Chapter 37
VICTORIA
I don’t take my eyes off Barney. He’s drunk – again – and becoming more belligerent as the evening wears on, taking issue with anyone who dares express an opinion, whether it be Brexit, the Royal Family or the latest season of Slow Horses.
I’ve kicked him under the table so many times his ankles must be black and blue, but still he won’t shut up.
It’s a good job we’re among friends, I think, as I hold my hand over my wine glass when Felix offers to refill it.
I don’t need any more booze tonight. I need to keep my wits about me, given the state he’s in.
Objectively, I know Barney and I are well off compared to most people.
My team at the charity, for example. Many of them are still living at home with their parents – some even in their thirties and forties – because they can’t afford to rent in London.
My PA, Sophie, works evenings in a bar to pay her mortgage on a flat the size of a shoebox in a shabby part of Hackney.
But it’s easy to forget when you mix in the same circles as the super-wealthy, like Felix and Simone, who always have the bigger house, the newer car, the more expensive holidays.
Compared to them, what we have is never quite enough.
Felix, also hammered, is enjoying winding Barney up and I hate him for it.
Doesn’t he realise that friendships, even long-standing ones like ours, are often held together by the thinnest of threads?
You start off at university, all thrown in at the deep end, all in the same boat, so much in common.
Your friends are your family, the bonds unbreakable.
But as the years pass by you change, they change, until one day you wake up and realise that the people you once called your best friends are strangers and you have nothing in common but anecdotes and memories.
Those close friendships are now so fragile that all it might take is one cutting remark, one careless slight, for the whole thing to implode.
Simone heads to the ladies and Felix, bored by Barney’s rant about the Government’s latest change to inheritance tax, turns his attention to Amber.
‘Have a glass of champagne,’ he says, brandishing the bottle at her.
‘Really, I’m fine with water.’
Felix slams the bottle on the table so hard froth flies out. ‘My Cristal not good enough for you, eh?’
‘I’m sure it’s lovely, but—’
‘I know, I know. Mum was an alcoholic, wasn’t she?’ He tilts his head to one side, the picture of mock concern. ‘But one glass won’t kill you, will it? Come on, humour me. I had the stuff flown in from bloody Athens. Just one glass, for Simone’s big day?’
Amber turns to Dominic for support, but his chair is empty too. ‘Fine,’ she says finally. ‘But just a small glass.’
Felix pours, then pauses. ‘Tell you what. Have you ever tried a Kir Royale?’
Amber shakes her head.
‘A Kir virgin. My favourite.’ Grinning, he grabs Amber’s glass, then winks. ‘I’ll be right back.’
A phone buzzes. With a start, I realise it’s mine. I fumble as I pick it up and it clatters against my side plate. Barney looks up. His eyes are glassy.
‘Your mother?’
I shake my head. ‘Dee.’ I scan the text, my pulse racing.
Dear God, no.
The police have found out who owned Owen Evans’s flat.
A company called Claremont Crescent Property Holdings Ltd.
They served him a Section 21 eviction notice and then put the place straight on the market.
I’ve put out a press release underlining Anchorway’s stance on no-fault evictions and condemning the landlords who use them.
‘What does she want?’ Barney slurs.
‘What?’ I glare at him. ‘Nothing.’ I push my plate away.
If the police find out I’m the sole director of Claremont Crescent Property Holdings Ltd, I’m finished.
My career, my reputation, ruined. No one, not even Felix, who is virtually Teflon-coated, could survive that.
I catch Willow staring at me, a hint of a smile on her face.
‘What’s so funny?’ I snap.
Willow points her fork at me. ‘You have something on your face.’
I dab my mouth with my napkin, my eyes widening at the scarlet stain on the white linen. At first, I assume it’s lipstick, until I notice the smear of red on my finger. I’ve bitten right through my bottom lip.
Across the table, Willow is still watching me, the faint smirk in place. I have the sudden, irrational sense she knows exactly what I’ve done, and, for a disconcerting moment, I wonder what her next move will be.