Page 10 of The House on Sunset Lake

‘Then move on, James.’ Elizabeth raised her eyebrows meaningfully as Melissa walked back into the room. ‘It’s high time, don’t you think?’

Chapter Three

They stayed at the party as long as they could, making conversation with whatever writer, actor or architect they were introduced to next. Melissa threw herself into the throng, cosying up to Jill Jenkins, a firebrand old-school feminist, declaring herself a lifelong fan, although Jim had not been aware of her feminist credentials before. Early on in their relationship she had announced that she wanted to give up work the second she got married, and he couldn’t remember her ever paying for dinner. He wasn’t sure if this made her not a feminist, but he was sometimes confused when it came to women and what they wanted.

When Jim ventured back into the living room to say his goodbyes, Bryn was still holding court by the fireplace. He was in the middle of a heated discussion with a noted TV historian over the role of women in politics and barely noticed when Jim said they were leaving, merely giving him a distracted wave. Jim knew it shouldn?

??t bother him: that was the way his father was – and besides, hadn’t he wanted to slip away without fuss or a confrontation? But as always, being ignored, being dismissed so easily, was what cut the most.

Melissa slipped her hand into his as they walked down the quiet street away from the lights of the house. A cab passed them as they turned on to the main road, but Jim didn’t raise an arm to stop it. He wanted to keep walking for a while; the numb of the cold on his skin felt good. The houses were even larger here, set back from the road, surrounded by walls and gardens. Was this what happened when you got rich? he wondered. You worked all those years and kissed all those arses and laughed at people’s jokes just so you could cocoon yourself inside high walls, hidden and alone? Was that what it was all about? He took a deep breath and let it out in a white cloud.

‘Sorry it wasn’t much fun,’ he said finally. ‘That’s what it’s like when you get a literary crowd together, I’m afraid.’

‘I thought it was great. All those brilliant people in one room. Your father, he’s amazing, isn’t he?’

Jim glanced at her, wondering if she was being ironic, but there was no smile.

‘And it was good to see where you grew up,’ she added, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

Jim laughed. ‘My mum says she’s turning my bedroom into a gym.’

‘I had that a few months ago.’ Melissa smiled back. ‘My parents said they were having a clear-out, which is just a polite way of saying they’re sick of being a storage facility for all my old stuff.’

‘I guess it means we’re grown-ups,’ he said, feeling a pang of sadness.

‘Is that a sign? Being handed all our records back?’

They walked on, their footsteps and the occasional whoosh of a passing car the only sounds.

‘So who’s Jennifer?’ Her voice had a contrived lightness to it.

‘Jennifer?’

Jim found himself unconsciously dropping her hand. He buttoned up his coat and started to quicken his pace a little.

‘An old family friend.’

There was a pause.

‘Just a friend?’

‘Well, a sort of girlfriend, though barely. We were thrown together when we went to America one summer, years ago.’

Jim glanced to his side and realised Melissa had stopped walking. He turned, frowning.

‘What’s up?’

‘A sort of girlfriend,’ repeated Melissa, her voice hardening. ‘I suppose that’s how you describe me too.’

He cringed. So she had heard the conversation about marriage and babies.

‘Mel,’ he said, reaching out a hand for her, but she took a step back.

‘Don’t, Jim,’ she said. ‘We need to talk about this.’

‘Here?’ he said, casting an arm towards the road.

‘Why not here? Why not now? You’ve been ducking the question every time I try to bring it up.’