it because he wanted a traditional wife. Lou was such a good listener. She had a way of asking just the right question, or upping the ante with a heartfelt confession of her own. She managed to make Sara feel both entirely normal in her anxieties and utterly exceptional in her talents. “But you’re so gorgeous, I can’t believe you had to shag a bunch of spotty oiks to prove it,” she would say, or “Creativity just oozes from you, Sara; the way you live, the way you raise your kids – I don’t think you realise how inspiring that is to someone like me.”
It was true that Lou had her shortcomings, but this only made her more interesting. Sara had heard her lose it with the children on a number of occasions. She blatantly favoured Dash over Arlo in a way that made Sara wince for the younger boy. Then there was the rather complex matter of Lou’s relationship with Gavin. There was a neediness in the way Lou related to her husband that didn’t seem quite healthy to Sara. Surely one shouldn’t be competing with one’s own children for the attention of their father? Yet Sara saw this happen often. Once, she had been in the kitchen chatting amiably with Gavin while she waited for Lou to get ready. The two women were going to see a film together, though if Lou didn’t get a move on they’d miss the beginning. Gav had been dandling little Zuley on his lap and marching toy farm animals across the table, interspersing adult conversation with a variety of silly moos and grunts that were making the three of them giggle. They were so absorbed that it was a moment or two before they noticed Lou had joined them. Wreathed in perfume and got up like an art-school vamp, she began clattering cupboard doors noisily in what looked, to Sara, like a flagrant bid for attention. And did Zuley, at nearly three years old, really need a bottle of milk thrust into her mouth, mid ‘‘Baaaa,” just so that Lou could pirouette girlishly in front of Gavin and solicit his opinion on her outfit?
Yet Sara wasn’t quite sure she was being objective. The air around Gav and Lou fairly crackled with sexual static and it made Sara envious. If the roles were reversed, would she care what Neil thought of the way she looked? If he were absorbed in a game with the boys – well, first of all she’d pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t seeing things, and then she’d leave while the going was good. No pirouetting, no eyelid-batting. All that was in the past. They’d been married fifteen years, for goodness’ sake. Surely, a certain amount of complacency was natural, desirable even?
Then again… ever since she’d witnessed it, she’d been unable to get that tango out of her mind. It had made her wonder whether all her life she had been doing sex wrong or, worse, with the wrong person. She watched, now, as Lou leaned in to kiss Gavin languidly on the lips. Zuley, eyes rolling with pleasure as she slugged back the milk, reached up a plump fist to grasp her mother’s forearm, but Lou prised the child’s fingers away and gave them a cheerful shake of admonishment.
“Mummy’s got to run,” she said, glancing at the sunburst clock on the kitchen wall. “You’re making Mummy late.”
They arrived five minutes into the film, just as the opening credits were starting. It was a gritty, low-budget number, which had got four stars in the Guardian. Sara took a little while to acclimatise, but half an hour in, she was starting to enjoy it; Lou, on the other hand, seemed to be growing restless. She kept shaking her head and laughing under her breath at things Sara didn’t think were meant to be funny. Finally, after what seemed to Sara a rather moving scene, Lou groaned loudly and rested her head on Sara’s shoulder.
“Do you want to leave?” Sara whispered anxiously. She couldn’t have been more mortified by Lou’s reaction if she had made the film herself. Lou nodded and, muttering apologies, they climbed over the laps of their fellow audience members before escaping to the bar.
“I had a feeling it’d be like that,” said Lou (Like what? wondered Sara). “I nearly said something when you suggested it, but I thought, give the guy a break.”
“Do you know the director?”
“He was in the year above me at St Martins. Very talented. Always wanted his name up in lights and now he’s got it. Just a shame he had to compromise the integrity of the film.”
“Compromise how?”
“Oh everything. The aesthetic, the soundtrack, the casting,” said Lou. “That grainy, cine-film thing? I mean, sorry, but yawn.”
“Mmmm,” said Sara.
“And the lead actor? Totally unbelievable in the role. Straight out of RADA, but, you know, he’s up and coming. Getting him’s a coup, so…”
“Right,” Sara nodded, thoughtfully. “Who would you have cast?”
“Oh an unknown,” said Lou. “I’d never compromise the integrity of the film for a ‘name’ actor. It’s just not worth it.”
Sara took a sip of her drink and tried to appear nonchalant. “So, I’ve been dying to ask: what’s your new thing about?”
“What’s it about?” Lou frowned humorously, and Sara blushed. “Well, it hasn’t got a plot as such. It’s not that kind of film. But I suppose, if I had to sum it up… it’s a sort of urban fairy tale.”
Sara nodded. “And it’s a short?”
“Yes. But a short film has to work that much harder to earn its keep. No indulgences. No flights of fancy. Every frame counts. And because shorts aren’t really made for a mainstream audience, there’s a… I won’t say higher... a different expectation on them to deliver.”
Sara nodded again.
“So, forgive my ignorance, but who actually watches them?”
“Well, there are all these amazing festivals now…”
“Sundance?”
“Sundance is a bit old hat, but there are lots of other really interesting ones all over the world: San Sebastian, Austin, Prague. You just hope to premiere your film at one of them and get good notices…”
“So that’s who they’re for, the critics?”
“Well, no,” Lou said, “they’re for everyone.”
“But they don’t go on general release?”
“Well, you’re not really looking for bums on seats…”
“What are you looking for?”
“Well an audience…”
“But not a big audience.”
“A discerning audience.”
“Ah…”
“And enough money to make your next film. Making the things is a doddle compared to financing them. I sometimes wish I’d studied accountancy…”
“Lou…”
“Yes?”
“I was wondering…”
“What?”
“Oh, no, you’re busy…”
“Come on, out with it. Gav said you’d got some writing on the go. You want me to have a look?”
Sara smiled hopefully. “I would love to know what you think.”
“It’d be an absolute privilege.”
“You might hate it. If you hate it, you’ve got to promise you’ll say so…”
“How could I hate it? I would tell you, though, of course I would. Not to would be a betrayal of our friendship, but I can’t imagine someone as clever and sensitive, and off-beat as you, could possibly write anything bad.”
Sara glowed with pleasure. Was she off-beat? She certainly hoped so.
***
It turned into another late night. They were pretty well-oiled when they tumbled out of the taxi and Lou eagerly accepted Sara’s invitation of a nightcap. Neil must have only just gone to bed, because the wood