by Heide Goody
“What?”
“Um allergies.”
“Like deadly ones?”
“Well, intolerances. I can’t eat dairy or it gives me uncontrollable wind.”
“Really? How interesting,” smiled Clovenhoof. “Well, I’ll be sure to point out anything that I think you shouldn’t eat.”
“Thanks.”
Clovenhoof picked a scab of dried blood off his apron and popped it in his mouth.
9:00pm
Blenda ushered everyone to their places. Nerys wasn’t overly impressed by the seating plan. There were certain rules of seating etiquette even with a dinner party of six. But she sat where she was told and commended herself on her tolerance and tact.
Blenda gently pried the absinthe from Ben’s fingers. There was something seriously wrong with the man, as though the cocktails hadn’t just gone to his head but also his brain, his spine and his limbs.
“We’ve got some wine now, chuck,” said Blenda reassuringly.
“Wine?” said Ben. “Wine’s good.”
When everyone was seated, Clovenhoof came in.
“Ladies and gentlemen and Michael,” he announced in his loudest voice. “I present to you the first course. We will shortly be dining on gamberetti reclining in a warm love apple emulsion, surprised by insalata mista.”
Clovenhoof took a deep bow. There were murmurs of interest. And, from the kitchen, Clovenhoof and Blenda produced their starters.
“Enjoy!” bellowed Clovenhoof, bowed once again for luck and took his own seat.
Nerys prodded her starter with a fork as Clovenhoof poured the wine.
“This looks just like prawn cocktail,” she said.
“Indeed!” boomed Clovenhoof, whose voice, having slipped into circus ringmaster mode, seemed unable to change back. “But it’s of such superlative quality. I have sourced those prawns!”
Nerys smiled and speared one with her fork.
“I boiled them myself as well,” continued Clovenhoof plucking one from his glass with his fingers. “It’s most fascinating. As you drop them alive into the boiling water, they turn from a translucent grey colour to a beautiful pinky colour. They also fold in half, as you see here. It’s such a strong reflex that some of them pop straight out of the pan with the force of it. Not always dead by then either. And fear” – he fixed every person on the table with a roving eye – “is a powerful seasoning.”
He jiggled the prawn next to his face.
“No, please don’t kill me, Mr Clovenhoof,” he squeaked in a tiny high voice.
Clovenhoof looked at the prawn and addressed it sympathetically.
“I’m sorry, Mr Prawn, but I need to make a tasty starter for my friends.”
“Please. Kill the others. They’re fatter than me.”
“Oh, I shall, Mr Prawn. But I need lots of you.”
“No! Please, Mr Clovenhoof. Noooooo.”
The squeaky voice faded as Clovenhoof lowered the prawn down in the glass where it died a second death with an imaginary splash.
Nerys’s fork had halted halfway to her mouth.
“Well, you get the idea,” said Clovenhoof. “Tuck in.”
Nerys selected a piece of lettuce and ate that instead. She looked across at Ben and noticed that he was unfazed by the grisly prawn murders. He did however seem to be having problems getting them onto his fork. Were his hands shaking? He tried a couple of times and then covered up one eye with his free hand. He swayed gently as his fork finally connected with something and pulled out a piece of beetroot.
“Ooh, beetroot,” Ben said, as he gazed at the salad. “Gotta love beetroot, for making it through the digestive tract. It adds colour to your life today and tomorrow.”
He gave a chuckle of silent laughter at his own joke.
“Ben, don’t be so vulgar at the table,” said Nerys. “Such talk of bodily functions, it’s no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”
“I could have a girlfriend if I wanted,” he replied. “S’personal choice thing.”
“Really. Have you ever had a woman in your life?”
Ben stared at his starter and made another effort to snag a prawn.
“There was this one girl,” he said. “Rose.”
“Oh?” said Blenda encouragingly. “What was she like?”
“Beautiful. Brave. Smart.”
