Page 63 of Pictures of Him

We talk about the wedding party for a bit, which is planned for the autumn. Harry had favoured a big evening party to begin with but Ling has talked him into having a lunch instead.

‘The thing about a big party,’ Ling says, ‘no offence, Lucian, but it’s hard to spend time with only the people you want to be with.’

‘You’re right,’ says Catherine. ‘We’ve had to go out on a boat to get away from everyone else. And you don’t have a lake, Harry.’

Ling and Catherine look at each other and laugh. It’s been a revelation to see the way these two have got along with each other. I can tell that Catherine really loves Ling.

And the change in Harry since he met her has been remarkable. He used to be so insular and reserved, reserved, exactly what you might expect from someone born to a household where dogs were deified and children ignored. I think if you’re a child who grows up without love, you don’t expect to find it as an adult. And that’s what has set Harry apart – the complete lack of expectation that he would be with someone, someone he loved and who loved him back. I look at him now and I think of all the joy he has ahead – the wedding party, the prospect of children, the transformation of his austere, grey house into a home.

When Ling starts to tell us about a lake where she swamas a child, I find myself hypnotised by her slow, soft voice. She has a gift for storytelling and for making her childhood sound magical, always dwelling on the good things, the beauty, the peace, never the hardship.

‘We used to go to this lake on birthdays, rowing upstream in the fishing boats, two hours or maybe three to get there. But it was worth it: that lake had the clearest, brightest water you have ever seen. And the most beautiful birds. My favourite was a bit like a blackbird but with stripes of fluorescent blue. In English it translates to the fairy bluebird.’

‘I love that,’ Catherine says, then she puts out her hand and covers Ling’s. ‘You miss it a bit, don’t you?’

‘Only in the way that we all miss our childhoods,’ Ling says.

I’m wondering if this is true. For me, yes, up until the age of ten, when my childhood effectively ended. For Catherine, more than any of us: she had the real deal, the insular love bubble, the shrink-wrapped family of three. With Harry, I’d say no. What was there to miss? Those cold-hearted parents? A nanny who should have been pensioned off years ago? Harry’s happiness is strictly present-day, right here, right now.

‘One of the best things was the swimming competitions,’ Ling says, resuming her tale. ‘We used to row our boats into the middle of the lake and then jump in. We’d swim all the way round the lake.’

She is laughing as she stands up and the boat tips a little. She’s over the side, shoes off, dress still on, a small, sharp splash as she lands in the water, before any of us realise what’s happening. She comes up quickly, dark hair flattened to her scalp, laughing in the blackness.

‘Actually it’s not too bad,’ she says. ‘Come on.’

Catherine says, ‘Ling, you’re crazy, you know that.’

She turns to look at me, smiling.

‘What the hell,’ she says, and then she’s overboard too in the beautiful dark blue dress. The moment takes us, me and Harry wrenching off our shoes, our jackets, the boat rocking violently when Harry dives in. Christ, it’s cold, but we’ve drunk enough to be numb to it and we’re all four of us laughing at this unexpected turn, the recklessness of swimming in our party clothes, of swimming at all. Harry lifts Ling into his arms, treading water so that his beige suit trousers balloon beneath him. He kisses the side of her face.

‘You’re not in Thailand now, you know.’

Catherine floats on her back, gazing up at the sky. In the moonlight her arms are silvery white; her hair drifts around her face like Ophelia’s.

Is she remembering the headiness of that weekend we once spent here with Jack and Alexa, the four of us with nothing but enchantment ahead.

She says, ‘This is so lovely, I’m so glad we did this.’

‘We’ll do it again,’ I tell her and Catherine looks at me and smiles, a silent acknowledgement of our shared future.

‘Maybe wetsuits next time?’ she says, and Ling laughs.

‘You’re right, it’s freezing.’ She reaches up to kiss Harry’s neck, then drops back down into the water. ‘We need to keep moving.’ We watch her cut away in an efficient crawl, a quick blur of lemon yellow.

‘Don’t go too far from the boat, sweetheart,’ Harry calls, and we hear Ling laughing before she vanishes into the black.

‘She’s obsessed with swimming,’ Harry says, staring after her. ‘We’re starting the new pool next week.’

More and more boats are coming onto the lake now, voices and laughter and the occasional popping sound as a bottle of champagne is opened, magnified with a strange, watery echo. It is the party I wanted – or rather the one Andrew imagined I wanted; the lantern-lit lake, the boating, the swimming have turned it into something magical.

‘We should probably get out,’ Catherine says. ‘Some of those boats are quite close. Do you think they can see us?

‘Catherine’s right, and it’s getting cold,’ Harry says. ‘Ling,’ his voice is amplified on the surface of the water, ‘Ling, let’s go in now.’

She doesn’t answer and he starts swimming towards her.

‘I’ll go and get her, you bring the boat.’

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