A French Wedding

by Hannah Tunnicliffe

  ‘Oh, no,’ Helen replies. ‘This is all I manage. I get a good haircut and wear black. Dressing myself is about all I can do. I’m basically a five-year-old.’

  ‘Well, I don’t have it all together,’ Juliette replies firmly.

  Helen smiles. ‘That makes me feel better.’

  ‘I’m sure your place is not a pigsty.’

  ‘It is,’ Helen assures her. ‘But I quite like it that way. I think I might have gotten too old to change my ways.’

  ‘That does happen,’ Juliette agrees, thinking of the apartment, still cluttered with her parents’ things. She should have moved on by now, from the things and from Douarnenez.

  ‘I want to go with you next time you go into the village,’ Helen says. ‘I want to see it. Douarnenez reminds me so much of England. The coast …’

  ‘We call it Cornouaille, like Cornwall. We have strong ties with that part.’

  ‘Hugo was saying something about that.’

  They both look over towards Hugo. He’s slumped in his chair, tapping the edge of his glass.

  ‘He’s not really part of the … friends with you all?’ Juliette asks, delicately.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘He’s –’

  ‘He’s pompous. Is that the word you were looking for?’

  Juliette presses her lips together.

  ‘It’s okay, I’ve always been the blunt one.’

  Helen glances at Soleil, who is tackling a crab leg with a silver crab fork and serious resolve. ‘It seems to run in the family. Anyway, yes, Hugo is … different.’

  Again Juliette says nothing.

  ‘We could be nicer,’ Helen says, her smile fading. ‘It’s just that we love Rosie so much. Too much, probably. She’s a grown woman; she can make her own choices. But she’s the youngest of us all. Only by a bit, but it seems like more. She had a good childhood.’ Helen hesitates. ‘She still believes in happily ever after.’

  Juliette takes a bottle from the ice bucket, opens it and tops up Helen’s glass.

  ‘You don’t?’

  Helen shrugs. ‘I’d like to. I want to. I’ve just never seen it. Have you?’

  Juliette envisions her mother reaching out for her father, her father wrapping her mother’s tiny hand in his. Both of them turning to her. Eyes wide, hopeful, wanting only the best. Juliette feels the familiar stab of guilt.

  ‘Once,’ Juliette answers. ‘Well, no, more than once probably, but once for sure.’

  ‘You’re lucky.’

  ‘I guess so.’ Juliette nestles the bottle back into the ice. ‘Though sometimes I wonder if it makes it harder. I believe in happily ever after; I’m just not sure I believe it is possible for me. Not sure I …’ She pauses. Deserve it, she almost says. It rests at the front of her mouth. The way the truth does. Like a menthol pastille. Slick and hard, the vapours filling your mouth and whooshing up your nose with spine-tingling clarity.

  ‘I’d like to believe in it,’ Helen says again.

  Juliette half expects to see Helen staring at Max. Juliette has been watching them together. Helen lies against Max on the couch, reaches for him when he is within reaching distance. Max stares at Helen the way a child stares at someone dressed in one of those animal costumes at a fair. Entranced, baffled, enamoured, trying to find the person inside.

  But Helen is gazing at the photograph on the wall. She gestures to it with her wineglass. ‘Hey. You can see that woman’s nipples.’

  ‘Oui,’ Juliette replies, smiling.

  ‘I just noticed,’ Helen says. ‘Ha! It’s brilliant.’

  ‘Oui,’ Juliette says again. They both laugh.

  *

  Juliette places down the main meal. Lamb. Artichokes. Beans. Lars helps her pass around plates. Chatter and the clattering of plates and tongs and cutlery syncopate each another.

  ‘Sophie?’ Juliette hears Nina ask.

  She has returned dressed in another large sweater and narrow jeans. There is a piece of bread on her plate she has picked to pieces, pinching and rubbing it between thumb and forefinger into crumbs. She eyes stare, her cheeks are pink. Juliette knows the name that is at her lips.

  ‘Sorry?’ Sophie replies.

  ‘Lamb?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you haven’t eaten …’ Nina insists.

  ‘I ate in the kitchen.’ Juliette hears Sophie lie. She avoids looking at either of them.

  Nina lowers her voice. ‘Darling, you’ve barely eaten all weekend –’

  ‘I ate in the kitchen,’ Sophie says again, challenge in her voice.

