An Irresponsible Age. Lavinia Greenlaw

and she also nodded, but did not speak.

      ‘It’s to help them sleep,’ Caroline continued. ‘They have this little man who takes drugs and lives in the roof and never sleeps only he likes brown, so …’

      Graham became interested. ‘You live with a junkie?’

      ‘I wouldn’t call him that,’ said Juliet.

      ‘What would you call him?’ asked Caroline. ‘I mean what ought one say?’

      ‘It’s alright,’ said Juliet, ‘he’s gone back to his mother’s. I won’t be effecting any introductions.’

      Graham looked disappointed and then bored. In firelight, his colourless English looks took on the urinous tinge of a weak streetlamp. He was resting a hand on the mantelpiece and from time to time the hand would creep along reaching for something to toy with, an invitation or an ornament, only there was nothing and so the hand would go limp and slide back towards Graham, who would then scratch his head or nose, as if to distract the others from its wanderings. He was accumulating streaks of dust on his face and was trying to stop himself rubbing one ankle against the other, unable to get rid of the notion that fleas had settled in his trouser turn-ups.

      ‘Is the man in the roof an insomniac?’ asked Jane. ‘I never sleep.’

      Juliet had already forgotten that Graham’s wife was sitting beside her, almost behind the door. She looked from Caroline to Graham and then back to Jane, and had to stop herself leaning over to push the girl’s hair out of her eyes.

      ‘He doesn’t trust himself to sleep,’ said Juliet, wondering what she meant.

      Jane gave a hiccup of a laugh and for a moment lit up as if she understood this perfectly. Caroline reached out her foot and tapped Graham’s leg. He nodded and moved across to kneel in front of Jane, who squeaked and drew away. Juliet was fascinated.

      ‘Jules!’ Fred bellowed from the kitchen. She picked up the bottle of wine and carried it through.

      ‘Shut the door.’

      The room was full of steam but Juliet, who did not cook much herself, trusted her brother knew what he was doing. The hot tap was on full blast and the kettle was being kept at a boil. Fred was dancing between the two, trying to waft steam towards the fish which was draped bumpily across two roasting tins straddling the two front gas rings of the stove.

      ‘It wouldn’t fit in the oven so I had a great idea. Poach the bastard. Only it got a bit dried out.’

      ‘How will you tell when it’s done? You can’t see a thing in here.’

      ‘By feel. Now, can you give them another drink? They brought something rather nice with them.’

      ‘I put that away.’

      ‘And there’s a bowl of Ma’s olives to pass round and a plate of that ham she sent down. On the windowsill.’

      ‘Fred.’

      ‘What? The olives, come on, Jules!’

      ‘Don’t call me Jules.’

      ‘What?’

      When he had decided that the fish was ready, Fred opened the kitchen window and back door. The walls were slick with condensation and their variegated surface of plaster, flock, graffiti and brick was exuding a smell of leftovers. Juliet returned to the kitchen with the plates of olives and ham, almost untouched.

      ‘Graham chewed a corner of ham and then spat it into his hand and rolled it along the mantelpiece. I think he must have pocketed it in the end. Then we had the “I didn’t know your mother was Italian, how romantic, all that fiery blood” conversation. I said “Don’t you mean all that fiery breath?” at which your Caroline produced a packet of mints and offered them round.’ Juliet did not tell him that Jane had been vacantly scratching at her cheek with an olive pit until Graham took it from her.

      Fred put his hands on his sister’s shoulders. They were both smaller and darker than their three red-headed siblings, and were referred to in the family as the Little Ones, even though Carlo came in between. Carlo was the size of the two of them put together.

      Fred was shaking, not trembling but pulsing. ‘Please.’

      ‘The fish looks … tremendous. What are we having with it?’

      ‘Parsley.’

      ‘You can’t just … I mean, we can’t eat in here. Let’s take the table in there.’

      They slung the pots and pans onto the floor, separated the top of the table from the legs and carried the pieces through, angling them round doorways and along the narrow hall. The three guests stood up and offered to help but in the end had to wait pinned against the fireplace, their legs reddening while Fred and Juliet banged the table back together, collected up chairs, found a sheet to serve as a tablecloth, lit candles and brought in the salmon, which had broken into several pieces but was so liberally covered with parsley that no one could tell. Fred, brandishing a cake slice and a grapefruit knife, made a great show of carving it.

      No one ate very much, Juliet least of all. She drank quickly and said little.

      Caroline observed this and suddenly asked, ‘Are you not well?’

      ‘One ought not …’ whittered Graham. ‘Not at table, it’s not quite …’

      ‘Are you?’

      Juliet’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Since you ask –’

      ‘Now look what you’ve gone and done,’ said Graham, moving his chair away from Caroline’s. ‘Do you know what they called her at school?’

      ‘Don’t,’ said Jane.

      ‘Blunderer. Blunderer Broad-Jones. Good old Blunderer!’

      Fred, who had been helping Jane to more wine, slammed the bottle he was holding down on the table. ‘Shut the fuck up you fucking creep and get the fuck out of my house.’

      Graham went purple. ‘Stand up and say that!’

      ‘I am standing up,’ faltered Fred, and everyone laughed except Graham, who hadn’t got the joke and so could only conclude that they were laughing at him.

      When they had calmed down, Fred said quite amiably, ‘I meant it though. Out of my house, creep.’ Graham made a show of not doing what Fred asked until Jane and Caroline led him away, thanking Fred loudly and repeatedly in the hope that he couldn’t hear what Graham was muttering about slums and drugs and darkies waiting to rob them on the way home.

      ‘Off to bed with you!’ said Fred to Juliet who was still sitting at the table. ‘I’ll clear up.’

      ‘I need a hot-water bottle.’

      ‘I’ll bring you one, and a cup of tea.’

      When he knocked on her door, Juliet was lying in bed smoking a joint.

      ‘Is that good for you?’

      ‘Very.’

      She offered it to him, which he took as an invitation to sit down beside her.

      ‘What are we going to do with all that salmon?’ he asked.

      ‘I don’t know, smoke it?’

      Fred exhaled as slowly as possible. ‘Really? Do you think it would have any effect?’

      

      Juliet opened the door to her office to find Tania kneeling on her desk, pressed against the wall. Juliet laughed and said, ‘You can hear every word, can’t you?’, making Tania start and turn. She was holding a tape measure.

      ‘I’m sorry?’

      ‘I mean … Shelves?’

      Tania unnerved Juliet with the proficiency of her warmth. The younger woman could not bring herself to trust it. It did not help