‘Excuse me.’ Gabby tapped the arm of a passing waiter. ‘Can we have another bottle of champagne please?’
‘Certainly.’
Jeff gave her a soppy, simpering look. I’d seen that look on his face a thousand times before – it usually meant he was on a promise.
There was a five-minute interlude while people excitedly bought raffle tickets, as they do at these sort of do’s, then the main courses arrived: some sort of chicken and gratin potatoes and veg. I was ravenous and it was delicious.
‘How’s work?’ asked Jeff. I wished he’d stop asking me questions. I guessed he was doing it to look all genial in front of Brian and Movie Star (I still couldn’t catch what her name was), or perhaps it was to show Gabby what a nice guy he was. That was a joke.
‘It’s fine,’ I said, after a bit of a pause – he’d done that annoying thing where someone asks you a question when you’ve got a piece of chicken in your mouth and you’re chewing it and everyone stares at you whilst they wait for you to finish chewing. I’d prefer it if he didn’t talk to me. I knew he wasn’t really interested – he never had been.
I could see Gabby checking me out. She had never been the most subtle. I knew what she was thinking: my bosom area was enormous in comparison to hers – her boobs were neat and constrained; mine were straining at the leash. Her bottom was probably barely covering a quarter of the seat of her chair; mine took up nearly all of it. She had my husband; I had no one. Well, she was right there, but she didn’t know everything, or the week I’d had. I’d had three kisses, one date and a booty call. I supposed it was better than nothing, or no one. At least the week had been eventful. I suddenly wondered what Will was doing tonight; he’d told me he always had Friday afternoons off. Was he at home with a box set (he was a Sopranos guy, I bet, or maybe Breaking Bad), a glass of wine? I knew I shouldn’t be thinking about him, I knew I shouldn’t care what he was doing; I should be as much in the dark about his life as Gabby was about mine. I glanced at her. She was draining another glass. She had that tell-tale look of drunkenness about her. A slightly wobbly head and lightly glazed eyes.
There was the sudden sound of a guitar tuning up and the rumbling of drums – the live band had arrived on stage, at one end of the restaurant. They launched into ‘Summer of ‘69’, and were really very good. Then pudding appeared in front of us – oh, it was delicious and one of my favourites – crème brulee; I enthusiastically broke through the crispy top and got stuck in. Gabby and Movie Star (I couldn’t even be bothered to find out her name now; the evening was too far gone) both pecked at theirs with their spoons. This was unlike Gabby, I thought. She loved her puds. She was showing off, clearly. She’d have a doughnut topped with a huge scoop of ice cream when she got home. And Movie Star probably just ate like a bird. She looked the type. She was tiny.
I was just releasing the last scrape of brulee from my bowl when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.
‘Bloody hell, Mum!’
There, behind me, and bold as brass, was my mother, dressed in what I knew to be her best black ‘slacks’ and a vintage beaded top I knew she’d got from eBay. Her hair was all coiffed and she was wearing make-up.
‘All right, love?’ she beamed.
‘Grandma!’ cried Freya, getting up from the table to give her a hug.
‘What are you doing here?’ I exclaimed
‘Well, I couldn’t not come!’ she tutted. ‘My only granddaughter’s graduation dinner!’ She looked straight over to Jeff, who did not look best pleased; he had a thunderous look on his face and was yanking unhappily on his tie.
‘How did you get in, June?’ he barked. They’d never been the best of friends, Jeff and my mother – they had tolerated each other at best.
‘Oh,’ she replied, flapping her hands around, ‘there was some sweet thing on the door I managed to charm. I just said I’d slipped out for a quick ciggie and was coming back in. Auntie Margaret’s here, as well. She’s in the loos putting on some Charlie. She told the same sweetheart she was Head of Catering.’
I laughed. Oh, those two. I was glad they were here; it might liven things up.
‘There’s a strict limit to covers tonight,’ said Jeff huffily. ‘You really shouldn’t have just sneaked in.’
‘I hope you’re not going to tell on me Jeff,’ said Mum pointedly and giving him quite a look. ‘After everything you’ve done.’
