There but for The_ A Novel - Ali Smith [37]
You’re the only ones in the whole borough, then, Jan says.
Personally I like it here very much, Eric says sitting down.
It is the first thing he’s said. Everybody turns and looks at him in surprise.
Miles passes his own water glass over to Mark’s side of the table. Hugo watches him do it, then reaches over for Miles’s name card. He holds it in his hands, at arm’s length, as if he needs glasses to read it. Then he puts it back where it was.
What is it you do again, Miles? Hugo says. I asked you before but we were interrupted by your vegetarianism.
Everybody laughs.
I’m an ethical consultant, Miles says.
Ah, Hugo says.
Mm, Richard says.
Ooh, Jan says.
What on earth’s an ethical consultant? Hannah says.
Miles smiles at her.
You’re the brave one, he says.
Am I? Hannah says.
She beams. Then she stops beaming when she sees the look Richard is giving her.
What it means is, I work for firms who want to ensure they’re ethically sound, or who would like to present themselves as more ethically sound, Miles says.
Ha, Hugo says.
Ho, Richard says.
I comb their profiles and make suggestions about where, depending on the brief, they could make themselves greener, or specifically help communities they’re local to, or capitalize on what’s already ethically sound about themselves. Or I highlight potential for all of these. Or, if it’s just presentation we’re talking, I suggest possible rebrandings.
Gosh, Caroline says.
He’s an ethic cleanser, the child says.
Everybody round the table bursts out laughing.
I don’t know why everyone’s laughing, the child says. I’m only repeating what he told me earlier.
Freelance, I take it, Miles? Hugo says.
What’s the per annum on that, roughly? Richard says. Pre-recession, let’s say.
That word, Jan says. Banned at this table.
This is delicious, by the way, Jan, Caroline says.
From the way people keep saying it, Mark gathers that the woman’s name maybe isn’t actually Jan, is maybe more like Jen. He tries to remember what Hugo called her when he insisted to Mark that he come tonight. He panics inside. Has he called her Jan out loud? He tries to remember if he’s said her name to her.
My bonds and shares, Terence is singing. May fall. Downstairs. Who cares? Who cares?
You like to sing, then, Terence? Hugo says.
Gershwin, the child says.
You said it, Terence says.
He and the child high-five. But at the word Gershwin Mark’s head fills with an unexpected music, a blast of Phil Spector production on He’s Sure The Boy I Love, so loud that it drowns the party out for a moment. When he can hear again, Jan or Jen is praising Hugo for something. She’s praising his singing voice.
That song at the end of the first half, Jen says, right before the interval, the one about the war being over in their dreams, do you remember? I’ll never forget it. It was really moving. Wasn’t it, Caro?
Hugo has apparently played Siegfried Sassoon in some kind of play, a play where he had to sing a song at the end of the first half. Mark takes a sip of water. It is new to him, the knowledge that Hugo can sing, the knowledge that Hugo acts in plays. He thinks of himself and Hugo in the bird-watching hut, Hugo behind him, deep inside him, saying, you are coming, aren’t you? Working on it, Mark said laughing, any second now. I mean weekend after next, Hugo said sounding offended even through the effort of love. You are coming to Jan and Eric’s?
Terence Bayoude, it seems, knows a great deal about musicals. Richard says it’s amazing the things people get taxpayers’ money to study these days. Terence tells Richard that his research fellowship is in metallurgy. Richard looks annoyed. Jen tells Terence again that Hugo’s got a great voice and that the Bayoudes should hear him on stage. Mark begins to wonder if Jen is maybe sleeping with Hugo too. He watches the shape of Jen’s mouth and the flick of her eyes for how these respond to Hugo all through Terence talking about how microphones and film changed the shape of the standard