrible empty feeling immediately after they parted. It was ridiculous, she told herself, to be so needy. Not that she told him. Once, as they lay as spoons in his bed, she had made an attempt, speaking into his back.