The casual ease of the answer filled Justin with a stabbing fury. ‘I can’t believe you! You sit here and lecture me—’
‘I’m not lecturing anyone.’
‘After all you’ve done, you have the nerve to sit there and dismiss me – no, worse – dismiss everyone who—’
‘I’m not dismissing anything,’ Matt said with the same despicable calm. ‘I’m simply saying you shouldn’t be inflexible about your moral judgements.’
‘You self-centred—’
‘At best,’ Matt pushed on, ‘these kinds of arguments are a sideshow, a distraction from the real problems that need to be addressed.’
‘You selfish bastard! You don’t care about anyone else, as long as you get what you want!’
‘The oxtail’s very nice, by the way, Marcus,’ Matt said.
‘Thank you,’ Marcus said. ‘How’s the marrow, Justin?’
‘Bland and watery.’ Justin pushed his plate away. ‘Look at us all, sitting here, stuffing our faces and bickering. Is this really the most we can hope for out of
life?’
‘God, I hope not,’ Charlotte said.
‘Why don’t we talk about something else?’ Sarah suggested.
‘Yes, good idea,’ Matt agreed. ‘Justin may be getting a warm glow of righteousness out of this, but he’s not making it much fun for everyone else.’
‘Who cares about having a nice time! We’re talking about the most important things in life, here!’
‘Yes, but Justin,’ Rosie said, ‘that doesn’t mean you have to be rude.’
‘That’s right, Justin,’ Matt said. ‘You can’t stop being polite just because people are suffering. They’re always suffering.’
Justin threw his fork down. The sound was muffled as it sank into the stuffed marrow.
‘I can’t believe such callousness! I can’t believe it. There’s no way I can eat while listening to this.’
No one else replied. They were all still eating. All concentrating on their food like it was the only thing that mattered. Justin was astonished. The last thing he could think of now was food.
Look at Stephen, tucking into his casserole like that, eating it in great steaming forkfuls. What was wrong with these people?
‘Come on,’ Sarah said soothingly. ‘Let’s not let an argument spoil the evening.’
‘It’s a bit late for that,’ Charlotte said.
‘I’m sorry,’ Justin said unapologetically, ‘but there’s no way I can keep silent while being provoked.’
Charlotte reached out and patted Sarah’s arm sympathetically.
‘It is a shame Matt’s fucked up your evening, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘That makes it pretty much everyone here that he’s screwed now. Doesn’t it,
Barbara?’
Everyone’s eyes swivelled towards Barbara. Justin’s too. He couldn’t help it. Such disgusting crudeness. But on the other hand . . .
The tense pause lasted about three seconds.
Then Barbara pushed back her chair, scraping it sharply across the oak floor, and, without saying anything, stormed out of the room.
Justin felt his throat rise again in a whirlpool of curdled emotion as he agonized over what to do. Should he go after her? No, it was too late. She wasn’t going to come back. He could see
that. It would be too painful. Was he going to make her spell it out?
But then, what did he have to lose? There were only a few things she could say that would make it worse. Though what if she said them?
Seconds passed. He heard Rosie and Sarah say something, heard Charlotte interrupt them.
‘Well, we might as well stop setting a dessert spoon for her,’ she said. ‘This is becoming a bit of a habit.’
Justin scrambled away from the table, tangling his foot round the chair leg and almost tripping as he rushed to the door.
Barbara had her coat on and was standing in the hall. Was she waiting for him?
‘Barbara, I . . .’ he began.
‘I’m sorry, Justin,’ she said.
‘But do you . . . Will you . . .’ He struggled to get the words out.
‘I know I’ve been a bitch,’ she said.
‘That doesn’t matter.’
‘You’re a really sweet guy Justin.’
He took a deep breath. ‘Are you going to stay?’
‘I’m not staying here. I can’t.’
‘No, I understand. Can I come with you?’
Her hand reached for the latch of the front door. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘But . . .’ he began, thinking of so many things to say.
She pulled the door open, slipped through, and was gone.
The heavy wooden door filled his vision.
As it moved in and out of focus, Justin became aware that Matt was standing next to him.
‘Oh well,’ Matt said. ‘Looks like we both lost. No hard feelings?’