‘Well, no, of course not,’ he blustered. ‘It’s just slightly bad form, that’s all.’
‘Really?’ Oh, she wasn’t having that. Bad form was his speciality, after all.
‘Well, I’m glad she got to come tonight,’ threw in Freya, before things kicked off, but not missing the chance to give her father a bit of a Paddington Stare, for his crime of obtaining an extra Golden Ticket and giving it to Gabby. ‘Well done, Grandma.’
‘Thank you darling,’ said Mum. ‘Where there’s a will there’s a way. Now, can somebody order me a Dubonnet and lemonade, whilst I go and drag Auntie Margaret out of the ladies? She’ll be in there all night, if I’m not careful, holding court and corrupting young innocents with her tales of being a GI’s moll.’ She winked and walked off from the table. I loved the way she’d completely ignored Gabby. Not worthy of her attention. Brilliant, Mum.
I called a waitress over and ordered my mother a drink, plus a dry martini for Auntie M. It was getting loud in here now – a few were already on the dancefloor and people were chattering and clattering and laughing and generally showing varying signs of drunkenness from slightly tipsy to full-on hammered – a man at the next table had already gone for a burton, pulling the tablecloth and half a dozen assorted glasses down with him, as women shrieked. Jeff and Gabby were whispering to each other – probably about Mum. Freya and Hannah were chatting. Brian and Movie Star both seemed to have gone into a trance – they were staring straight ahead, nothing to say. I sat and listened to the band, which was absolutely rocking – the lead singer was now belting out ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’ in a rich, husky voice, and my foot tapped to the beat. I was feeling all right, now that Mum and Auntie Margaret were here I didn’t feel outnumbered any more. I had allies. Where were they, by the way? Mum had been ages.
‘Go and see where Grandma is, darling,’ I said to Freya. ‘Make sure Auntie M hasn’t got herself locked in the toilets or something.’
Freya stood up. ‘They’re at the bar,’ she said. ‘Look!’ Yes, I could see them, laughing and chatting to a couple of young, male graduates. They’d been side-tracked already. Mum was flinging her arms around and Auntie Margaret, wearing some sort of fox fur and a feathery fascinator, was swigging out of a champagne bottle.
‘That’s typical of those two!’ I said. ‘Can you take their drinks over to them? Not that they’ll need them – knowing them, they’ll have drinks bought for them all night.’ They always attracted a crowd, somehow or another, that pair. ‘I know she’ll want to talk to you.’
‘Okay, Mum,’ said Freya. ‘You coming?’
‘Not just yet – I’ll stay and listen to the music for a bit.’
I was happy to just sit, for a while, in my own little world. The band was now doing one of my favourites, ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’ – oh it was cheesy but I loved it. I sipped my champagne, ignored the others at the table and just enjoyed myself. I glanced over to the bar at one point – Mum and Freya were now in deep conversation, while Auntie Margaret had her arms round the two young men, taking selfies. I’d go over when my song had ended.
The song ended. There was a smattering of applause and a few whoops. I wondered what the next one was going to be. Did they take requests? There was a loud tinkling, from the piano, the kind that’s made when someone runs their fingers up and down the keys, bottom to top. Ooh, were they changing the pace? Perhaps there was going to be some Elton John. I couldn’t see the lead singer any more, but then I couldn’t see much of the stage from where I was sitting; it was obscured from view by a dozen tables and a million drinking, laughing peop
le. I couldn’t squint through to the bar now, either – too many people in the way. I poured myself a little more champagne and went to take a sip but, as my glass was halfway up to my mouth, I froze. No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. Really? My face broke out into a giant grin.
The strains of Chas and Dave’s Rabbit was starting up.
‘You’ve got to be kidding!’ bellowed Jeff and he stood up. I stood up, too. Yep, it was them. I had a direct view of the stage now. Mum and Auntie Margaret had taken to the piano.
Jeff and Gabby gawped at each other in surprise. Well, Jeff looked absolutely horrified and Gabby was smiling with a tipsy, slightly gleeful look on her face. She knew what we were in for; she’d seen my mum in action many a time – we’d had some very funny nights, actually, with Mum and Auntie on the old Joannas, at various, often unplanned venues… I refused to smile back at her, though – we weren’t sharing memories any more.