  Juliette wonders if Sophie is not eating for the reasons she didn’t eat much last night or for breakfast or for new reasons. Reasons that involve a boy who is crowding out all other thoughts. Making her feel giddy and happy, making her feel as if her stomach is full of bees. Nina glances over to Juliette, but Max calls out to her first.

  ‘What is this lamb called again, Juliette?’

  ‘Pré-salé. Salt-marsh lamb.’

  ‘That’s right. What does it do? Drink saltwater?’

  Hugo raises his voice. ‘Feeds on marsh grass that grows in seawater.’

  ‘Marsh grass?’ Rosie asks.

  ‘Hugo is right,’ Juliette replies. ‘It’s a special kind of lamb you can only get from this part of France. The regulations are very strict. The lamb has to feed on this grass for at least seventy days. Otherwise they cannot call it pré-salé.’

  Sophie stares at Juliette and then reaches out for a small sliver for her plate.

  ‘It’s the best lamb I have ever tasted,’ Helen says.

  Lars nods. ‘Hear, hear.’

  Juliette watches Max look at Helen and then back to her.

  ‘Thanks Juliette, great job. As always.’

  ‘Sans problème.’

  ‘What did she say?’ Beth asks Eddie.

  ‘It means no problem,’ Hugo translates with a sigh, pushing a bean around his plate with his fork.

  ‘Happy Birthday.’ She murmurs discreetly, to which Max flashes a smile. Max shifts his gaze from Juliette to Beth. Tonight she has put on a pretty necklace with a horseshoe pendant and her shining red hair hangs in gentle waves. ‘So, Beth,’ Max says, his voice slightly slurred. ‘You’re the new girl. You’ll have to tell us all more about you.’

  Beth smiles carefully. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘What’s a pretty girl like you doing with an ugly thug like Eddie?’ Max tips his head back and laughs.

  ‘Hey!’ Eddie cries.

  ‘Just ignore him,’ Nina advises Beth. ‘Max is a rude bastard.’

  ‘It’s true though. Look at her. She’s bloody gorgeous.’

  ‘You’re drunk,’ Rosie says wearily.

  Max stares at Beth and takes a big gulp of wine. He gestures at her with his wineglass. ‘Batting above your average there, mate.’

  ‘Ouch,’ Eddie says, still smiling. ‘Because she’s so lovely or because I’m so unlovely?’

  ‘Both,’ Max replies.

  ‘Charming,’ Nina says, shaking her head. ‘Juliette, don’t give him any more wine.’

  ‘It’s my wine,’ Max challenges.

  ‘How did you two meet?’ Rosie asks.

  ‘Oh, it’s not a very interesting story …’ Beth replies.

  ‘She felt sorry for him,’ Max says, giving another laugh.

  ‘Give it a rest, Max,’ Nina mutters. ‘Tell us, Beth,’ she encourages. ‘We know everyone else’s stories. We’re sick of them.’

  ‘We met at the hair salon,’ Eddie says, reaching an arm around Beth.

  ‘Where I work,’ Beth adds.

  ‘I bet you get hit on all the time,’ Lars says, but in a way that is kind, somehow big-brotherly.

  Beth shrugs. ‘I don’t pay much attentio
n. People are different with hairdressers. They like being looked after, being listened to; it makes ’em feel good.’

  ‘I love my hairdresser,’ Rosie confesses. ‘I’d follow him to the ends of the world. If he moved to Australia I might have to move too.’

  ‘Well, that’s nice,’ Hugo mutters.

  ‘I don’t have a hairdresser,’ Soleil says.

  ‘Yeah. No kidding,’ Max murmurs.

  Nina nods at Rosie. ‘I feel the same. My hairdresser is a gay Japanese man. I would have his babies if he asked me.’

  ‘Aw, Mum, that is gross,’ Sophie groans. Juliette notices she has finished the lamb she put on her plate.

  ‘Seriously!’ Nina giggles. ‘Those head massages … when he shampoos my hair … oh my God …’

  ‘Mum!’

  Nina and Lars laugh together.

  ‘Do you give good head massages?’ Max asks Beth, his voice a drunken purr. Attention snaps back to him. Rosie shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Juliette watches Beth. She gives a polite smile, then turns to Eddie. ‘What do you think, babe?’

  Eddie grins and mimics Nina. ‘Oh. My. God.’ He squeezes Beth closer to him. ‘I was getting my hair cut once a fortnight.’

  Beth admits, ‘It was pretty short.’

