The atmosphere was poisonous now, and not even the languidly liquid disappearance of the sun, turning the park into a cooler, more peaceful place, could rescue the evening. Renée and Juliette sat stiffly next to each other and didn’t appear to be speaking at all any more, there may as well have been a fence between them, and poor Sissy looked as though she was going to faint with the stress of it all. Natasha was sullen (as she had been for much of the evening) and Siobhan was trying to paper over her appalling insult of Juliette’s husband, having dared to imply that Stephen somehow had had something to do with Nigel’s death. To break the impasse Natasha started tidying up, grimly, as if she were picking up dog-shit – tipping the remaining quarter of Sissy’s pasta salad into an M&S bag she’d designated for rubbish without even asking Sissy whether she wanted to keep it; scraping plates like they were potatoes to be scrubbed (or perhaps children to be bathed); scrunching used napkins with unnecessary force into tight mucky balls that were tossed into the carrier bag too, not bothering with recycling, just chucking the empty wine bottles in with the mess; flicking stray flakes of sausage roll towards Siobhan, perhaps deliberately.
It was Renée in the end who said it. She tried for a chummy tone but it came out strangled, and although it was clear she was suffering too, she was drunk enough to not care about the consequences.
‘Look, girls, I’m sorry, but I’m just sick of this atmosphere. If it’s going to be like this every time we see each other we might as well not bother trying to get together any more.’
‘All right, Renée,’ said Natasha. ‘I don’t think we need to discuss it here.’
‘Oh, but I disagree,’ replied Renée, more airily now. She emptied what was left of the last bottle of Prosecco into her glass. ‘Here’s as good a place as any. Why do we all pretend we still get on for a start? Who’s to blame for this whole horrid situation? Is it just the passing of time, the natural growing apart we can’t seem to accept, or is it something more, more … sinister? Siobhan, you seem to think Stephen’s responsible for all this, why don’t you start?’
‘Shhhhush, Renée,’ said Siobhan. ‘I said something out of line, I take it back.’
‘Ah, but maybe you shouldn’t take it back,’ said Renée, and her eyes were flashing warnings, and no-one had ever seen her like that. ‘After all, it’s true, isn’t it, Juliette? Stephen killed Nigel, didn’t he?’
Juliette stared at her former friend. ‘Don’t be so utterly ridiculous, how on earth can you say such a thing?’
‘Because it’s true!’ said Renée. ‘If it wasn’t for Stephen, Nigel would be alive now, Sissy wouldn’t be struggling on her own, she’d still have a husband who loved her, way more than yours ever has. But Stephen fucked it all up through his greed and selfishness. He’s such a fucking cheat and liar, as well as a –’ She stopped.
Juliette looked horrified. ‘What the hell are you trying to imply, Renée? Don’t you start now, please, not after Siobhan’s outburst.’
‘What has become of you, Juliette?’ said Renée, and she said it quietly now, almost as a caress. ‘Where has your sweet, beautiful heart gone?’ Juliette looked broken for a second, and then she looked away, towards The Serpentine, which appeared calm and serene as it faded into the night.
It was Natasha’s turn to speak, to break the loneliness of the silence. ‘Leave her alone, Renée. I don’t think you of all people have the right to lecture anyone on morals.’
‘Well, I think I have more right than most of you,’ yelled Renée, inflamed again. ‘Just take a look at your husband for a start.’ Everyone gasped as Renée blushed. She carried on hurriedly. ‘Sometimes I think Siobhan’s the only one round here who’s at least honest, who says it like it is.’
‘I think you should be quiet, Renée,’ said Camilla quietly, but it was too late. The incriminations continued on in the downy dusk, where the air was soft and summery and there were no strangers to inhibit them, where the alcohol had finally dislodged stuck feelings, like years’ old plaque set free by mouthwash. Sissy sat, feeling dizzy, on her auntie’s rug, bought as a wedding present in a far ago, happier time, staring at her ankles below her hideous flowery dress (why hadn’t she just worn shorts like she’d wanted to?), and they appeared to be swelling, trying to drown the bones out. She wanted the screaming to stop, she didn’t much care what they were saying any more, she didn’t care who was to blame, after all maybe she was, and anyway Nigel was dead, none of this would bring him back, no matter how loud any of them shouted.