thoughts. She reprimands herself. Of course, all this was not a question of her own non-existence, of course, but rather of the non-existence of another. Of course. Yes, that’s what I meant, what I meant to think, of course. The sort of thing normal women think.
–Mrs. Hanwell? In your own time.
16.
–Not relevant? What do you mean? How could you tell me that whole story and not mention the headscarf?
Natalie laughs. Frank laughs. Michel laughs hardest. Slightly drunk. Not only on the Prosecco in his hand. On the grandeur of this Victorian house, the length of the garden, that he should know a barrister and a banker, that he should find funny the things they find funny. The children wheel manically round the garden, laughing because everyone else is. Leah looks down at Olive and strokes her ardently, until the dog is discomfited and slinks away. She looks up at her best friend, Natalie Blake, and hates her.
–Leah . . . always trying to save somebody.
–Isn’t that your job?
–Defending someone is very different from saving them. Anyway, I mostly do commercial these days.
Natalie crosses one bare leg over the other. Sleek ebony statuary. Tilts her head directly to the sun. Frank, too. They look like a king and queen in profile on an ancient coin. Leah must stick to the shade of something Frank calls the gazebo. The two women squint at each other across an expanse of well-kept lawn. They are annoying each other. They have been annoying each other all afternoon.
–I keep bumping into her.
–Naomi, stop doing that.
–She was at school with us. It’s hard to believe.
–Is it? Why? Naomi stop it. Come away from the barbecue. It’s fire, hot, come here.
–Never mind.
–Sorry, tell me again. I’m listening. Shar. Don’t remember the name at all. Maybe it was during our “break”? You were hanging with a load of people back then I never met.
–No. I never knew her in school.
–Naomi! I’m serious. Sorry—so, wait: what’s the issue?
–No issue. Nothing.
–It’s just in the scheme of things it’s not very . . .
–“She said, trailing off.”
–What? Naomi, come here!
–Nothing.
Frank comes over with the bottle, as expansive with Leah as his wife is brusque. His face is very close. He smells expensive. Leah leans back to let him pour.
–Why is it that everyone from your school is a criminal crackhead?
–Why’s everyone from yours a Tory minister?
Frank smiles. He is handsome his shirt is perfect his trousers are perfect his children are perfect his wife is perfect this is a perfectly chilled glass of Prosecco. He says:
–It must be comforting being able to divide the world in two like that in your mind.
–Frank, stop teasing.
–Leah’s not offended. You’re not offended, Leah. Of course, I’m already divided in half, so you understand for me it’s hard to think this way. When you guys have kids, they’ll know what I mean.
Leah tries now to look at Frank in the manner he seems to intend: as a projection of a certain future for herself, and for Michel. The coffee color, those freckles. But aside from accidents of genetics, Frank has nothing to do with either Leah or Michel. She met his mother once. Elena. Complained about the provincialism of Milan and advised Leah to dye her hair. Frank is from a different slice of the multiverse.
–My mother-in-law in her wisdom says if you want to know the real difference between people do the health visitor test. Ring the bell, and if they lay on the floor and put the lights out, they’re no good.
Michel says:
–I don’t get this. What does it mean?
Natalie explains:
–Sometimes people don’t want to open the door to Marcia, they’re worried it’s connected to social work, or the benefit office. They want to be off the radar, basically. So if my mum ever rings your bell, for Godssake don’t lie on the floor.
Michel nods seriously, taking this advice to heart. He can’t see it, as Leah does. The way Natalie
–Mrs. Hanwell? In your own time.
16.
–Not relevant? What do you mean? How could you tell me that whole story and not mention the headscarf?
Natalie laughs. Frank laughs. Michel laughs hardest. Slightly drunk. Not only on the Prosecco in his hand. On the grandeur of this Victorian house, the length of the garden, that he should know a barrister and a banker, that he should find funny the things they find funny. The children wheel manically round the garden, laughing because everyone else is. Leah looks down at Olive and strokes her ardently, until the dog is discomfited and slinks away. She looks up at her best friend, Natalie Blake, and hates her.
–Leah . . . always trying to save somebody.
–Isn’t that your job?
–Defending someone is very different from saving them. Anyway, I mostly do commercial these days.
Natalie crosses one bare leg over the other. Sleek ebony statuary. Tilts her head directly to the sun. Frank, too. They look like a king and queen in profile on an ancient coin. Leah must stick to the shade of something Frank calls the gazebo. The two women squint at each other across an expanse of well-kept lawn. They are annoying each other. They have been annoying each other all afternoon.
–I keep bumping into her.
–Naomi, stop doing that.
–She was at school with us. It’s hard to believe.
–Is it? Why? Naomi stop it. Come away from the barbecue. It’s fire, hot, come here.
–Never mind.
–Sorry, tell me again. I’m listening. Shar. Don’t remember the name at all. Maybe it was during our “break”? You were hanging with a load of people back then I never met.
–No. I never knew her in school.
–Naomi! I’m serious. Sorry—so, wait: what’s the issue?
–No issue. Nothing.
–It’s just in the scheme of things it’s not very . . .
–“She said, trailing off.”
–What? Naomi, come here!
–Nothing.
Frank comes over with the bottle, as expansive with Leah as his wife is brusque. His face is very close. He smells expensive. Leah leans back to let him pour.
–Why is it that everyone from your school is a criminal crackhead?
–Why’s everyone from yours a Tory minister?
Frank smiles. He is handsome his shirt is perfect his trousers are perfect his children are perfect his wife is perfect this is a perfectly chilled glass of Prosecco. He says:
–It must be comforting being able to divide the world in two like that in your mind.
–Frank, stop teasing.
–Leah’s not offended. You’re not offended, Leah. Of course, I’m already divided in half, so you understand for me it’s hard to think this way. When you guys have kids, they’ll know what I mean.
Leah tries now to look at Frank in the manner he seems to intend: as a projection of a certain future for herself, and for Michel. The coffee color, those freckles. But aside from accidents of genetics, Frank has nothing to do with either Leah or Michel. She met his mother once. Elena. Complained about the provincialism of Milan and advised Leah to dye her hair. Frank is from a different slice of the multiverse.
–My mother-in-law in her wisdom says if you want to know the real difference between people do the health visitor test. Ring the bell, and if they lay on the floor and put the lights out, they’re no good.
Michel says:
–I don’t get this. What does it mean?
Natalie explains:
–Sometimes people don’t want to open the door to Marcia, they’re worried it’s connected to social work, or the benefit office. They want to be off the radar, basically. So if my mum ever rings your bell, for Godssake don’t lie on the floor.
Michel nods seriously, taking this advice to heart. He can’t see it, as Leah does. The way Natalie
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