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Adam Thorpe
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ever visited them in their
own place. ‘And they’re
really site-specific,’ Jasper
had joked. He promised
Suzie not to mention
Europe, immigrants, Brexit
or anything else even
faintly political. They have
what Jasper called a non-
interactive
greyhound,
its balls horribly visible.
The dining-room had a
chandelier and a huge
shiny table put to crystal,
candles and bone-handled
cutlery in mind-boggling
rows. She was terrified of
chipping a plate just by
looking at it. Jasper said,
‘Oh good, all we need for
a fry-up.’
The venison casserole was
a challenge to a vegetarian,
but Suzie stayed cool and
pretended to enjoy it.
‘Well, at least you’ve
passed
your
degree,
Suzie,’ said Geraldine.
ie
what have you done with
yourself in the year and a
half since?
Finding herself. Finding her
self. Trying out London for
summer barwork meant
she met Jasper and his
web of cool contacts even
before her final year of
uni. Thank you, whoever
controls the universe. A
big smiley just for you.
‘Here’s to 2017,’ Terence
said, raising the last of
his red wine. ‘Albeit one-
twelfth gone, almost.’ He
had a boozer’s veins on his
nose, flushed cheeks. ‘May
it bring prosperity and
hope and decent weather
to
the
considerable
remainder, now we’re
back in control and not
being bossed about by the
bloody Germans, let alone
the French.’
‘Let’s raid the fuck out
of the fucking fridge,’
mumbled Jasper.