Page 97 of For Real

He tosses his head haughtily. “I work primarily on historiographical writing of the High Middle Ages, in Latin, French, and English.” I’ve no idea what that means, but I hmm intelligently. “Like Dr. Hunter,” he adds in this tight little voice.

Sherry nods. “I’m writing a book on the development of English national identity in postconquest England.”

“A book?” Jasper squeaks.

My mum has parties; I know how to handle conversations like this. I turn to Terrified Guy. “And what about you?”8

He mumbles something.

“Sorry, what?”

“I’m a researcher at the Department of Oncology.”

“Like…cancer?”

He looks miserably at his place setting. “We’re trying to better understand the molecular basis of tumour cell resistance to radiation treatments.”

“Oh, wow, yeah, that sounds totally useless.”

Laurie and Sherry both laugh, and Jasper drinks off an entire glass of white wine he’s been given at some point. Then Laurie sort of pounces on Terrified Guy, and they end up having a really intense conversation about BKM120, perfusion CT scans, and 18-F-something-or-other PET-CT something somethings. Jasper and Sherry start getting into it over a manuscript from some monastery in St. Albans.

And I just prepare myself for seared Cornish sea bass with crab and sesame sauce.

God, yes. Bring it on.

I don’t actually mind not being part of the conversation. First off, the food is nice enough it deserves my attention, and I like being able to soak up the atmosphere in peace. It’s noisy because of all the wood and the clattering of plates and cutlery, but at the same time oddly intimate: little bubbles of conversation in these pools of hazy candlelight. Waiters, confusingly also in black and white, weave in and out of the shadows, keeping the wine flowing.

I’m deep into the venison loin with bacon, cabbage, chestnuts, and the butternut purée when I suddenly notice Sherry is talking to me. But what he really wants to know about is my mum and what she’s doing at the moment, so I tell him about the new exhibition in the railway arch. It’s kind of hard to talk about because it’s called a symbol…I mean the title of the exhibition is a symbol…because that’s not confusing or anything.

It’s probably genius or something. But what the fuck do I know?

There’s this sort of ripple going down the table now. People’s heads are turning, and I hear my mum’s name on strangers’ lips.

Shiiiit.

“Toby?” Laurie frowns. “Is your mother someone…famous?”

Jasper sniggers into his venison.

“Lil bit, my friend,” says Sherry. “Teeny lil bit.”

The quiet librarian glances up. He’s very pale, his eyes all shadowy in the candlelight. “She’s an artist, Laurie. Sh-she’s collaborating with my ex. Or they were w-when…before…” His hand tightens on his fork, and he seems to run out of words.

“Who’s your ex?” I ask.

“M-Marius?”

“Oh, I remember Marius.” Tall, hot, and Byronic-looking, like most of Mum’s beautiful, arty young men. God. I hope they aren’t fucking. “He seemed very…passionate?”

He gives me this stricken look and then stares at his plate, and I feel terrible, and I don’t really know why. Then somebody else whose name I can’t remember leans over Laurie. “Is it true you have three fathers?”

“Err…no.” I give it a beat because I’ve done this a lot. “I’ve got five.”

Laurie turns so sharply he almost puts his elbow in the butter. “What the hell?”

“It’s not a big deal. My mum was sleeping with a bunch of people when she got pregnant, which was probably for the best, in a way, because she was fifteen, so nobody went to prison.”

“Good God,” Laurie mutters. I’m kind of worried about how he’s taking this, but I’ve started so I have to finish.

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