The Time of Our Lives

by Portia MacIntosh

  ‘You’re welcome to watch it with me,’ I say. ‘I’m just going to order a pizza, watch movies, and chill.’

  ‘I’m cutting at the moment,’ he says, sitting down next to me. ‘But I’d love to join you.’

  That suits me just fine – more pizza for me.

  ‘You two behave,’ Zach says, all smug, unable to hide his pride in his matchmaking skills. ‘Or not.’

  ‘Come on, let’s go,’ Cleo says, taking Tom by the hand, pulling him from the room.

  As she drags him, he holds eye contact with me. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t until he reaches the door.

  ‘Bye, Luca.’

  ‘See you around,’ I call after him.

  Playing the cards I’ve been dealt, I turn to Alan and smile.

  ‘Luca is a lovely name,’ he says.

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply. I’m not exactly sure I can return the compliment.

  ‘Well, let’s get this movie on,’ he says. ‘It’s one of my favourites.’

  I smile before heading over to the shelves to grab the DVD. This time I check it is in its box – thank God, it is. Someone in this house is terrible at putting DVDs and games back in the correct boxes.

  Maybe Alan isn’t the guy I thought he was at first. When he walked through the door, I might have decided he was a dim meathead. Now it seems like there may be more to Alan than meets the eye.

  Perhaps I’m not going to have such a rubbish, lonely Valentine’s Day after all …

  Chapter 15

  Now

  We have finally, formally been released from the confines of the seating plan, which means we can leave our sweltering hot table (and our reluctant table mates) in the marquee and sit outside where there is a nice cool breeze to take the edge off the baking hot summer sun.

  Sitting around one of the wicker tables in the gardens, the five of us have gathered to hang out, drink and enjoy the sunshine. We’re sitting at the table nearest the outdoor bar, which means the boys don’t have to move as far to get drinks, although there’s still quite the queue, because what else do people do at weddings, apart from drink? Why is it that people get so drunk at weddings? Perhaps it’s a ‘grass is always greener’ thing, where those who aren’t married drink to forget that they aren’t, and those who are married drink to forget that they are.

  As people are getting drunker, they’re getting chattier. Well, I think it’s safe to say that my lot were already pretty chatty, but now their lips are getting looser, and we all know what that means.

  ‘So, how was the stag do?’ Ed asks the other boys.

  ‘Didn’t you go?’ Fi asks him.

  ‘Nah, Matt’s mates were rubbish at organising it, they didn’t let me know the date until the last minute, and then it was too late to get the time off work, and—’

  ‘More like your missus wouldn’t let you,’ Clarky interrupts.

  ‘I’m a paediatrician, I can’t just pop over to Amsterdam last minute,’ Ed replies defensively. ‘I can’t ask kids to stop being ill so I can get pissed with you muppets.’

  It did sound a little like he was making excuses – maybe – but who could blame his wife for not wanting him to go on a stag do in Amsterdam? While I’m sure it does have its cultural worth, there is no way they went there to visit the Anne Frank museum and admire the canals, is there?

  ‘It was good,’ Zach says. ‘Just, y’know … the usual stag stuff.’

  I don’t feel so tense now that it’s just me, Ed, Fi, Zach and Clarky. We’re all used to each other. We all know to take everything with a good sense of humour and a pinch of salt. I can finally relax, because I don’t think there is anything this lot could say that would shock me.

  ‘It took ages for my infection to clear up though,’ Clarky muses.

  Suddenly all eyes are on him.

  ‘Your infection?’ I ask, instantly wishing I hadn’t.

  ‘Yeah, the strip club we went to, it wasn’t exactly five-star, and there was a little audience participation,’ he replies casually.

  I briefly glance down at his lower half before meeting his gaze again.

  ‘What? Not down there, Luca,’ Clarky says in disgust. ‘Where is your mind?’

  ‘Gosh, what was I thinking?’ I say sarcastically. ‘I hear something as innocent as “audience participation” at a strip club and my mind goes to the gutter. Classic me.’

  ‘I know, right?’ he replies, oblivious to my sarcasm.

  I look over at Zach, who was also in attendance. The colour has drained from his face and he’s sheepishly staring down at his nearly empty glass.

