I opened the box carefully. Inside, on dark blue velvet, was an art-deco bracelet, its cylindrical beads alternate jet and amber. I picked it up and held it in my palm.
‘It’s a bit out there, right? But it reminded me of –’
‘The tights.’
‘The tights. It’s a thank-you. Just – you know – for everything. You’re about the only person I know who would like it. Or me, for that matter. Back then. Actually, it totally goes with your dress.’
I held out an arm and she put it on my wrist. I rotated it slowly. ‘I love it.’
She kicked at something on the ground, her face briefly serious. ‘Well, I think I kind of owe you some jewellery.’
‘You owe me nothing.’
I looked at Lily, with her new confidence and her father’s eyes, and thought of everything she had given me without even knowing it. And then she punched me quite hard on the arm. ‘Right. Stop being all weird and emotional. Or you’re totally going to ruin my mascara. Let’s go downstairs and fetch the last of the food. Ugh, did you know there’s a Transformers poster gone up in my bedroom? And one of Katy Perry? Who the hell have you got as a new flatmate?’
The rest of the Moving On Circle arrived, making their way with varying degrees of trepidation or laughter up the iron steps – Daphne stepping onto the roof with loud exclamations of relief, Fred holding her arm, William vaulting nonchalantly over the last step, Natasha rolling her eyes behind him. Others paused to exclaim at the bundle of white helium balloons, bobbing in the thin light. Marc kissed my hand and told me it was the first time something like this had taken place the whole time he had been running the group. Natasha and William, I noticed with amusement, spent a lot of time talking alone.
We put the food on the trestle table and Jake was on bar duty, pouring the champagne and looking curiously pleased at the responsibility. He and Lily had skirted around each other at first, pretending the other was invisible, as teenagers do when they’re in a small gathering and conscious that everyone will be waiting for them to speak to each other. When she finally made her way over to him she shoved out her hand with exaggerated courtesy and he looked at it for a moment before giving a slow smile.
‘Half of me would like them to be friends. The other can think of nothing more terrifying,’ Sam murmured into my ear.
I slid my hand into his back pocket. ‘She’s happy.’
‘She’s gorgeous. And he’s just split up with his girlfriend.’
‘What happened to living life to the full, mister?’
He let out a low growl.
‘He’s safe. She’s now tucked away in Oxfordshire for most of the year.’
‘Nobody’s safe with you two.’ He lowered his head and kissed me and I let everything else disappear for a luxurious second or two. ‘I like that dress.’
‘Not too frivolous?’ I held out the pleats of the striped skirt. This part of London was full of vintage-clothes stores. I had spent the previous Saturday lost in rails of ancient silks and feathers.
‘I like frivolous. Although I’m a bit sad that you’re not wearing your sexy pixie thing.’ He stepped back from me as my mother approached, bearing another pack of paper napkins.
‘How are you, Sam? Still healing up nicely?’ She had visited Sam twice in hospital. She had become deeply concerned at the plight of those left to rely on hospital catering and brought him homemade sausage rolls and egg-mayonnaise sandwiches.
‘Getting there, thanks.’
‘Don’t you do too much today. No carrying. The girls and I can manage just fine.’
‘We should probably start,’ I said.
Mum glanced again at her watch, then scanned the roof terrace. ‘Shall we give it another five minutes? Make sure everyone gets a drink?’
Her smile – fixed and too bright – was heartbreaking. Sam saw it. He stepped forward and took her arm. ‘Josie, do you think you could show me where you’ve put the salads? I just remembered I didn’t bring the dressing from downstairs.’
‘Where is she?’
A ripple passed through the small crowd by the table. We turned towards the bellowing voice. ‘Jesus Christ, is it really up here, or is Thommo sending me on another wild-goose chase?’
‘Bernard!’ My mother put down the napkins.
My father’s face appeared above the parapet, scanning the rooftop. He climbed the last of the iron steps and blew out his cheeks as he surveyed the view. A light film of sweat shone on his forehead. ‘Why you had to do the damn thing all the way up here, Louisa, I have no idea. Jaysus.’
‘Bernard!’
‘It’s not a church, Josie. And I have an important message.’
Mum gazed around her. ‘Bernard. Now is not the –’
‘And my message is – these.’
My father bent over and with exaggerated care pulled up his trouser legs. First the left, and then the right. From my position on the other side of the water tank I could see that his shins were pale and faintly blotchy. The rooftop fell silent. Everyone stared. He extended one leg. ‘Smooth as a baby’s backside. Go on, Josie, feel them.’
My mother took a nervous step forward and stooped, sliding her fingers up my father’s shin. She patted her hand around it.
‘You said you’d take me seriously if I had my legs waxed. Well, there you are. I’ve done it.’
My mother stared at him in disbelief. ‘You got your legs waxed?’
‘I did. And if I’d had any idea you were going through pain like that, love, I would have kept my stupid mouth shut. What fecking torture is that? Who the hell thinks that is a good idea?’
‘Bernard –’
‘I don’t care. I’ve been through hell, Josie. But I’d do it again if it means we can get things back on track. I miss you. So much. I don’t care if you want to do a hundred college courses – feminist politics, Middle Eastern studies, macramé for dogs, whatever – as long as we’re together. And to prove to you exactly how far I’d go for you, I’ve booked myself in again next week, for a back, sack and – What is it?’
‘Crack,’ said my sister, unhappily.
‘Oh, God.’ My mother’s hand flew to her neck.
Beside me Sam had started to shake silently. ‘Stop them,’ he murmured. ‘I’m going to bust my stitches.’