The Love of Her Life. Harriet Evans

to have a good time and one who didn’t care about the carnage they caused to his new flat, as long as they were enjoying themselves – started making flaming B52s, and Zoe stood on a chair and sang ‘Rescue Me’ into a hairbrush, until she fell off and Steve had to pick her up. He threw her over his shoulder, slapping her on the bottom, and carried her out of the room, as she screamed and the others applauded.

      Occasionally she would catch sight of Sean, who was drinking steadily, and wave at him or pat his arm, checking in to make sure he was doing OK. But otherwise she lost herself in a whirl of drinks, of laughing, of catching up. She kept looking over her shoulder to see where Mac was, kept thinking she saw him – had she just dreamt it? – as the party grew more and more raucous. In fact, it turned out the party was so good that when the new neighbours from upstairs – a married couple in their thirties – came down after twelve to complain about the noise, Steve thrust a Moscow Mule each into their hands and had them both dancing with Betty to Britney Spears in five minutes.

      Betty was after Sean tonight. Kate could tell, and she watched her bat her fake eyelashes at him with some amusement, impressed at the way she could be so subtle and yet so obvious with him. Kate was pretty sure Betty and Sean had slept together at university and, watching them, she was suddenly pretty sure that was the way it was going to end up tonight. She stood in the corner of the sitting room, taking a breather from the dancing, with her glass curled up against her, and she saw the way Betty touched her top lip with her tongue as she talked to him, her blonde bunches wagging on each side of her head, the way Sean watched her mouth as he answered her, the way they smiled into each other’s eyes, moving slightly closer. Suddenly the Sean of a few hours earlier, desolate at the news of Jenna’s engagement, seemed far away. He was on a mission tonight, that was clear. Kate bit her lip, tasting blood on her tongue, and turned away, surprised at the intensity of her reaction.

      ‘Great party, Zo,’ she said.

      Zoe was hugging the doorframe, using it as support, her small hands clinging to the carved wood almost desperately. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘This bloody flat, you know what a nightmare it was getting it, I can’t believe we’re here now.’ She banged her head gently against the frame. ‘I think I may have to grovel to the neighbours tomorrow though,’ she added nervously, glancing down the corridor into the kitchen, where through the french windows Kate could see Francesca and Steve were lying on the small lawn, singing something loudly.

      ‘You’re cute though,’ said Kate. ‘They’ll love you. We had a thing in the magazine last week, how to get on with your neighbours. Accept responsibility, go round to each of them with a box of chocolates tomorrow and just say sorry. It’ll be fine.’

      ‘Did you meet Mac then?’ said Zoe suddenly.

      ‘Yes,’ said Kate. ‘Well, at the beginning –’ she looked round ‘– I don’t know where he’s gone.’

      Zoe shrugged her shoulders. ‘Don’t know,’ she said. ‘He’s working too hard. He looks exhausted. Don’t you think?’

      Kate hadn’t noticed anything, except how lovely he looked, and she’d never met him before, so she was hardly qualified to judge.

      ‘Zo, Zo!’ Steve yelled from the kitchen. ‘Zo! Come and see! If you put shaving foam in a tupperware box and light it – look what happens!’

      ‘Jesus!’ said Zoe. ‘You are such a fucking infant, Steve!’ she yelled back, half-laughing, looking down the corridor. ‘Oh, wow. That’s really –’ There was a loud bang. ‘I’m going to –’

      ‘Go,’ said Kate, draining her drink. ‘I’m going to find another glass of –’ she looked at her glass. ‘Don’t know what that was. I’m going to find it, anyway.’

      She turned around in the tiny hallway as Zoe walked away.

      ‘Hello,’ said a voice behind her, and Kate spun around.

      It was Mac. He was shutting the door to the spare bedroom.

      ‘Hello again,’ she said, uncertainly. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while.’

      He scratched his head. ‘I know. I fell asleep.’

      ‘You fell asleep? In the spare bedroom?’ Kate was mystified. ‘Can’t be as good a party as I thought it was, then.’

      ‘I’m sure it is,’ he said. ‘I heard Zoe singing “Cabaret”.’

      ‘Oh,’ Kate said. ‘Well – there was more, but perhaps you –’

      ‘I like your dress,’ he said, interrupting. ‘It suits you.’ He caught himself. ‘I mean, I’ve never met you before so how would I know. But you look nice in it.’ He turned away to the wall and said something under his breath, before turning back. ‘Man. How – god.’

      Kate smiled; she was a bit bemused. ‘Thanks, though. That’s really – nice of you.’ She repeated the word unconsciously and then realized; they both grinned, relaxing a little more. ‘It was a present from my dad. It’s old, like from the fifties, I think.’

      ‘Of course, your dad’s Daniel Miller, isn’t he?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Kate, vaguely pleased he should know that, that there was this old connection with them because of Zoe and Steve, even though they’d never met. It made it seem even more comfortable, the air between them.

      ‘I heard him the other day, on the radio, talking about his new album. Some covers of songs by ABBA?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Kate again. ‘Er, it’s great apparently. It’s just out, I haven’t heard it yet.’

      ‘Well, I’ve only heard bits. He was interviewed on the radio. And he was on some daytime TV thing I saw, while I was on rounds yesterday.’

      Daniel had a new publicist, called Lisa, who was getting him all this new coverage. She was responsible for Daniel’s new, choppy haircut, his Ralph Lauren suits, the moody shots of him gazing out of windows in dilapidated old country buildings. She called him ‘Danny’, too. She didn’t seem to like things like long evenings in basement kitchens drinking cheap red wine (red wine stains the teeth), walks on the Heath on cold days, or daughters who were close to her in age. Yes, Kate had met her. She wasn’t mad about her.

      ‘Yep,’ said Kate. ‘It’s great, he’d been quiet for a while before that.’ She cleared her throat to change the subject as a shriek echoed from the next room. ‘God,’ she said laughing. ‘Zoe’s absolutely trollyed.’

      Mac’s expression was mock-serious. ‘So, what were the two of you like when you were little, then?’

      Kate laughed. ‘Well, Zoe was very bright and bubbly, and loud. Very loud. And I was – clumsy. And a bit moody. And not as nice as Zoe.’

      He bent his head, and lowered his voice. ‘Kate. I’m sure that’s not true.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said slowly. ‘But it pretty much is.’ There was a pause. ‘How about the two of you?’

      ‘Who? Me and Steve?’ He shook his head, and crossed his arms, so his hands were wedged under his armpits. ‘He was the typical annoying little brother, always bright and perky and funny and loud. Bit like Zoe, clearly.’ Kate shook her head, moved closer towards him. She wanted to touch him.