He had
aged.
Which
was not the most profound thought to have about someone you hadn't
seen in 20 years, but also, people shouldn't be allowed to do that.
She
looked across the bar to where he was standing with some other
conference-goers, gazing at the face she had once known as fully as
her own. The smooth oval was gone, disruped where his cheeks had
hollowed. His nose was thinner. He smiled, and crows-feet bloomed at
the corner of his eyes. His hair was carefully styled, and a couple
of shades lighter than it had been.
Dyed, a
petty, superior part of her mind supplied.
She
laughed softly at herself.
He
coughed and touched his knuckles to his lips. Her eyes swept upwards,
cataloguing the pink at the tip of his nose and the dark smudges
becoming visible under his eyes where his concealer was wearing off.
She realized with something of a shock that there was one way in
which his body was still legible to her. He was coming down with a
cold.
A
memory, vivid and overwhelming, flooded into her mind. Simon, in the
throes of a head cold, sleeping sitting up on the (flawed) theory
that that would make him snore less. Herself, drunk, lying heavily
against his shoulder, with her hand cradled in both of his. For a
moment, she could almost feel the cotton of his pyjamas where her
cheek was pushed against his bicep, hear the rhythmic buzz of his
snoring, vibrating into her bones ...
When
had that been? Simon with a cold was clingy and demanding – why on
Earth had she been drunk? Had this actually happened at all?
“Who's
caught your attention?” Jenny, her colleague, asked as she arrived
at her side and handed her a glass of wine.
“Simon
Li.” She indicated with her chin to where he was standing. “He's
the moderator for the panel tomorrow.”
“Oh,
yes.” Jenny looked and found him. “Handsome.”
“Is
he?” She looked back at his face, trying to see it without the
overlay of his youthful beauty. “I guess.”
“You
guess?” Jenny raised an eyebrow. “You have high standards.”
She
laughed. “Yes I do.”
“Anyway,”
Jenny took a sip of her drink and changed the subject, “Fiona
texted while I was at the bar. She and Hassan have arrived and are
going straight to the B&B. They'll meet us at the restaurant at
7:00.” She checked the time on her phone. “Which is actually
quite soon, it's later than I thought.”
“We
should get going then.”
“You
haven't had your drink.”
She
took a mouthful of white wine and made a face. “There'll be better
wine at the restaurant.”
They
gathered up coats and bags and began making their way to the exit.
Just as she was following Jenny out into the night air, she
remembered.
Gemma's
birthday party. The one where she had insisted they go to that
pretentious restaurant, and they'd all been uncomfortable and out of
place.
That's
why she'd been drunk.
