Gravity's Chain by Alan Goodwin Page B

retreated unseen having lost his or her nerve.
    â€˜My God, Jack,’ the original caller of my name was now visible, ‘I can’t believe you’re actually here.’
    â€˜Hello, Mike.’ I shook his outstretched hand and clumsily accepted his half-hug the way men do when unsure of the other’s reaction. ‘Long time no see.’
    â€˜I just can’t believe you’re here. How long is it since we last saw each other—ten, eleven years?’
    â€˜Twelve.’
    â€˜Twelve fucking years? My God. All those good times that long ago?’
    I nodded.
    â€˜I’ve missed you.’ He paused and I thought he might shed a tear, but he shook himself free of the moment as though reminding himself of an earlier promise not to cry. ‘Come and meet the crew, everyone’s here—Helen, Duncan, Claire, Jo, Graham…’
    â€˜Mary?’
    Mike flashed an embarrassed smile. I think he would have named the entire restaurant before her. ‘Mary? Yes, Mary’s here.’
    â€˜Did she know I was coming?’
    â€˜She knew you’d been invited.’
    â€˜Not quite the same, is it?’
    â€˜She’s cool, Jack, there’s no problem. Come on, let’s go.’ We squeezed through the last row of tables and chairs. Diners moved in an exaggerated way to allow the two guards and me through. Recognition rushed through the place like a bush fire, and peopleturned to gaze at me, their faces shocked, as though royalty had lowered themselves to dine with the masses this one night of the year. I always feel horribly exposed at these times. It’s like being caught in the toilet with my trousers down when a tourist bus stops outside the window.
    At the table I instantly saw Mary, sitting at the far end.
    She looked beautiful.
    Her hair was pinned on top of her head, strands tumbling down her neck and cheeks. She turned to talk to the man next to her, ignoring my arrival. Her profile was a replica of Caroline’s, the straight nose and dominant top lip, but when she turned and saw me, the moment of ghostly similarity was lost. Front on there was still no mistaking she was Caroline’s sister, but all four of the Roberts girls, despite similarities, had an individual look. Mary’s face was fuller than Caroline’s and her eyes rounder; she was more Irish to Caroline’s French. I caught her look and we both instantly dropped our eyes, neither wanting to engage the other. My heart thumped at the sight of her. I wondered how I was going to survive this evening because seeing her made me dizzy, being near her again made me feel sick and enchanted all at once. Mike’s hand gently held my elbow and guided me to my seat, as far from Mary as possible. Good old Mike, as usual he’d thought of everything. There were shrieks the length of the table when they realised I’d arrived. I sat between Jo and Duncan, who greeted me enthusiastically as others crowded around for their turn. Through the bodies I saw Mary alone, still seated, her head firmly turned away from the throng around my chair.
    I recognised all thirty of the men and women at the table, although some were hard to pick because they’d changed so much and a number of names escaped me. Twelve years ago,when I left school, these people, apart from Dad and the odd family relic, were my world. They were the sum of my experience. Now look at them, a lawyer, a social worker, a teacher, some middle management, mothers, fathers and me. I listened to their talk, as they shared their stories of work and children and instantly recognised each other’s happiness or troubles. They ignored mine, though. No one asked about my life—why should they? They knew every detail of it through the newspapers and magazines. They might be excited to see me, but they looked forward to meeting the others so they could learn more about them. There was nothing to learn about me. And since I cared little