  ‘He had an eye infection,’ Fi says.

  ‘That’s the one,’ Clarky replies.

  ‘How on earth do you know that?’ I ask her.

  ‘Because Zach had it too,’ she replies angrily. ‘He told me he got hit by a paint ball. I knew that wouldn’t cause conjunctivitis.’

  ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds,’ Zach starts in his defence. ‘It wasn’t a sex thing, it was just a dance club.’

  ‘Nah, the sex show was rubbish,’ Clarky chimes in.

  ‘You went to a sex show?’ Fi squeaks angrily.

  Shit. It doesn’t sound like Zach has been all that honest with her about what happened while the boys were in Amsterdam.

  ‘Yeah, but it was crap,’ Clarky continues, obliviously. ‘So we went to this club.’

  ‘What is wrong with you guys?’ I ask. I’m disgusted with them, speaking as their friend, so I can’t even imagine how Fi must be feeling right now.

  ‘What?’ Clarky replies. He clearly doesn’t think anything untoward happened.

  ‘Ed?’ I say. Ed has always been our moral compass.

  ‘I’m glad I didn’t go,’ he laughs. ‘That’s messed up.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply.

  ‘It wasn’t as bad as it sounds,’ Zach says, sounding a little embarrassed. ‘I didn’t do anything. I don’t think Matt actually did anything either, but he must’ve touched his eye with dirty hands, and because we were all staying in the same youth hostel, sharing a hand towel, it just spread between us all really quickly.’

  ‘It was definitely from the lap dances,’ Clarky chimes in. ‘It had to be. Well, it wasn’t from the beer, was it?’

  ‘Maybe now isn’t the best time to talk about it,’ I point out, noting a few glances from passing guests who are noticing the building hostility at our table.

  Each to their own and all that, but I cannot believe that a bunch of taken men would do such a thing … actually, who am I kidding? Of course I can. I just thought better of my friends, and I absolutely thought better of Tom, who must have organised the whole thing.

  Zach, happy to change the subject, starts telling Ed and Clarky about the time they had a real lion on set at work.

  ‘I’m going for a lie down,’ Fi says, knocking back the last of her orange juice.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she says. ‘It’s just the sunshine, and I’m starving. Maybe there will be some biscuits in the room or something.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ I ask again. She doesn’t seem herself at all.

  ‘I’m sure,’ she replies.

  ‘See you in a bit, babe,’ Zach calls after her before turning back to finish his story.

  ‘Shouldn’t you go with her, check she’s OK?’ I suggest.

  ‘Nah, she’ll be fine,’ he insists.

  ‘Yeah, you know what women are like,’ Clarky tells me.

  I shake my head in disbelief.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ I ask him. ‘Did you do that on purpose? To upset her?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he replies. ‘I was just being honest.’

  ‘You could’ve been gentler,’ Ed points out.

  ‘Yeah, pal, you definitely didn’t put the best spin on it,’ Zach adds.

  As though there was a way to tell this story in a positive light.

  ‘Luca,’ a voice snaps me from my thoughts.
I look up.

  ‘Pete,’ I reply brightly. ‘Hi.’

  ‘How’s it going?’ he asks. ‘I feel like I’ve hardly seen you today.’

  ‘I know,’ I reply. ‘Every time I look for you, I can’t find you.’

  ‘Are these your friends?’ he asks.

  Oh, God, I think he wants introducing to them. To my drunk, idiot male friends who could probably find a way to ruin this for me in under a minute.

  ‘Yes,’ I start, reluctantly, noticing that the boys are listening now. ‘This is Ed, Zach and Clarky. Along with Zach’s fiancée, Fiona, we all lived with Matt at uni. Lads, this is Pete, he lived with Kat.’

  ‘Nice to meet you all,’ Pete says politely.

  The boys all say hello and I relax a little because everyone is being civil and polite.

  ‘Not much single totty at this wedding, is there?’ Clarky says to him, in a ‘lad banter’ way that I’m sure he thinks is a perfectly normal way to speak to other men.

  Pete laughs, but he seems far too mature and refined for conversations like this.