  ‘I finally worked up the courage to ask her out. To a movie. That one with …’

  ‘George Clooney,’ Beth supplies.

  ‘That’s right. Spent the whole movie thinking what a fool I was. Taking her to watch George bloody Clooney and then hoping she would like the look of me after!’

  Beth laughs. ‘I did.’ She kisses his cheek. ‘I do.’

  ‘That’s sweet,’ Nina says softly.

  Lars picks up her bandaged hand and holds it gently, like it is a stunned bird, in his palm. Then he reaches out and slowly rubs her back. Helen is watching them too. She glances over to Juliette. Juliette knows what she is thinking. She wants to revise her answer about happily ever after. She has seen it. Lars and Nina.

  Max gets up from his chair. It topples over. ‘Whoops!’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Juliette says, hurrying over.

  ‘I’m off for a piss,’ he declares.

  *

  ‘Max is on the juice tonight, eh, Helen?’ Lars asks, once Max has left the room.

  ‘I’m not his keeper. It’s his birthday.’

  ‘He was rude to Beth,’ Rosie says.

  ‘I’m okay,’ Beth replies cheerfully, though to Juliette she looks a little fatigued tonight.

  ‘Maybe he’s worried about turning forty?’ Rosie asks.

  ‘Maybe he’s just rude,’ Hugo says, to which Helen shoots him a glare.

  ‘Max drinks too much. So? That’s not news,’ she says. ‘You don’t know everything about his life, about him.’

  ‘His life’s not all bad, Helen,’ Lars says.

  ‘Maybe. Lonely, though,’ she says softly.

  ‘I think he makes sure he isn’t lonely for too long,’ Nina says wryly.

  ‘Hey, do you remember that time with his hat of change?’ Eddie says, chuckling.

  ‘What were we drinking?’ Lars asks.

  ‘God only knows. What was he making us drink?’ Helen groans.

  ‘Wasn’t it whiskey and something? Something disgusting and creamy, like Kahlúa?’ Rosie says. Nina laughs. It really is a big, beautiful laugh, Juliette notices. A pink peony in full bloom. She smiles at her.

  ‘That’s what it looked like coming back up, if I remember,’ Nina says, pointing at Rosie, who laughs too. Hugo glances between the two of them disappointedly. Juliette begins gathering up empty plates. Soleil stands to help her.

  ‘What did the hat change?’ Juliette asks.

  ‘It was a hat full of change. As in coins,’ Helen replies.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘He was working in a pub, collecting coins as tips. He put them into a woollen hat …’ Eddie begins.

  ‘Which he had to wear because Rosie and I had shaved off his gorgeous hair …’ Helen interrupts.

  ‘Then, when it was full,’ Eddie continues, ‘he invited us all to the pub and dropped it in the middle of the table and told us we were going to spend it until we were all …’

  ‘Eddie,’ Nina warns, tipping her head at Sophie.

  ‘Helen danced on the tables, do you remember that?’ Lars says. ‘Had half the pub mesmerised.’

  ‘Oh, please,’ Helen replies, rolling her eyes.

  ‘Especially you three,’ Nina adds, looking pointedly at Eddie and Lars, clearly imagining Max with them.

  ‘Max gave us horsie rides home, didn’t he, Rosie?’ Helen says.

  ‘That’s right. God, he was funny. All that neighing and falling over on the grass. How did we ever drink that much? I can’t drink that much anymore.’

  Eddie snorts. ‘Speak for yourself. I have the stamina of a racehorse.’

  Beth is rubbing her boyfriend’s shoulder. ‘Oh, darlin’ …’ she says so apologetically that everyone laughs.

  Lars slaps the table. ‘Stamina of a what, Beth? Tell us the truth.’

  Helen and Nina join in. ‘Yeah, tell us, Beth, stamina of what?’

  Rosie takes a big drink from her glass and glances away.

  ‘A lady doesn’t like to say –’ Beth murmurs.

  ‘Hey, hey!’ Eddie interjects. ‘That’s enough. You’re badgering my girl.’

  ‘I’m not bothered, honey,’ Beth says, teasing. Eddie scoops her into his lap and puts a hand over her laughing mouth. When Eddie pulls his hand away they are both giggling and Beth’s lipstick is smudged.

  ‘We’re not giving up on you,’ Helen warns Beth, winking.

