Page 59 of A Sky Painted Gold

“Oh my God,” Caitlin mutters, burying her face in her glass. “Why did I come? This is torture.”

“I think he’s coming over,” I say, and she stills.

“Are you sure?” she whispers.

“Yes, yes, he’s making his way through the crowd.” I can feel my own heart pounding as an unbearable tension seems to fill the air, so I can’t imagine what must be going on inside Caitlin.

“Laugh!” she commands. “Laugh right now as if I’m saying something hilarious!”

I give what is possibly the worst stage laugh in the history of stage laughs and just about catch Caitlin’s look of horror at my acting skills before Lucky is standing right in front of me.

“Hello again,” he says, looking down at me, an easy smile on his face that reveals the dimple in his right cheek.

“Hello,” I reply, and my voice croaks with nerves.

He doesn’t speak to Caitlin and she doesn’t speak to him. I have never heard two people ignore each other so loudly before.

“It’s Louise, right?” he asks, and even though he’s talking to me I feel as though I’m intruding on a private conversation. Caitlin remains frozen beside me, her eyes carefully fixed on a point on the other side of the room.

“Yes.” I nod inanely, feeling like I’m stuck in a bad dream as I struggle to make small talk, to pretend there’s anything normal about this situation. “Like the song,” I add, injecting my voice with some false brightness.

“Like the song,” Lucky echoes. “That’s right, I owe you one of those, don’t I?” His words remind me of the conversation we had the night of my first Cardew party. I remember thinking then that we were both of us outsiders, peeking in at that golden world. I really had no idea of the truth of that. “And what brings you to London?” he asks. The question feels heavier than it should. “I seem to remember that you didn’t ever want to leave that house in Cornwall.”

“Well, sometimes you have to open yourself up to new opportunities, I guess,” I say with a lightness I don’t feel.

“I guess so.” He smiles, but the smile is tight. “Anyway, I’d better get back…” He gestures to the stage.

“Oh, yes,” I say eagerly, feeling as though I want to push him up on to the stage myself, just to escape any more of this tense conversation. I can feel the pressure building, thrumming in the air between the three of us.

“It was nice to see you again, Louise.” With that, his eyes flicker across to Caitlin, but she is looking miserably at the bottom of her glass.

Lucky makes his way back through the crowd towards the stage, where he is joined by the rest of his bandmates. They have a brief conversation, and Lucky goes to sit behind his piano. The crowd fall silent once more. Something expectant fills the air, that frisson of excitement that comes when the band take up their instruments and throats clear, fingers hover over keys.

“OK, everyone,” Lucky says, “this next one is a special song, dedicated to the lovely lady sitting right over there,” and he points to where Caitlin and I sit. Her head snaps up and the band start playing. “This is for our new friend Louise,” he says. I recognize the tune as soon as the first notes filled the air, and then Lucky begins singing the words in a deep, warm voice.

“Every little breeze seems to whisper Louise,

Birds in the trees seem to twitter Louise

Each little rose tells me it knows

I love you, love you.”

A sigh escapes from Caitlin’s lips, and I think from mine as well. His voice is rich as velvet. I look over at my friend. This song might have my name on it, but it is plain that he is singing it for her. Someone plonks an open bottle of whisky on the table along with a couple of less than pristine glasses. Caitlin tops up her own glass, sloshing the honey-coloured liquid over the sides.

Bernie and Patricia appear at the table then. “Phew.” Bernie flops into a seat. “The band are certainly playing well tonight.”

“Yes,” I say, biting my bottom lip. “They’re wonderful.”

Bernie looks from me to Caitlin. “And they’re playing your song, darling!” he says. “Why don’t you and Patricia go and dance?”

“I’m not sure…” I trail off.

“Go, go.” He waves his hand. “I’ll stay and keep Caitlin company. Make sure she doesn’t drink the whole bottle.” Here he reaches over and pours himself a large glass of whisky.

“Bernie!” Caitlin cries, only just noticing his arrival. “Here you are! Terrible man, you’ve been neglecting me.” She sticks out her bottom lip.

“You’re quite right,” he says, dusting off the sleeves of his impeccable dinner jacket. “But I’m here to rectify that. I was just telling Lou that she should go and dance.”