A large group of laughing graduates were on the dancefloor doing ironic, Mockney dancing, which apparently entailed pumping their arms up and down at their sides and weaving in and out of each other, country-dancing style. The Dean was on the dancefloor now, too, his hair flapping around. I hooted with laughter. I could just about see Mum’s face now, over the piano keys, and she looked over and gave me a rather bashful – for her – salute. Auntie Margaret didn’t look up; she was crashing on those keys like nobody’s business. They’d now segued into an energetically cranked-up version of Uptown Funk and Auntie M had started warbling over the top. Branching out indeed! A massive group of young people were now whooping and dancing.
‘Why is that your mother?’ asked Jeff, incredulous.
‘Go with it, Jeff,’ I said. ‘The kids love her.’ I took another large, joyful slug of champagne and scoured the dancefloor for Freya. Yes, there she was, with Hannah, busting some moves.
I was going to join them, I thought. I didn’t want to sit here with Gabby and Jeff and Brian and Wotsit any longer. Gabby looked really quite sloshed now and had her head on Jeff’s shoulder as he sat at the table on his phone. On Rightmove again, probably – checking out the competition. Brian and Wotsit still looked vacant and as about as much fun as wet weekend. I threw my napkin on the table and stood up. I deserved a good old dance. I could get down with the best of them. I should be doing what I wanted to do, and feeling exactly what I wanted to feel. Big time. Enjoy your freedom, remember. It was something I’d told myself I was going to do.
‘Mum!’ shrieked Freya as I arrived on the dancefloor and she took both my hands and we started doing a crazy little jive.
‘I won’t cramp your style, will I?’ I shouted.
‘Of course not!’
It was fun. Mum and Auntie M were now doing a hilarious piano version of Bieber’s ‘Sorry’ and the crowd was going wild. I got really into it, dancing with Freya and Hannah. I laughed like I’d never laughed before and danced like I’d never danced before. Not for a very long time, anyway. I felt free, free of everything. I danced with my daughter and her friend to my mother and my aunt on the piano. I danced away the week I’d had. I danced away the men in my life – long-term lovers, fleeting dalliances and unrequited crushes; I danced away the heartache. This was what freedom felt like. I had friends and I had family – what more did I need?
We danced for three or four more songs. The band had reclaimed the stage, and Mum and Auntie Margaret had been turfed off – I could see them now, back at the bar, clinking cocktail glasses. We danced until my feet ached and I felt like I’d lost half a stone. We danced until I was gasping for a drink and had to go to the bar to get a glass of water.
I asked the barman what time it was and he said eleven o’clock. One more hour to go; it was carriages at midnight, which everyone knew meant dodgy minicabs or the Tube. I felt like I’d (happily) had enough. I felt like I wanted to go home. I was tired and all danced out; Freya wouldn’t mind. I looked over to our table. Gabby was completely slumped onto Jeff’s shoulder now and he had his arm round her, nuzzling his nose into her hair. I would probably never see them together like this again, I realised. Well, I would, some day, but not until Freya’s wedding, or something… and until then they’d get on with their lives and I’d get on with mine. I was free now – both they and I could do exactly what we wanted.
I went over to the table to get my bag. Gabby had her eyes closed; she had zonked out. Jeff gave me that little smile again.
‘She’s plastered,’ he said.
‘So I see.’
‘Never could take her drink.’
‘No.’ I don’t know what he expected me to say. I looked at them. It was odd, really. Her head on his shoulder; his arm around her. A whole new couple: Jeff and Gabby. It was true, I wouldn’t see them again for a long, long time. I suddenly didn’t think I could wait that long. If I truly wanted to get on with the rest of my life I had to say something now, and, suddenly, there were things I really wanted to say to them. Things I had kept inside for so long. If I wanted to completely move forward, those things had to come out. I took a deep breath. Do what you want to do. Feel what you want to feel. Say what you need to say.
I really didn’t know where this was going to go but I had to do it.