  The music starts up again. ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ by Joy Division. Juliette hums along. Nina leans back in her chair. ‘I think we can blame Max for the folly of our youth,’ she says wistfully. Everyone around the table nods.

  ‘He always had money for booze,’ Eddie says admiringly.

  ‘And nothing else,’ Helen says, shaking her head.

  ‘Didn’t you have to pay his rent once?’ Rosie asks.

  ‘More than once.’ Helen turns to Juliette. ‘He’s changed since then.’

  Hugo gives a small grunt. Helen swivels to face him. ‘Did you want to say something, Hugo?’

  ‘Hugo,’ Rosie hisses, warning.

  ‘No,’ he replies, clearing his throat, returning Rosie’s glare.

  Helen says to Juliette, ‘He wasn’t great with money; he’d never had any. He has it sorted now.’

  ‘He always spent it on us,’ Nina says.

  Helen nods. ‘He’d use his last pound on us – buying us something to make us happy. Dinner. A book –’

  ‘A beer,’ Eddie adds, raising his glass.

  Hugo stands up. ‘I’m going to bed.’

  ‘There’s dessert … the birthday cake –’ Juliette says.

  Hugo raises his palm. ‘Thank you, but I’m full. C’était délicieux.’

  Juliette nods. Helen looks down at the table.

  ‘Goodnight,’ Rosie says as Hugo bends to give her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ll be up later.’

  ‘Yes,’ he replies briskly.

  The music changes and everyone seems to drink at the same time. Juliette watches Sophie eat a few beans off her plate. Nina asks Helen, ‘What were you dancing to on the tables that night?’

  ‘Pulp,’ Eddie answers for her.

  ‘Oh was I? I don’t remember –’ Helen starts to reply but dissolves into laughter.

  ‘That’s right,’ agrees Lars. ‘“Common People”.’

  ‘Don’t judge me!’ Helen pleads to Juliette, laughing so hard she is crying.

  ‘Classy,’ Rosie says, grinning.

  ‘That’s me.’ Helen nods, with mock earnestness. They laugh and loo
k down at their drinks. Pause. Listen to the music, get lost in memories.

  Then there is a horrible noise. The smell reaches Juliette. Sharp and acidic. Everyone turns at once to Beth. There is a mess on the floor.

  ‘Sorry,’ Beth says in a small voice.

  Everyone is out of their chairs. ‘I’ll get a cloth,’ Soleil says. Juliette goes to Beth, who looks a little grey. Eddie is rubbing her back. Nina passes her a glass of water. Lars and Helen try to mop up the mess with some cloth napkins. From down the end of the table there is a disgusted sigh. Juliette glances across the detritus – wine and beer glasses, a candle shoved into an empty bottle, stained napkins screwed up into balls. Sophie is standing with arms crossed.

  ‘Grown-ups …’ she mutters.

  Nina straightens. ‘Sophie?’

  ‘Grown-ups are fucked up,’ she says forcefully, leaving the room.

  Max passes her on his way in. His eyes are red-rimmed as he studies the mess on the floor and the people gathered to clean it up. He claps his hands and guffaws. ‘Beth! Ha ha!’

  To which everyone looks over to him and Soleil then returns with two cloths; one for Beth and one for the floor.

  Chapter 12

  Max

  Max and Eddie remain in the dining room when Beth is tidied up and decamped to the lounge.

  ‘Sorry. About your floor,’ Eddie says.

  Max shrugs. ‘It’s just a floor.’

  ‘But it’s such a classy house. I mean, really … sorry,’ Eddie repeats.

  Max remembers Soleil’s comments. About the house and about The Jacks. He tips the glass in his hand from side to side and feels that itch bloom and deepen. More of a rash than an itch. It’s making him edgy. It’s making him feel too much like his father.

  Max isn’t going to do drugs this weekend. He had promised himself. The stuff he’d taken in the car was to take the edge off. That was the last. He could go a weekend without it. He didn’t want the others to think he had a problem. Besides, he didn’t have a problem.

  ‘Did you ever think you’d be here?’ Eddie asks, leaning back in his chair.

  ‘I never thought I’d leave Grahame Park, mate.’

  Max hasn’t said the words ‘Grahame Park’ for a long while. He usually tries not to think of them. It’s easier that way. Because when he does the images of the place, the lines of bricks and lines of houses, everything in lines and the sky like a wet rag and the faces of the people that had lived there too long, flashed in his mind. ‘Didn’t think I’d get to forty either.’