There’s the first hint of autumn in the air as we walk to Sophie and Rich’s place for dinner. A light breeze blows, and a few yellow-brown leaves eddy and swirl on the street as we get off the tube. They feel at odds with the warm weather. London seems to hold on to summer longer than other places, making more of the season. The shop windows, though, are already full of mannequins wearing long winter coats, wrapped in hats and scarves. It’ll be Hallowe’en next, and then Guy Fawkes Night, and—
‘You look like you’re miles away,’ says James, swinging my hand as we wait at the traffic lights. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Oh, Christmas, and stuff like that,’ I say, shaking myself back to reality. ‘Just daydreaming.’
James squeezes my hand and smiles at me. ‘You’re organised.’
I run my thumb over the top of his hand, and hope my face doesn’t give things away. I wasn’t thinking about Christmas. I was thinking about Alex and Alice, and what might be going on with them, and wondering why I was thinking about it when I was holding hands with a perfectly nice man.
Before long, we’re standing outside Sophie’s place waiting for her to open the door. James leans over and drops a kiss on the top of my head. ‘You smell lovely,’ he says, inhaling the scent of expensive Aveda shampoo that I’ve splurged on.
‘Aww, look at you two,’ Sophie says as she opens the door and catches him with his face buried in my hair. ‘You have to admit,’ she says, almost unbelievably smugly, taking our coats, ‘I’m pretty shit-hot at matchmaking.’
James looks at me and rolls his eyes. He’s used to Sophie, working with her in the office every day. And of course, I’ve known her forever. She likes nothing more than being proved right, and James and I seem to make the perfect couple. Everyone says so, after all.
‘Come through, you guys,’ says Rich, drying his hands on a tea towel and slinging it over his shoulder. ‘I’ve just put the starters in. It won’t be long.’
The sitting room is spotlessly tidy, of course. Sophie’s hung a huge spider plant in one corner and it trails down, skimming the edges of the bookcase where all her books are neatly ordered by colour. The whole house looks like something from an interiors magazine. I make a mental note to snap a photo of the little grouping of cacti and old Observer’s Books spotter’s guides she has sitting on a side table for Instagram. Nanna Beth would love that.
‘Hi, you two,’ Gen says as we enter. Gen has brought along an actor friend called Malcolm. He’s tall, willowy, and despite the late-summer sun, wearing a trilby and a floaty long raincoat. He has a drooping, strangely clown-like face and reminds me of a bloodhound.
Gen has a habit – I think it’s an acting thing – of taking on the mannerisms and personality of the person she’s seeing. So tonight she’s dressed in similarly floppy clothes, with two long scarves hanging around her neck. She’s sitting on the sofa beside Malcolm, draping her legs over his, and fiddling with one of his long, Byronic curls. He doesn’t seem to say much.
‘Did you get that report done, Soph?’ James asks as he takes my coat and hangs it up. It’s all very comfortable, in a strange sort of way. Because James knows Sophie from work, we don’t have the usual ‘introducing a new boyfriend to your mates and hoping he’ll get on with them’ thing. Sophie approves of James completely, and of course Rich – silent and easy-going, currently doing something with the starter in the kitchen – is happy to go along with whatever Sophie thinks.
‘Yeah. I had to stay behind for three hours, but it’s been put to bed.’
‘How’s work, Jess? Are you still enjoying it?’ Gen stretches, raising her arms up in the air and balling her fists.
I nod, and take a seat next to James on a sofa. It’s been a steep learning curve for the last nine months and I’m exhausted. I need a proper holiday. James made some vague noises about going away somewhere next year, and the idea of us having a next year together – well, it felt quite nice.
‘Drink?’ Sophie leans down between mine and James’s shoulders, beaming contentedly. She loves playing hostess.
‘I’d love a beer, please,’ says James.
‘Can I have one too?’
‘Coming up.’
Malcolm gives a huge yawn, echoing Gen’s a moment ago, stretching his arms up in the air. His huge clown-like face elongates and his eyes close. I look at James sideways. I get the feeling that perhaps this is all a little bit too tame and suburban for Malcolm. I sit back in the chair and take the beer Sophie hands me, looking around. It’s weird to think that nine months ago we were sitting looking at the mountains on our ski trip, talking about how things might change over the next year. And now, here’s Gen with Malcolm and me with James. It’s all very neat and lovely. I shift a little on the sofa and James turns, giving me a look of concern.
‘You all right, hon?’
I freeze slightly. He’s never used that term with me before and I’d be quite happy if he never did so again. I am not a ‘hon’.
Gen notices and snorts with laughter. ‘You’re going to have to break the spell, James, or she’ll be frozen in that position of abject horror all night.’
‘What did I do?’ James looks genuinely anguished. His brow furrows and he runs a hand through his thick blond thatch of hair.
‘I’m just not a very “hon” sort of person.’
‘She’s more of a darling, aren’t you, darling?’ Gen grins.
‘What about poppet?’ Malcolm raises his chin slightly and looks at me thoughtfully. ‘You’re quite posh. You seem a bit of a poppet to me.’
‘Posh? Jess?’ Sophie says.
‘Excuse me,’ I say, ‘I am sitting right here.’
‘Poshly.’ Gen reaches for a crisp.
‘I didn’t say I was posh, Malcolm said I was posh.’
‘James is posh,’ Gen says, decisively. ‘I bet your parents sent you to boarding school and you have an Aga and all that stuff.’
‘My God,’ he says, but he’s laughing. He puts his hands up. ‘Guilty as charged. Yes, my parents have an Aga. No, I didn’t go to boarding school.’
‘And did they call you poppet or hon?’
‘Neither. Always James.’
‘Exactly.’ Gen looks pleased with herself.
‘I’m just not a cute names sort of person, that’s all,’ I say.
With all that out of the way, we have dinner – prawn curry and a million side dishes, all prepared by Rich, who is a brilliant cook – and spend the rest of the night talking about the plot of a film we’ve all watched on Netflix. By the time we get home, I’m so full of curry and wine I feel like I have to be rolled upstairs to bed.