“So how are you finding London?”

“It’s great,” said Bella, with more enthusiasm than she felt. She segued into a monologue of the newly arrived out-of-towner, detailing all the sights she’d seen and the places she’d been. Mark listened attentively, nodding occasionally.

“And how’s Jake?” he asked, as she paused for breath.

Bella hesitated.

“He’s fine,” she said slowly.

“Hmmm.” Mark swirled the dregs of his pint around in the glass. “I have to say he didn’t look particularly fine when I last saw him.”

Bella hesitated again. Then she took a deep breath.

“Actually, he’s not fine. I’m quite worried about him. I don’t know what to do – “ For a second she thought she was going to cry and blinked frantically. Mark looked concerned.

“Hey – hey – it’s alright.”

He put a hand on hers. Bella blinked again, looking at his fingers covering hers. The nails on his hand were pale pink, cut short and clean. She sniffed.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Bella hesitated. Did she want to tell? Did she want to talk to this man that she hardly knew?

“You know how we met?” she said slowly. She asked it as a question but said it in a flat monotone. She knew he didn’t know.

“No. What happened?”

“We met in the bombings. We were both on the train in Kings Cross, the Piccadilly line train. That’s how we met.”

She’d stared at the tabletop, smeared with spilled beer. Across the table, she heard Mark’s intake of breath.

“Shit – “

“Yeah.”

“Shit.” He whistled softly. “Really? I had no idea. You were really there? Were you hurt?” Bella shook her head. “Was Jake?”

“No. I don’t think so. Not – not physically. But – oh, I don’t know. I didn’t know him before that. I don’t know what he was like. What was he like?”

Mark looked very serious. He pushed his chair back from the table.

“Stay there. I’m going to get us another drink.”

Bella waited while he went to the bar. She fiddled with the sodden beer mats that littered the table top. She checked her mobile in case Jake had rung her – he hadn’t. Almost as an afterthought, she ran a hand though her hair and reached for her lip balm, greasing her little finger and rubbing it over her mouth.

“Here.”

Mark put a brimming glass down in front of her and slid back into his chair. She was suddenly aware of his physical bulk, the length of his legs, the width of his shoulders. I’m surrounded by big men, she thought giddily. I can’t get away from them.

“Jake and I were at college together,” said Mark. “Did you know that?”

Bella shook her head. She thought, with a spasm of self-consciousness, how little she actually knew of Jake’s history.

“Yeah, we were really good mates. We were really close. We used to go raving, back – oh God, when would it have been? – back in the nineties. Amazing – we didn’t even take anything, we were good boys back then – of course, it didn’t last. But God, we had fun. Did you do that?”

Bella shook her head. She had a sudden vision of Mark and Jake, glistening under the lights of a club, bathed in neon, glowing under the ultra-violet. She saw them as vividly as if she’d actually been there.

“Yeah, they were good times,” said Mark. “I never got on with Carl though. God, he’s an arrogant bastard.”

“Carl?” Bella was shocked out of her vision. “You know him?”

“Of course I do. He and Jake, they’re barely separated, are they? They’ve lived together all their lives. Carl though – I don’t know. He’s a – a right – “

“I know what you mean,” said Bella, solemnly. They looked at each other over the table and both smiled. “He can be a right so and so. I remember when I moved in…”

The photograph was suddenly in front of her eyes – the flesh, the sweat, the damp, sordid whole of it. She took a sip of her drink, washing the taste out of her mouth. Who was the girl in the picture? Who was she? Bella felt the alcohol run slow and warm through her veins. The mystery to Jake’s behaviour was in that picture, she suddenly thought. She needed to know who that girl was.

Mark was still speaking. Mentally, she shook herself and listened to him.

“He was fine up until about a year ago. We saw each other loads – loads. He was, you know, normal - normal Jake, just the same as he’d always been. And then, suddenly, he just wasn’t answering my calls anymore. He just, like, disappeared off the scene.”

Bella squinted at Mark. The smoke in the pub was so thick now – it was hard to make him out.

“He went somewhere?”

She heard the slur in her voice and somewhere deep inside, she was ashamed. Mark didn’t seem to notice. He was staring into the golden depths of his pint glass.

“Yeah, he just stopped calling. He went weird. About a year ago, it was. It was – that’s right – it was just after that girl moved it, Vicky – no, Veronica – Carl’s bird. She moved in and a few week’s later, it was no go with Jake. It was like he had a nervous breakdown, or something.”

There was a silence between them. Bella heard herself laugh nervously, a disconnected, bleary giggle.

“That can’t be right,” she said, stumbling over the words. “The bombings weren’t ‘til later.”

Mark looked awkward.

“I didn’t say it was because of the bombings. It can’t have been, can it? It was a year ago. Over a year ago. Something else must have happened.”

“Like what?” Bella could hear herself, strident, a jagged edge to her voice. She coughed in the smoke. “Like what? Like him fancying Veronica? Why would that – what do you think – why would that give him a nervous breakdown? What are you talking about?”

Her voice was rising – through the haze of drunkenness, she could see people at neighbouring tables starting to stare. Her voice scraped up an octave. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing. I’m not saying anything. Here - ”

Mark reached across the table and took her hand but she jerked it away. “Bella – “

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say – “

She heard her voice wobble. Shoving her chair away from the table, she fumbled for her bag. Mark was getting up, his cheerful face now concerned.

“Bella – “

“Just – leave me alone, will you?”

Some small part of her was aghast at her rudeness. This is what London’s doing to you, she thought incoherently. She was pushing past people, shoving, using her elbows, kicking out to tuts and cries of annoyance.

The street outside was cool, a thin drizzle beginning to fall. Bella turned her face up to the sky, breathing deeply, nearly crying. The thought of trying to get home, of negotiating the night buses, was suddenly overwhelming.

“Bella.”

There was a warm hand on her elbow. Mark stood beside her, huge and bulky in the orange-tinged dark. Bella sighed.

“I’m finding you a cab.”

She was too tired to argue. Swaying, she watched blearily as Mark flagged down a taxi and handed her into the back of it. He held the door open for a moment. Bella was aware once more of his smile – it was noticeable by its absence.

“Bella, here’s my card. Send me a text when you get home. I want to make sure you get home okay.”

Bella nodded.

“I’m here if you need me,” said Mark. “ If you’re worried about Jake or – well, just if you’re worried – give me a call. Anytime. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He shut the door and stepped back. The cab rumbled off into the night. Bella suddenly realised she hadn’t thanked him but by the time she’d turned to wave, the night had closed in and car window had blurred with rain. She squinted through the drizzle but the street behind her was empty.

Chapter Sixteen

Autumn was coming. Bella could feel it lurking just around the corner, evident in the gradually darkening evenings, the chill in the air as night fell. The collection of faded brown leaves in the gutters were beginning to grow into crisp, rustling piles. She pulled the belt of her coat tighter about her as she walked down the street to meet Jake at the Fox and Feathers. Summer’s over, she thought. Nearly three months since the bombings. Could it only be three months? I’ve only known Jake for three months, she thought incredulously. It didn’t seem possible. She felt as though she’d known him forever.