  ‘Funny you should say that,’ Pete replies. ‘I came over to see if I could buy Luca a drink.’

  ‘Luca isn’t totty,’ Clarky scoffs.

  ‘Erm …’ I start, and I might be about to say something unbecoming of the kind of mature young woman I’m trying to show Pete that I am, but Ed comes to my rescue.

  ‘He just means, because we’re all old friends, Luca is like a shister to him,’ Ed says.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A sister,’ I say. ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Pete replies. ‘I see what you mean. Well, I promise to take good care of her.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever,’ Clarky replies, turning back to Zach. ‘Tell us more about the lion.’

  ‘Don’t get her pregnant,’ Ed calls after us as we walk away. He’s a fine one to talk. I think someone needs to stop him drinking because without his wife around, I feel like we’re getting flashbacks to uni Ed, who was absolutely fine until he got absolutely hammered. No one wants to see that guy again. He was probably the worst one out of all of us. I definitely prefer Ed as our designated sensible friend.

  We walk towards the pond as we chat. It’s quite big, with a beautiful wooden bridge that stretches across the widest part.

  ‘Your friends seem funny,’ Pete says.

  ‘They definitely think they’re funny,’ I joke. ‘I suppose I could’ve lived with worse though.’

  ‘Yeah, I used to tell myself that,’ he replies. ‘I think every house has someone who makes bad jokes, someone who doesn’t do the dishes, someone who makes too much noise …’

  ‘Exactly,’ I reply as we take a seat on a bench, just far enough from the buzz of the wedding party to get some privacy. ‘We became this weird little family unit, with everyone taking on the different roles and, without even knowing it, playing them perfectly.’

  ‘Who was who in your house?’ Pete asks, amused.

  ‘Clarky is like an annoying little brother. He was always getting in trouble, he had no idea how to look after himself, and he would annoy us all twenty-four-seven. Zach and Matt were the cool, older brothers – a bit too cool for their own good, perhaps. Fiona was your typical girl next-door type, sensible sister in a house full of annoying boys. And Ed and I were lumbered with the parental roles, taking care of the rest of them, helping them with their work, getting them out of trouble, cooking for them, cleaning up after them …’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like much fun,’ Pete says.

  ‘You don’t realise at the time, that you’re looking after everyone,’ I admit. ‘Anyway, I was lucky, I had two roles. Because when I wasn’t playing the mum, I got to be the weird sister, the one who dresses in alternative clothing and listens to loud music. I was positively uncool at uni – by society’s standards at least.’

  ‘Spoken like a true alternative,’ Pete says with a chuckle.

  I laugh.

  ‘I suppose I’m still a bit weird,’ I admit in the interest of full disclosure, just in case it wasn’t obvious.

  ‘I was a bit of an oddball too,’ Pete confesses, pausing to sip his beer. ‘I was into trains.’

  ‘Trains?’

  ‘Trains,’ he says with a knowing look. A look that suggests he has been met with this type of unimpressed reaction before. ‘Everyone else I lived with studied cool, sports-y subjects, and I was writing my dissertation on strategic change in the UK rail network.’

  ‘Oh wow, you were a train nerd,’ I tease.

  ‘I was,’ he says. ‘It was weird, being the only person in the house studying engineering when everyone else was studying sports subjects.’

  ‘Yeah, I can imagine. We all studied media, apart from Ed, who did medicine. But of all my kids, he’s definitely the one I’m the most proud of,’ I joke.

  ‘You’ve raised him well,’ Pete replies.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say like a proud mamma, placing a hand on my chest.

  It’s fun to joke around with Pete, but I do like to think I played a part in Ed turning out as well as he has, and I am actually really proud of him for getting the job he wanted and the family he’s always dreamed of.

  ‘Well, you seem cool now, and I’m cool now,’ he points out. ‘I save the planet.’

  ‘Well then, you’re practically a superhero now. I think I speak for the entire planet when I say thank you.’

  ‘It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it,’ he says in what I’d imagine is his best superhero voice. ‘We have a lot in common, don’t we?’

  ‘I guess we do,’ I reply with a smile.