Ben’s fork chinked against something as he found another prawn. His wrist waggled drunkenly towards his mouth as his alcohol-clouded brain tried to plot a course.
“She travelled around with this guy. I think he had a thing for her but-”
Dave grabbed Ben’s wrist.
“What’s that on your fork?”
“Is that a razor blade?” said Michael.
Dave lifted the fork out of Ben’s hand.
“How on earth does a razor blade get into a prawn cocktail?”
“Luck of the draw,” Clovenhoof said. “I was using a razor blade to get all the hairs off the lettuce. My cooking’s all about attention to detail. Anyway, I guess I was distracted.”
Forks were set down around the table and there was a degree of surreptitious gazing into prawn cocktails.
“So what happened to this Rose then?” asked Dave.
Ben shrugged.
“Well, after the battle between the Daleks and the Cybermen, she got trapped on this parallel Earth and the Doctor got a new assistant.”
There was a long silence in which Blenda began to tidy away the starters. Nerys waggled her glass for Dave to top her up.
“Ben, have you ever thought of swinging the other way?”
“Eh?”
“You’re practically gay in other ways. I mean, all your friends are men.”
“I’m not gay though,” said Ben. “I’m straight.”
“How do you know for sure unless you’ve tried it?”
“She’s right,” said Clovenhoof shovelling prawns from unattended glasses into his mouth.
“I don’t think it works like that,” said Dave but Nerys paid him no attention.
“Anyway,” she said, “I think you could learn a lot from gay guys. Better grooming for instance.”
“That’s a stereotype,” said Ben. “What about Greasy Bob in the chip shop? He’s gay.”
“No. He’s just a pervert. Look, take Michael here for instance,” Nerys continued. “His clothes. His hair. I would kill for nails like those. You guys don’t seem to worry about that kind of detail. Terrible shame.”
Clovenhoof snorted and opened another bottle of wine.
“So, Michael, what do you look for in a man?” Nerys asked.
Michael leaned forward and gave the question some thought.
“I’ve known many fine men over the years,” he said, “and the ones I admire most of all are the ones who are brave-hearted but also humble and pious.”
Nerys almost choked on her lettuce with laughter.
“And you still hang out with Jeremy? My God, he’s got an ego the size of a planet!”
Michael nodded in agreement.
“A bit like his cookery book lists one hundred overblown ways to describe a prawn.”
“He thinks humility is a measure of how much moisture there is in the air.”
“A healthy ego is a good thing,” said Clovenhoof diffidently.
Nerys waved him away and said to Michael, “This man causes chaos wherever he goes, like some vortex of confusion.”
“I think that’s unfair,” said Ben.
“He stole thousands of pounds from you!”
Michael laughed.
“She’s got you banged to rights, Jeremy.”
“Well I think it’s a good job that we’re all different.” said Blenda. “It would be a pretty boring world if we were all the same.”
“That’s the sort of self-denial you’d need to consort with the devil,” said Michael.
“Consort with the devil, that’s funny!” Nerys hooted.
Clovenhoof humphed.
“Tell me, Blend
a,” said Nerys, “what exactly do you see in him?”
Blenda answered unhurriedly.
“Life around Jeremy’s never dull.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Sometimes he makes me laugh, sometimes he makes me scream, but he’s never boring, never passive.”
“But, honestly, can you see things working out with Jeremy in the long term?”
Blenda pulled a face.
“I’ve learned to take life as it comes. So what if it’s not forever?”
“Here, here,” said Dave, raising his glass.
“Shut up, Dave,” said Nerys. “I know exactly what you need, Blenda.”
“Really?”
“You need to put yourself out there more.”
“Put myself...”
“You’d have your pick of men. Do what I do, keep a log of everyone you come into contact with, and give them a score on whether they’d be suitable boyfriend material. If they score highly enough, then you make an action plan.”
“An action plan?”
“Yes, like, maybe you set up ways to bump into them, read up on subjects they’re interested in, or brush up on sexual techniques.”