The flash of rage was so instant and powerful that Justin was already swivelling round before he realized what was happening. He felt his right fist clench and his left shoulder drop. There was
still time to abort. But Matt’s fat lip was already beginning to curl. Justin put all his strength behind it.
The impact was surprisingly painful. An angry scraping of lip impaled on teeth. But the blow was not hard and it was more the shock that made Matt stagger back several
paces.
After the pain came astonishment, wonder, and then a slow, rising exultation. As he put his hand to his mouth and felt blood seeping through his fingers, Matt knew that he had won.
Justin was open-mouthed, blinking at him, as if not quite comprehending what he had done. Matt looked questioningly back at him, then saw to his delight that Rosie was standing in the doorway to
the dining room, her mouth a perfect O of surprise. Her brow folded slowly into a reproving frown.
‘Matt, are you all right?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ he said, a hint of laughter in his voice.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, absolutely fine,’ he said as breezily as he could through a mouthful of blood. ‘I think I might just need to clean up a little, that’s all.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing, really.’
‘But he hit you!’
‘Yes.’ Matt felt no need to elaborate.
‘Justin, why did you hit him?’
Justin was breathing heavily. Matt could see his lips twitching slightly. ‘I don’t know,’ he whispered.
‘What’s that, Justin?’ Rosie spoke loudly and firmly, as if to her toddler.
Matt put his hand to his mouth again as Justin struggled to speak, not so much to wipe away the blood as to cover a smile. Justin was realizing that he had lost his position of moral
superiority. Matt suspected that he had no idea what to do without it.
Justin shrugged. ‘He deserved it,’ he said.
‘Where’s Barbara?’ Rosie asked.
‘She’s gone,’ Matt said.
‘Oh.’ Rosie nodded, then adopted the same condescending tone again. ‘Now, Justin, I know you’re upset, but that’s no reason to hit anyone. You know that violence
isn’t the answer.’
‘No. But . . .’ Justin tailed off.
‘Do you think you can apologize to Matt?’
Justin started. ‘I . . .’
‘It’s all right, Rosie,’ Matt said with a magnanimous wave. ‘It doesn’t matter. All forgiven.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, it’s no problem.’ Matt moved over to pat Justin on the arm. Justin recoiled from his touch and Matt enjoyed looking down at him from his unexpected perch on the moral
high ground. They both knew that every sympathetic gesture only rubbed it in further. Matt almost hoped Justin would hit him again.
‘No hard feelings, eh, Justin?’ he said.
Justin jerked upright. ‘I’d better go,’ he said.
Matt left it to Rosie to reply. She failed to think of any reason to object.
‘What’s going on out here?’ Marcus’s face appeared in the doorway over Rosie’s shoulder. ‘It’s time for pudding.’
A fat drop of blood crested the bulge of Matt’s chin, and he made no attempt to stop it as it rolled off the edge and hit the floor with a soft, wet plop.
‘Oops, I’m sorry,’ Matt said. ‘I’d better clean that up.’
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Marcus checked his wooden floor wasn’t damaged before looking expectantly from Matt to Justin.
‘Justin hit him,’ Rosie said.
‘Oh.’ Marcus didn’t seem quite sure what to do with this information. ‘Well, I hope it’s made you both hungry because the apple fritters are ready.’
‘I’m going to go now,’ Justin said.
‘What? You can’t.’
‘It’s OK. I’m not hungry. Thank you for your hospitality, but . . .’
‘I don’t care if you’re hungry or not. We have to do the scores.’
‘Marcus,’ Rosie said. ‘Maybe you should just let him . . .’
‘I haven’t gone through all this to let him give up now,’ Marcus snapped. ‘We can do it while eating pudding if you like, but we’re bloody well going to do
it.’
Justin crumpled further into himself, and shuffled after Rosie back to the table.
‘I’ll just go and wash my face,’ Matt said.
In the bathroom, he checked the inside of his lip and saw it was already beginning to heal. He wiped the drying blood off his chin, and savoured his luck. Matt even felt a bit sorry for Justin.
He tried so hard to present himself as the noble victim, but it was difficult for people to see you as noble when you were that desperate. And then the punch. It was a tactic that might have worked
if he’d tried it from the beginning. People would have understood it. But after basing everything on the moral aura of being wronged, it was a disaster. With one right hook, he’d given
it all away. Now Matt could claim victimhood.