  Pete twists his body so that he’s facing me. When I look at him, he slowly raises a hand and places it lightly on the side of my cheek. We hold eye contact for a moment before Pete closes his eyes and leans in to kiss me. I’m just about to meet him in the middle when I notice something out the corner of my eye …

  Chapter 16

  Then – 15th May 2009

  First of all – and this is something I need to make crystal clear – I don’t think I’m fat. Sure, I’m not the skinniest girl in the world, they’re not going to be putting me on any Victoria’s Secret catwalks anytime soon, but I would say that I was appropriately curvy for a girl of my height, and completely happy with it. Sure, I might not be very strong and, OK, I’m probably softer to the touch than I ought to be, but I’m happy as I am.

  However … in the interest of making an effort with my boyfriend, I am on a strict diet with a hardcore exercise regime. Alan says the workout we’re doing isn’t actually hardcore at all, but it feels hardcore to me, so that’s what I’m calling it. The thing is, I’m only doing it to make him happy, to try and find some common ground between us, so when Alan isn’t around, I’m pretty much eating whatever I want. I know, that makes me sound bad, but this way everyone gets what they want. Alan feels like he’s helping me be a better, healthier person and I am exercising more, but still eating a bit of what I like when no one is looking.

  Tonight, what I like is Maltesers, but as I gleefully toss them into my mouth, I knock the bag over and watch as they all spill out onto the floor and roll under the sofa. Alan is coming over later to pick me up on the way to the gym, and if he sees Maltesers all over the floor, he’s going to know I’ve been breaking my diet. At first I think, so what? I don’t even need to be on a diet. But then I think again, and I know that he’s only trying to help me be a better person. I should absolutely pick them anyway, because what kind of housemate leaves food on the floor? (Spoiler: Clarky)

  I pull the sofa out a little more, enough so that I can crawl behind it and begin scooping up Maltesers, placing them back in the bag. Such a waste. If I didn’t know for a fact that no one has vacuumed this carpet since we moved in, I might still eat them. I’m about to crawl back out when I hear the living room door open.

  ‘Just take a seat in here,’ I hear Zach say. ‘I need to pop upstairs and get changed.’

  It can’t be Alan alre
ady, can it? It’s way too early.

  Terrified of being caught with chocolate, I decide to stay where I am

  ‘So are you just going to ignore me all night?’ I hear Cleo moan.

  ‘I’m not ignoring you,’ I hear Tom reply. ‘I just don’t know what to say to you right now.’

  ‘Say you forgive me,’ she says.

  ‘Why would I need to forgive you, if you’re telling me nothing happened?’

  I feel my heart jump up into my mouth. No matter what, I absolutely cannot come out from behind the sofa now, not now I’ve heard this much of their conversation. They’ll think I stayed here to earwig – or even if they do believe my contraband chocolate story, they’ll still think I’m a weirdo for listening.

  ‘Because you seem to think I did something wrong,’ she replies angrily.

  It’s so weird, hiding behind the sofa, only listening to their voices. Cleo sounds irritated and exhausted from having to explain herself. There isn’t much sincerity in her voice or conviction in her argument. Tom on the other hand sounds upset, a little angry, and completely suspicious. I imagine him narrowing his gorgeous brown eyes and furrowing his brow as he tries to work out if he’s buying what she’s selling. Cleo, I imagine, is doing that thing she does, that gentle bat of her hand. I’ve noticed her use it a lot, to dismiss suggestions or people or facts. She’s probably combining it with that eye roll of hers, the one that really makes you feel small when it’s for your benefit.

  ‘You were sitting on that bloke’s lap,’ he reminds her.

  ‘Nathan? I was just asking him where we should visit in Bali,’ she replies, as though there’s nothing wrong with that.

  ‘Did you need to sit on him to ask that?’ he says angrily.

  ‘Why are you acting so jealous?’

  ‘I’m not acting jealous, I’m being angry. You can’t just go around sitting on other blokes, flirting with them. Not just because it’s upsetting for me – your boyfriend – but because you were leading him on.’

  ‘It’s 2009. Women can sit on whoever they want, without being obliged to have sex with them.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m getting at and you know it,’ he replies. ‘What would you say if I, I don’t know, I went upstairs, grabbed Luca, and sat her down on my lap?’