Dave gulped some wine down the wrong way and choked until Ben slapped him on the back.
“You might need a spreadsheet to be properly organised,” continued Nerys. “I tie mine into my electronic calendar too, so it prompts me for follow-ups.”
“Oh Nerys,” said Blenda who seemed unaccountably ill at ease. “I don’t think I could ever be so calculating.”
“It’s not calculating. Well, it is, but in a good way.”
“Are you sure that you’re really doing the right thing?”
“I always do the right thing.”
“I do wonder if maybe you’re confused between love and lust.”
Nerys bristled at the woman’s naivety and rudeness.
“I’m sorry, chuck,” she said quietly. “I didn’t realise you were frigid.”
Blenda’s mouth dropped open.
Dave, glass in hand, cut across the table with a loud voice.
“Can I just say I think you’re both very special ladies. I think we should celebrate our differences.”
“Quite,” said Blenda but Nerys could see the unjustified anger in her eyes.
“Now,” said Dave, “why don’t we try chatting about something different?” He nodded encouragingly to everyone. “Who here has got a hobby?”
9:45pm
“Main course coming up!” Clovenhoof boomed, entering from the kitchen.
Ben focused carefully on him through the gently lifting alcohol haze.
“For your enjoyment, I have prepared oven-dazzled medallions of beast flesh with an allium jus! Accompanied by patatas rosti, carote stufate and baby asparagus, garnished with nuggets of morcilla. With batter chapeaus on the side.”
“Is that Italian for Findus Crispy Pancakes?” Nerys asked as Clovenhoof took his bow.
Clovenhoof and Blenda brought in the steaming plates.
Ben sniffed the air appreciatively and looked at the dish set down before him.
“Mate, you could have just said that it was meat and veg with Yorkshire pud and onion gravy.” Ben had become quite animated and a little more sober during the discussion about hobbies.
“This looks great,” said Dave.
“So Michael,” said Ben, “you were just saying that you had actual experience commanding troops?”
“Yes,” said Michael, “but I don’t like to talk about my accomplishments.”
Clovenhoof barked with laughter.
“I was the leader of a successful campaign,” said Michael, with a mysterious smirk at Clovenhoof. “Mind you, some people would suggest that the enemy wasn’t up to much.”
“Brilliant,” said Ben. “I’ve always wanted to meet a great military leader.”
“But you’ll have to settle for Michael,” said Clovenhoof.
“How do you get respect from all those men?” said Ben.
“I like to think it’s a mixture of personal charisma and making sure that they always know who’s in charge. Being ruthless where necessary.”
“Of course. But does that mean that you can’t be one of the boys? You know, that they can’t be your friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yeah, all those men who’ve got to obey you without question.”
Michael looked confused.
Clovenhoof, en route to the kitchen, was chuckling to himself.
“It’s very much a full time job,” Michael said, “socialising isn’t really an option.”
Ben nodded.
“Yeah, it’s like I thought. A great military leader’s got to be a lone wolf.”
“Have you tried the asparagus with the – was it morcilla?” Dave asked. “I’ve no idea what morcilla is, but it’s delicious.”
Clovenhoof came in with another dish of Yorkshire puddings, which Dave and Ben fell upon with gusto.
“What’s morcilla, Jeremy?” asked Dave, between mouthfuls.
“It’s Spanish blood sausage. A bit like black pudding. A bit.”
He went back out to the kitchen.
“Meat’s good and rare, just how I like it,” Nerys commented. “Little bones though. What is the meat, Jeremy?”
No answer came from the kitchen, but a loud sound started up, like a hammer drill.
10:15pm
It had been a mixed evening so far, Clovenhoof reflected in the kitchen. The main course had gone down a treat although he was disappointed that the starters had been left pretty much untouched, particularly after he had described all the individual sacrifices that had gone into making them.
As he laid out slices of dessert on the counter, Nerys spoke up from the other room.
“So Michael,” she said, “there’s something I’d love to know. How does it work out if you’re gay in the military?”
