Page 92 of Last Night

‘Is Ed the fair-haired guy at the funeral, who did the reading?’

‘Yes!’

‘He’s your ex, right?’

‘Ed? No no no, not my ex. Nope.’

‘Ah.’

‘Is this what we call … fishing?’ I say, and Fin smiles back.

‘No, it’s making conversation, when you politely ask a question and the person is free to respond “None of your business”,’ Finlay says, the quote marks clear in the intonation.

He sips his drink and I cast my eyes upward.

‘Oh, very clever. You’re asking as you overheard our barney at the wake?’

‘It was quite heated butI’m not sure I followed what had gone on. You read a letter? A letter from the box of personal items you weren’t going to look at, but hey that’s not important right now …’

Fin does a comic ‘look into middle distance while tilting the glass to his lips’ pose and I guffaw, my stomach clenching with guilt. I’m still slightly stunned he has such levity in his repertoire: like your mate sitting down at a street piano, and bashing out a fluentMoonlight Sonata.

‘Apart from that one moment of weakness,’ I say, hastily. ‘Which, as you clearly bore witness, fully, karmically repaid me, so you don’t need to bother shaming me.’

‘Right. So if he’s not your ex, why is it an issue he slept with my sister? Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.’

I hard swallow both at the amount he knows, and his asking a question I’ve levelled in great embarrassment at myself.

‘It’s complicated …’

‘We’re in one of those intense situations where we see each other every day for a few days and then never again in our lives, so what would usually be indiscreet, isn’t, right?’ Finlay says.

‘Yes! This is like a holiday romance with no holiday and no romance,’ I say, with the boldness of a woman who’s half a centimetre deep in orange-flavoured paraffin.

I describe the letter to Ed at university going astray, Hester, the engagement, the sense of understanding between us, and my discovery regards Susie, in context. I summarise everything Ed said when he came round and gave Rog chew sticks. It feels good to purge it by telling someone, so much so it outweighs any hesitation and my self consciousness.

Fin listens to it and says at the end: ‘I see why you were upset.’

I breathe out. ‘Thank you.’

‘Want my take?’

‘Yes,’ I say, and brace, as Finlay is sufficiently clever that even if he gets it wrong, he’s going to sound right.

‘Your boy Edward has had his cake, and eaten all of it.’

My eyebrows rise.

‘He’s had exactly what he wanted from each of you, hasn’t he? Adoration from you, steady commitment from his fiancée, casual sex with Susie. It’s hurt all of you in different ways. Susie only in terms of her memory, as far as we know. But who knows. Must’ve torn her up, keeping it from you.’

‘Yeah, I guess so?’

‘He chose to start things with you, he chose to let them drop, he chose to start dating someone else and let you find out the way you did. And he chose to cheat. Yet he doesn’t own those as choices, but as pieces of bad luck? Beware the Nicest Guy in the Room, who doesn’t think his failures are the same as everyone else’s.’

I suppress a smile at Fin having definitely not put himself at risk of being accused of ‘Nicest Guy in the Room-ing’.

‘Hmmm. I mean, I’m sure he didn’t set outintendingit … with me, with Susie. Even with Hester, given he thought I’d not written back …’

God, I can hear myself. Let it go, Eve.

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