After splashing his face with water, Matt went back to the dining room. It was obvious that everyone knew what had happened. They stopped talking and stared at him as he walked over to his
chair. Charlotte was laughing quite openly.
‘Are you OK, Matt?’ Rosie asked again.
‘Absolutely fine,’ he said.
She was looking at him with concern across her face, her head tilted slightly to the left and a narrow crease of worry between her eyebrows. He smiled back at her with warm relief. Her
disapproval seemed to be melting. Perhaps, after all, it would not be so hard to get back in her favour. It was clear that she still cared about him.
Echoes of his old feelings bounced around his chest, more than memories, less than emotions. A long spell of her disapproval would have been difficult. Matt tried to decide what she was thinking
as their eyes met. But it seemed only to be motherly concern.
Matt drained his glass and let wistfulness seep through him. He did still think about Rosie. Not every day, but sometimes. It had been his decision to end it all those years ago. She had been
talking about moving in together, but he’d been only twenty, for God’s sake. Far too young to be tied down. He’d wanted some time to enjoy himself. No, that wasn’t it.
He’d wanted some time when he didn’t have to care about anyone else. A year later she’d moved in with Stephen.
He didn’t regret it. There was no point regretting anything. He would certainly never do anything now. It would be too irrevocable. Matt couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t want to
walk away again, and there would be no coming back after that.
A sharp cry of ‘Fuck!’ from the kitchen cut through his introspection. Matt guessed that Marcus had burned himself on a pan. He realized it was the first thing anyone had said since
he and Justin had sat down.
A few moments later Marcus came through with a tray.
‘Right,’ he said with weary determination. ‘Apple Fritters with Cinnamon and Mascarpone.’
They smelled good, in fact. Thick, warm and syrupy. Matt discovered that being punched in the face had made him hungry again. He attacked the pudding greedily. Next to him, Barbara’s place
remained conspicuously empty, while Justin prodded glumly at his fritter with a spoon. Still no one said anything.
About halfway through her fritter, Rosie did. ‘Yes, it’s interesting this, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘The mix of styles. Sort of American we’re on to now, with the
syrup? After a bit of Spanish and British. Would you call this fusion?’
‘I certainly would not,’ Marcus replied, as if his family had been insulted.
‘No? What is it, then, this mix?’
‘It’s not a mix. It’s perfectly consistent. It’s classic English food with a heavy Spanish inflection.’
‘Inflection? Would that be the octopus?’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Nigella’s never done it on TV. Is the apple straightforward enough for you?’
‘It’s a bit sweet, actually.’
‘You know what?’ Marcus said. ‘Shall we just do the scores now?’
There was a shuffling round the table as people took out their phones. Justin said his didn’t do e-mail, so Marcus went to get his laptop. The silence became looser as everyone began
composing their verdicts.
Matt did not take long to structure his judgement. His thumbs moved quickly over the keypad of his BlackBerry. He pressed send and saw a tick appear next to the message, confirming that it was
gone. The others were still hunched over their devices. Rosie and Stephen were whispering urgently to each other as Rosie made notes on a spiral pad. Justin typed slowly.
Charlotte’s fingers were flying over her screen. She was grinning malevolently as she typed and Matt couldn’t help but laugh silently as he thought about what she must be writing.
Matt didn’t put his BlackBerry down. She had been good fun, Charlotte, hadn’t she? He hadn’t really meant for it to be over so quickly. If Barbara hadn’t come along, it
probably wouldn’t have been.
She would be impossible to live with, of course, and had a clear double chin as she looked down at her iPhone. But that was OK; he wasn’t thinking about it as a permanent thing, just a bit
of fun. She was entertaining and lively. It was worth a try, wasn’t it?
His thumbs began moving over the keypad again. How to phrase it? Nothing too specific. There was no need to overcommit. Should he apologize? Yes, it would definitely be helpful. It would allow
some ambiguity about his intentions. He tapped out a couple of sentences. Yes, that would do.
‘Sorry about last week. Do you want to go out for a drink after this to make up for it?’
He sent it as a text. There was no indication of whether it had arrived. Charlotte was still fiddling with her phone. She didn’t look up. He couldn’t read her face.
She lay the phone on the table and pushed it away slightly: far enough to signal she had finished the message, but near enough to see any reply.