I confess that I was disappointed when Janine got offered the job across in the States. Not that it was disappointing for her. For her it was a fantastic opportunity. And she deserved it. Totally. But it was disappointing for me. Even though we were only casual fuck buddies, it just worked. What had started out as a one-time-only thing after we had probably both consumed rather too much wine at a particularly boring wedding, had, over the space of almost three years, turned into something that fitted perfectly with our busy lives.
'We shall have to investigate mutual online masturbation,' Janine said. And she laughed.
'Not quite the same,' I said.
Janine took another sip of the Jack Daniel's Single Barrel Select that she had picked up, duty free, on her recent trip to finalise the details of her appointment. 'No. I suppose not,' she said.
'Not that I have anything against masturbation.'
Janine smiled. 'Perhaps you will have to get yourself invited to another boring wedding then.'
'Oh? Why? Will you be there?'
'No. At least I don't think so. But there's bound to be someone there who will be happy to become your playmate.'
As it turned out, there was a distinct shortage of weddings. Boring or otherwise. But, a month or so after Janine headed off to Philadelphia, I received an invitation to a dinner to celebrate 40 years of 'The Watchman'. To tell the truth, I was a little surprised when the invitation arrived in my inbox. I had only held the position of Editor-in-Chief at 'The Watchman' for a bit over two years. In terms of longevity, I hardly qualified as 'inner circle'.
I was still trying to make up my mind whether to accept or not when I got a call from Jocelyn Meak. 'Did you get your invitation to the dinner?' she asked. 'Barbara says she hasn't heard from you.'
'Oh... umm... yes, I got it. I'm just trying to juggle a few things,' I told her. (It wasn't true, but it was the best I could manage at short notice.)
'You've got to come,' Jocelyn said. 'You were one of the stars.'
'Hardly,' I told her. 'I was only in the big chair for a couple of years.'
'But what an important couple of years,' she said. 'You were in charge when thing really started to take off.'
'Who else is going?' I asked.
'Pretty much all the usual suspects. Tim. Mark. Janet.'
I thought that it might be fun to catch up with Mark again. He and I had always found plenty to talk about.
'Dennis is not going to be able to make it,' Jocelyn said. 'I don't know if you heard: he had a stroke. Pretty much out of nowhere. And pretty serious. They thought he was going to die for a while there.'
'Not good,' I said.
'No. Oh... and Marion is coming. As you probably know, she's in Toronto these days. But she's coming back to visit her mother.'
Marion and I had always got on rather well. A couple of times, we had come close to making the beast with two backs. But, given that we worked together, we had decided that perhaps that wasn't such a good idea.
'I'll put you down as a yes then, shall I?' Jocelyn said.
I hesitated. But, in the end, I relented.
'It should be fun,' Jocelyn assured me.
The dinner was held in a private room at The Sphere. There were 18 of us altogether.
'Who would have though, eh?' Henry said. 'On that first day. All those years ago. In those funny little offices in Aybrook Street. Marylebone was still pretty shabby back then. If I remember rightly, we didn't pay any rent for the first year. Dorthe, the Danish woman who owned the building, saw herself as a bit of a patron of the arts. Kept suggesting topics for essays. And writers with whom we should be talking.'
Henry had mellowed with the passing years. I think he had pretty much forgotten all about the festering row that he and I had had about the part the internet would play in our industry in the future. 'We need to embrace it,' I would tell him. And he would just shake his head.
'A pity that Dennis couldn't be here,' Henry said. 'You heard that he had a stoke?'
'Yes. Jocelyn told me.'
Henry nodded. Sadly. 'Oh well... a few of us are getting to that age,' he said. 'Although not you, of course.'
Even though it was a set menu, the food was up to The Sphere's usual high standard. And Henry had chosen some excellent wines. But, for some reason that I couldn't quite put my finger on, the mood was rather more sombre than celebratory.
'Are you having fun?' Marion asked as the serving staff cleared away the last of the pudding plates.
'Not especially,' I said. 'You?'
Marion shook her head.
'There are any number of watering holes in these parts,' I said, describing a small circle with my forefinger. 'And, of course, my place is just across on the other side of the park.
'Oh? You're a West Ender, are you? For some reason I had you down as a resident of one of the Chalfonts. Or perhaps Surrey.'
'No. Hyde Park Square,' I said. 'Paddington. Or, as some of the estate agents would have it: Connaught Village.'
'Well, I'm not really wearing walking shoes this evening,' Marion said. 'But we could always hail a cab.' And she smiled.
'Indeed.'
We said goodnight to Henry and thanked him for his hospitality.
'What!? You're leaving already? The night is but young.'
'Marion has a touch of jetlag,' I said. 'And I have to catch an early train tomorrow morning.'
'Oh well...,' he said. 'We should do lunch or something. Janet likes to get me out of the house. And there's a limit to how much golf a chap can play in any one week.'