LITMIR.BIZ

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And Camilla was practically blubbing and saying how she always liked me so much at school and how she knew I’d be a success because I was so clever, and what about it? Old school tie and all that? And I let her go on and on and then I said, very sweetly, “Well I’m terribly sorry, Camilla; I’m afraid we don’t cover small, provincial weddings in Moi!”’

      Yes, Lily’s had the last laugh, all right. She’s outsmarted them all – in every way. Intellectually, of course, though that was easy enough – but she outsmarted them socially, too. Her mind was like a radar, and she quickly cracked the code. Her table manners changed, her deportment improved and within two years her voice was transformed. Gone was her rich, Caribbean inflection and in its place was cut glass. Peter says she has ‘irritable vowel syndrome’, but, as I say, he’s not really a fan.

      Mimi, clearly fascinated by Lily, was asking us about St Bede’s. So we explained that there was Mass every morning, benediction on Wednesdays, the rosary on Thursdays, confession on Saturdays, and sung Latin Mass on Sundays.

      ‘Was there time for any lessons with all that?’ Mike enquired.

      ‘Oh yes,’ I said tipsily, ‘and Lily was jolly good at them! She got twelve “O” levels, four A-grade A levels, and an exhibition to Cambridge at seventeen.’

      ‘What about sports?’

      ‘We had hockey and netball.’

      ‘I was useless,’ said Lily with a laugh. ‘All that running and jumping – such a bore – I really couldn’t be fagged. I was no good at music, either,’ she giggled. I kept quiet; it was perfectly true. In fact she had a voice like a corncrake and standing next to her during ‘Faith of Our Fathers’ was not a musically rewarding experience. ‘As for dancing,’ she went on. ‘I was appalling at that! I had two left feet – I still have.’

      ‘There was lots of drama,’ I went on enthusiastically. ‘It was great. Especially the annual school play … ’ Suddenly I saw the smile slide off Lily’s face and she gave me a censuring stare. And then I remembered. Drama’s a sore point. We don’t talk about that. You see, Lily wasn’t very good at acting, and without sounding conceited, I was. The awful thing was that she loved it, but she was always so over the top. I mean, she couldn’t even make the sign of the cross without looking as though she was directing traffic. So acting was not her forté and this spoiled our friendship for a while. When we were in the Lower Sixth, Reverend Mother was casting the school play. She decided to do Othello and, as the only non-white girl at St Bede’s, Lily presumed the title role would be hers. She prepared hard for the part, and I helped her to go through her lines. But when, after auditions, the list went up, the lead had gone not to Lily, but to me. She didn’t take it well, I’m afraid. In fact she stormed into Reverend Mother’s office – I was there at the time – and shouted, ‘It’s because I’m black, isn’t it?’

      ‘No, Lily,’ said Reverend Mother calmly. ‘It’s because you are not a good enough actress. You have many gifts,’ she went on calmly. ‘I know you are going to be a huge success in life. But I confidently predict that your future triumphs will not take place on the stage.’ There was silence. Then Lily left. She wouldn’t speak to me for a month. But what was I supposed to do? Refuse the part? It was a wonderful role, and everyone said I did it well; I can still remember those marvellous lines to this day: ‘I had been happy … so I had nothing known. So now, forever, farewell the tranquil mind!’

      Lily gradually got over her disappointment, though she refused to come to the play; and we never, ever spoke of it again – until tonight. I don’t think it was tactless of me to mention it, given that it was eighteen years ago and our roles have long since been reversed. I mean, she’s the star now. Not me. She’s the celebrated and successful one. She’s the one with the huge flat in Chelsea, and the fridge full of champagne and foie gras. I’m the boring suburban housewife with two children and sensible shoes, who thinks a trip to Ikea’s a treat. So I appreciate the fact that Lily’s kept in touch all this time, when you consider how our lives have diverged.

      At this point – it must have been almost ten thirty – we’d gone on to pudding. The candles had almost burned down, and the bottles of wine had been drunk. I thought Peter had had one too many; I could tell that he was quite well oiled. He and Matt were talking about the Internet, and Katie was doing some psychometric tests on Lily – Lily’s her godmother, so she claimed not to mind. Meanwhile Mimi, still clearly struck by the novelty of being married, was asking me if I had any wisdom to impart.

      ‘Tell me, Faith,’ she whispered, ‘what’s the secret of a successful marriage?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ I murmured, lifting a spoonful of poached autumn fruits to my mouth. ‘I only know that after fifteen years together Peter and I have this unbreakable bond. We’re like the wisteria growing up the front of our house – we’re completely intertwined.’

      ‘What quality do you admire in him most?’ Mimi added.

      ‘His ability to find my contact lenses whenever I lose one,’ I giggled. ‘He’s brilliant at it.’

      ‘No, seriously,’ Mimi pressed me. ‘What do you like about him best?’

      ‘His decency,’ I replied, ‘and his truthfulness. Peter always tells the truth.’

      Mike thought that was such a nice thing to say that he said he thought Peter ought to make a little speech.

      ‘Go on,’ he said.

      ‘Oh no,’ groaned Peter.

      ‘Please,’ Mimi insisted. ‘This is an occasion, after all.’

      ‘Oh, all right,’ Peter conceded after another sip of wine. ‘Er … I just want to say … ’ he began, getting unsteadily to his feet, ‘that Faith was my first love, and that my fifteen years with her feel like a millstone … ’

      ‘Freudian slip!’ said Katie.

      ‘I mean, a milestone,’ he corrected himself. ‘A milestone. That’s what I mean. An incredible achievement, in fact. When you consider. And I just can’t believe where the last fifteen years of my life have gone.’ That was it. He’d finished. I tried to smile. As I say, he’s very preoccupied at work, so he’s not quite his usual relaxed and happy self.

      ‘He’s rather tired,’ I whispered diplomatically to Mimi and Mike.

      ‘He does seem distracted,’ Lily agreed.

      ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘no doubt because, well, he’s got a lot on his mind right now.’

      ‘I must say, he’s looking good though,’ Lily murmured as our coffee arrived. ‘Hasn’t he lost a bit of weight?’

      ‘Er, yes, he has. He’s looking pretty trim, you’re right.’

      ‘Nice tie he’s wearing,’ she whispered appreciatively.

      ‘Yes. Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Nice tie.’

      Then Lily reached into her bag, took out a box of Pandora matches and struck one. It hissed and flared as it ignited, then died down to a steady yellow flame. She lifted a cheroot to her lips, lit it and inhaled deeply, then blew the smoke away. Then she looked at me seriously and said, very, very softly, ‘I think you’re marvellous to trust him.’

      This struck me as a very strange remark, because of course I trust Peter – I always have. As I say, he’s a truthful man. So I didn’t have a clue what Lily meant, and I certainly didn’t want to ask her in front of everyone else. In any case, Peter was waving for the bill now – it was late, and the evening was drawing to an end.

      ‘– let’s get our coats.’

      ‘– is this inclusive?’

      ‘– no, our treat, Mike.’

      ‘– Katie, can you get Granny’s coat?’

      ‘–

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