Page 8 of The House on Sunset Lake

‘Come on, let’s get a drink,’ he said.

‘How about a guided tour of the house?’ she replied, slipping her arm through his. ‘I want to see your childhood bedroom.’

Jim hadn’t been to his parents’ house for a few months, but it looked exactly the same as it always did. A whiff of cigar smoke clung to his father’s study; the slightly musty smell of old books pervaded the hallways. His old room was also untouched. Piles of vinyl, all in mint condition, he noted, were stacked up under the window. The blue walls were still festooned with posters – the moody black and white graphics of a Joy Division cover, a psychedelic portrait of Hendrix – plus a pinboard full of tickets from the Mud Club, the Camden Palace and Wembley. He tried to remember when he had last been to a gig or a live venue. He’d taken some clients for dinner at Ronnie Scott’s a few months earlier, but he wasn’t sure if that counted.

Melissa excused herself to the bathroom and Jim went to refill their glasses in the kitchen. His mother was standing at the island filling a glass bowl with cashew nuts. Surprisingly, they were alone.

‘Having a good time?’ she said without looking up at him.

She never hired outside caterers, said it was a waste of money. As the daughter of an army officer, she had always had a practical, can-do side, even though her husband demanded that they put on a show.

‘Dad seems to be enjoying himself.’

‘Never happier than when he’s surrounded by people he hardly ever sees.’

Jim fished around the fridge looking for a cold beer.

‘Sad news about Ian.’

‘I know. He’s thrilled with his knighthood, though. Although don’t bring that up with your father.’

‘I did. He seemed touchy.’

‘Touchy? He’s been like a bear with a sore head ever since it was announced.’

‘But Ian’s his friend. He should be pleased for him.’

‘In theory,’ said his mother softly.

‘Don’t worry, Melissa will massage his ego.’ He opened his can with a hiss and took a long, satisfying sip.

‘Pretty little thing.’

Jim looked up and observed the sardonic look on his mother’s face.

‘Any plans for making an honest woman of this one? Or is this just another of your conquests?’

‘Mum,’ he said.

‘I don’t see why I can’t ask. You’re forty this year and you’re still no closer to settling down.’

‘It’s not a race.’

‘Just as well.’

He thought about his brush with Celine Wood at the Munroe party. What would he have done if she had slipped him her number? He had never been unfaithful to any of his girlfriends, but even now he was having thoughts.

Elizabeth reached for a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass.

‘What is she, Jim? Thirty-four, thirty-five?’

‘We’ve only been dating a year, Mum. Neither marriage nor babies have been mentioned.’

His mother laughed. ‘That doesn’t mean they’re not on her mind.’

The thought of it made his heart sink. It wasn’t that he was against a wife and family per se. Until recently he’d felt sorry for his friends who had disappeared into family life; the boys he’d drunk with, played football, skied and white-water-rafted with, but who now he only saw occasionally: the odd brunch in pubs with playgrounds or crèches, where he was lucky to get ten minutes of undisrupted conversation with his mates, thanks to their children acting up. But lately he had been worried about ending up alone. Work filled his life, but not entirely, and apart from Melissa, there seemed to be fewer and fewer people to spend his free time with. But did he want to settle down with her? He wasn’t sure.

‘Honestly, she seems very nice,’ continued his mother. ‘She’s a solicitor, too. Why are you hanging around?’