“What?” said Michael.
Clovenhoof grinned to himself.
“Surely there must be issues with you all bunking together?”
“I’m not gay,” said Michael.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought...”
“I mean, I’ve met a lot of homosexuals over the years.”
Shortly before wiping their cities off the face of the Earth, thought Clovenhoof.
“I’m more what you might call celibate,” said Michael.
“So am I,” muttered Ben.
“Yes, but Michael’s celibate by choice,” said Nerys.
“And it’s an interesting choice,” said Blenda, “I think that more people should acknowledge that it’s an acceptable idea. There’s such pressure from society in general that you need a partner to be happy. In fact, I’m reading Eat, Pray, Love at the moment, and the author finds it really helpful on her journey to enlightenment to remove sex completely from the equation for a year of her life.”
“New Age claptrap,” said Michael dismissively.
“Excuse me,” said Blenda loudly. “You can’t just scoff at someone’s path through life.”
Clovenhoof shifted over to the doorway to pressurise the flamethrower tank and to peek at the goings-on in the dining room.
“People find happiness and spiritual meaning in so many different ways,” said Blenda. “I say that if something offers you comfort and development, then you should work with it. I’m very keen on yoga, and I have some friends who practise distance healing. It really can work you know.”
“Distance healing?” Michael snorted. “I can remember a time when you’d have been burned as a witch for spouting such rubbish!”
“I think you’re being rather unfair,” said Dave, “witch-burning belongs to a barbaric time. We’ve learned much more tolerance since then. It just so happens that I go to a yoga class, and I enjoy it on quite a few different levels.”
“That’s really interesting,” said Blenda. “I bet it helps with the stress you get at work.”
“Dave,” said Nerys, “d
on’t get drawn into defending silly things like this – Hang on, what stress?”
“Oh Nerys,” said Blenda, “it’s obvious these soothing, new age therapies are not for you. It’s okay. We’re all different.”
“Bears,” said Ben suddenly.
Everyone looked at him.
“Their world is divided into three things,” he said. “Things to fight, things to fuck and food to eat.” He pointed at Nerys with his half-full glass. “That’s you. Maybe not the food bit.”
“How dare you, Ben Kitchen!”
“I dunno,” he shrugged and emptied his glass.
“Let’s just be totally clear on one thing,” said Michael, leaning forward and speaking with quiet authority. “There is only one truth, and that’s God’s truth. Anything else is just delusion.”
There was a stunned and uncomfortable silence around the table at Michael’s announcement.
“I have respect for all beliefs,” said Blenda, “but to claim ownership of the one and only truth is...”
“Bigoted,” said Dave helpfully.
“Thank you,” Blenda said, giving Michael the look of someone facing a belligerent child who wants the bath filled with marshmallows. “There are many fine and intelligent people who don’t believe in God.”
“He believes in you,” whispered Clovenhoof to himself.
“Truth is truth,” said Michael. “Things are not true because they are nice or comforting or convenient. Your opinion on God’s existence is immaterial.”
“Religion is all fairy tales and mumbo jumbo,” said Nerys.
Michael gave her a dangerous look.
“I’d like to remind you that you’ll be judged on your actions in the afterlife. You might want to watch what you’re saying.”
His overly earnest warning had completely the opposite of the intended effect. Nerys gave out a hoot of laughter and the others fell in. Ben covered his mouth but made raspberry chuckles through his fingers.
“Right,” laughed Nerys. “You’re saying I’ll go straight to Hell if I call you a bigot?”
“A fundamentalist bigot,” added Dave.
Blenda squeezed his knee in merry agreement and tried and failed to stifle her laughs with a napkin.
Clovenhoof shook his head at the humans, four hairless apes mocking one of the most powerful beings in creation. Idiots. Idiots. Idiots. And the look on Michael’s face. Clovenhoof had seen it before, just as the raindrops started pitter-pattering on Noah’s ark.
