Free After the Party by Lisa Jewell Page A

things to do.
    And they had a beach.
    And they had the sun.
    And they had palm trees thirty feet high.
    Ralph folded his arms and looked once more out of the window. He considered the sky, so clear, so expansive, so distinct from the landscape. He let the blueness and simplicity of it wash over him for a while and then he watched a small white-tipped wave hit the soft caramel sand.
    Smith glanced at him and then smiled. “Ha!” he said, “you’re wondering what the fuck you’re doing in London, aren’t you?”
    â€œJust a bit.”
    â€œYeah, I know. Why d’you think I never come back?”
    Smith took them to an Asian fusion restaurant called Pacifique. It had a wide terrace at the front where they took a table looking out toward the sea. A very cute girl with a name tag on that declared her to be called Avril took their orders for tequila-based cocktails and mixed hors d’oeuvres, the latter of which arrived on rough-hewn crockery the same color as the sky, with numerous dipping sauces in various shades of red and brown.
    Ralph watched Smith take a sip from his cocktail. “I thought they were really tight on drink-driving out here?” he asked.
    â€œYeah, they are. I’m leaving my car here; Rosey’s borrowing it.”
    â€œRosey?”
    â€œYeah, the other half.”
    â€œYou have an other half?” Ralph asked in flattened surprise.
    â€œYes. A girlfriend, you know.”
    â€œYeah, I know what an other half is. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
    â€œWhat,” snorted Smith, “surprised that anyone would want to go out with me?”
    â€œNo. Not that. Just that you’ve never mentioned anyone.”
    â€œNo, well, there’s not much to say.”
    â€œWell, God, I don’t know, how long have you been seeing her? How old is she? Where did you meet? Et cetera.”
    Smith threw him a puzzled look. “Do you really want to know?” he said.
    â€œYeah, of course I do, you’re my mate. I mean, were you even going to mention her to me?”
    â€œOf course I was. You’ll meet her tomorrow when she brings the car back. It’s not a secret or anything.”
    â€œSo, tell me.”
    Smith rolled his eyes. “Well,” he sighed, “she’s thirty-three, she’s from Melbourne—”
    â€œAustralian?” interrupted Ralph.
    â€œYe-es. She’s a dental hygienist. She’s got blond hair, like this—” he made the shape of a blunt bob with the side of his hand against his jaw—“and she lives over there.” He pointed at a small block of flats above a mall, painted deep coral with sky-blue balconies. “Oh, and we met here—” he tapped the tabletop with the heel of his hand—“eight months ago.”
    â€œHa, so this is your special place then?”
    â€œNo,” Smith sighed impatiently, “this was already my favoriteplace. I come here all the time. Here, have one of these.” He passed Ralph a plate of tiny tempura soft-shell crabs, sprinkled with slivers of chili and burned garlic. “They’re amazing.”
    Ralph popped one of the crabs into his mouth and instantly decided that it was his favorite dish in Santa Monica. It was, he mused, the sort of thing that would cost twenty quid in Nobu, and that in order to eat it you’d have to book a table three months in advance and then pay a taxi driver twenty-five pounds to take you there, yet here this was, just a relatively inexpensive snack in a local neighborhood restaurant. “That’s fantastic,” he said, licking the oil from his fingertips.
    â€œGood, isn’t it? Everything here is good.”
    â€œSo, this Rosey, is it serious?”
    Smith shrugged and finished his cocktail. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess.”
    â€œWow, so this could be it, then? This could be the one?”
    Smith shrugged again. “Depends what you