‘While we’re all here, there’s a few things I’d like to say to you, Jeff. And you Gabby.’ I said the ‘Gabby’ quite loudly. She stirred and Jeff gave her a little nudge so her head wobbled up and her familiar, bloodshot eyes met mine.
‘Jeff,’ I said. It helped that I was standing and they were sitting. I felt more in control. ‘You hurt me beyond belief. I’ve been through things in the past year I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It’s been absolute hell. But I want you to know – both of you – that I’m over you. I don’t want you thinking “poor Daryl” or that I still hold any sort of remotely stubby candle for you, because I really don’t.’
Jeff sat up straighter, yanking on his tie again. ‘Daryl, I…’
‘Let me finish.’ This was something he always said to me, back in the day, when he had a point to make and I dared interrupt. Now it was my turn. ‘Not only am I over you, but I’m a different person now. I want you to know that I’m not that meek and mild, servile Daryl any more and I’ve realised how awful it was to be her. The Daryl who would put up with – quite frankly – quite a lot of crap. Your crap.’ I took another deep breath. ‘The way you had me running round after you like a little housewife. The way you never, ever respected my career or thought it as valuable as yours. The way it was all about you, and I was just a little bit player… And that was all before you started screwing my best friend.’ I was strong. I was fearless. I looked straight at Gabby. ‘I actually pity Gabby that she’s got herself saddled with you. Does she know yet you pick your toenails and like to have a woman clear up the bits? Does she realise you think a woman’s place is in the home, preferably at the oven cooking endless meals for you you’ll never really appreciate, even if she’s worked all day herself?’ Gabby looked blank. She didn’t know yet? They were still in the honeymoon period. Well, she’d learn. ‘She must know you’re appalling in bed, but she obviously has very low standards these days. She’ll soon find out about the misogynistic attitude and the token romantic gestures that mean absolutely nothing.’
I stood there, breathing hard. I looked at Gabby. She had her mouth open, but instead of looking angry, she just looked all pathetic and drunk.
‘Once a cheat always a cheat,’ I said to her. ‘If he did it to me, he could do it to you.’ She put one elbow on the table; it slid off. Oh, she was wasted. I hoped she’d remember my words, tomorrow.
‘Daryl…’ she slurred. The elbow that had slid off the table was now back on it and it knocked over a glass of red wine. Burgundy liquid sloshed all down the front of Gabby’s pale green dress. Oops, that dress wouldn’t be going back to the shop tomorrow, then. She grabbed a napkin that Jeff was holding out and started dabbing at her flat stomach muttering, ‘For god’s sake.’ Jeff stood up and threw some white wine onto the
red stain, then picked up a salt shaker… No, it wasn’t a shaker, it was one of those posh grinder things. He started grinding salt onto her…‘Stop it! Stop it!’ she was shouting. She’d never get that stain out, I thought. Not tonight. She’d have to stay like that for the rest of the evening….
My work here was done. Time for me to go. But I had one more thing to say.
‘Gabby.’ She looked up from her frantic dabbling. She had my full attention. ‘What you did was unforgiveable,’ I said in a cool, clear voice. ‘I hope no one has the misfortune of being your friend ever again.’
Gabby laid down the napkin on the table and for the first time ever – ever – she looked ashamed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, in a quiet voice.
Wow. She’d said sorry. Finally.
‘Not forgiven,’ I retorted. ‘You broke my heart. More than Jeff did. You did, because you were supposed to be my best friend.’
My words hung in the air between us. Tears filled Gabby’s eyes and she looked down. I was done.
I grabbed my bag from under the table and went to fetch my fur-collared cape from the back of my chair. It wasn’t there. It was on the floor and currently under the foot of a waiter who was standing at the next table handing out coffees. I tried to yank the cape free but it wouldn’t yield; the waiter’s shiny shoe was pinning it firmly to the ground. I tugged at it again. And a bit more. Oh, come on, I’d made such a fine speech to Jeff and Gabby I couldn’t ruin it now with some farcical cape yanking. Finally, when the waiter casually moved his foot two inches to the right, I released my cape with a light ripping sound; it was minus its faux-fur trim. I grabbed what was left of it and headed for the dancefloor, my head held high.
Cloudy with a Chance of Love Page 22
