It's Not You, It's Them

by Portia MacIntosh

  With all parts of my outfit exactly where they’re supposed to be, I’m about to head back towards the family room when I hear a strange noise. Yes, more weird noises, this time coming from the bathroom. It sounds like someone is being sick in there.

  ‘Everything OK?’ I call through the door.

  ‘Fine,’ I hear Mel call back.

  She emerges from the bathroom, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.

  ‘Just a bit sick,’ she tells me. ‘Maybe I had too much to drink yesterday.’

  I thought she was sticking to the soft stuff, but I guess Kerry must have spiked her drink, too.

  ‘Do you want me to get someone?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ she replies quickly. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘OK,’ I smile, leaving her to it.

  I finally make it back to the family room, scratching my head with confusion. What is it with this bloody family? Everyone is so weird, from the adults right down to the kids. Everyone is treating me like I’m the odd one, when it’s them who are the weirdos, and me who is the sane one.

  I am jolted from my thoughts by the bang of a gong.

  ‘Dinner is served,’ Valerie bellows for the entire house to hear.

  See what I mean? Everyone here is so odd.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Wright family dining room is a thing of festive beauty right now. As Wizzard’s ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday’ plays on the stereo, the family all work together to make everything perfect.

  The room is decked out with blue and silver decorations, not doing much to make the room feel any warmer, but definitely adding to the festivities.

  ‘Anything I can do to help?’ I ask Valerie.

  ‘My goodness, look at your hair,’ she replies, ignoring my question.

  I touch it self-consciously.

  ‘Anything I can do to help?’ I repeat, not really knowing what I’m supposed to say about my hair other than ‘yeah, I told you this would happen if I didn’t have a hairdryer’.

  Other than the twins, I am the only person who isn’t doing anything to help, and I feel like I’m being lazy – or that I might be perceived as being lazy.

  ‘Come on, Mum, let her do something helpful,’ Mark insists, dashing into the room with glasses before heading back out to get more.

  ‘OK, fine, I suppose you can carry the gravy through.’

  Oh, can I, Valerie? Thank you! How kind of you! So big of you to let me carry the gravy from one room to the other.

  I walk into the kitchen where the gravy is sitting on the worktop, in a beautiful china gravy boat. I pick it up by the handle with my right hand, using my left to support the spout, so that I carry it steady. I won’t have anyone critiquing my gravy-carrying methods.

  I make the short journey from the kitchen to the dining room without a hitch, and as I enter the dining room and see the table in sight, I know that I’m home and dry. But as I step into the room one of the twins, both of whom are sitting on the floor playing, throws her stuffed Remy the rat toy out in front of me. It’s too late for me to dodge it, and I go flying, the gravy boat flying out in front of me, swilling the table with its contents before smashing on the floor. Everyone in the room looks towards me, lying on the floor, miraculously without a drop of gravy on myself (although sadly the same can’t be said for much else in the room). Valerie runs back into the room and screams when she sees what has happened to her gravy. It’s the kind of scream usually reserved for attractive, blonde eighteen-year-olds to let out before they get hacked to pieces in horror movies.

  ‘You did that on purpose,’ I say accusingly at the twin who committed the crime, only for her to shake her head ferociously in denial.

  ‘Louise, did you trip Roxie?’ her mum asks her. Again, she shakes her head, so Millie turns her attention to her other daughter.

  ‘Lisa, did Louise trip Roxie on purpose? It’s OK to tell the truth.’

  ‘Nope,’ Lisa tells her mum. ‘She just fell.’

  ‘It’s those stupid shoes,’ Val says angrily. ‘No one could walk in those heels.’

  ‘I can walk in these heels just fine,’ I insist. ‘I’m telling you, she threw her doll in front of me.’

  ‘Really, Roxie, blaming a child,’ Valerie says, shaking her head.

  I look over at Louise who is hugging her toy tightly. I’ll say this for them – they’re loyal to each other.

  ‘You’ve ruined Christmas,’ Val concludes solemnly.

  ‘Mum, come on, don’t be so hard on Roxie,’ Mark says, jumping to my defence. ‘No one has accidents on purpose.’

  ‘Mark, it wasn’t an accident,’ I insist.

  ‘I’m sure the kids didn’t do it on purpose,’ Bea says, throwing her thoughts into the mix. ‘You know what kids are like, with their toys everywhere. It’s no one’s fault.’

  ‘I’m telling you, she did it on purpose,’ I reply.

  Val gasps.

  ‘Look, let’s just have dinner,’ Mark insists. I’ll clean this up after. It’s not going anywhere, is it?’

  ‘Well, it might be a little dry, but fine’, Valerie says, giving in.

  I resist the urge to say that if she’d cooked it to perfection, it wouldn’t need gravy to make it moist, but then again, just because I know that to be true, it doesn’t mean I could do a better job.

  Everyone takes a seat at the table, the room an equal mix of spilled gravy and awkward silence.

  Everyone loads up their plates with a look of sadness, like something is missing from the table. Not unlike the solemn looks I’d imagine if this was the first Christmas since Granddad passed, his empty chair just sitting there, so obviously and distractingly empty, like the gap from a missing tooth you can’t stop sticking your tongue inside.

  Gravy isn’t that much of a big deal, even in Yorkshire, right? I consider saying this out loud, so that everyone can get a grip, but it is universally known that gravy is the glue that holds the Yorkshire man together.

  Ste takes a potato from his plate and dips it in a gravy pool on the tablecloth before popping it into his mouth.

  I just can’t believe how much a stupid brown liquid means to them and what an impact it’s going to have on their entire day. Everyone looks so miserable and I feel begrudgingly guilty for being the cause of it. I’m sorry it happened, but it’s just gravy. Is the silent treatment really necessary? Maybe their mouths are just too dry to speak without it, or maybe they’re just worried about finally learning what carrots taste like without it? Or, worse, maybe it’s Val’s awful cooking they’re worried about because, maybe, everything she makes tastes horrible in the ancient pots and pans she uses, resulting in dryer-than-a-desert food with a horrible taste that only a swamp of gravy can counteract… That’s a lot of maybes, though. Maybe I just can’t do anything right.

  I guess it doesn’t matter how or why – all that matters is that I have ruined dinner. I push my food around on my plate, my appetite long gone.

  A squeaky voice breaks the awkward silence, snapping me from my thoughts.

  ‘Let’s play a game,’ Millie suggests. ‘Lift everyone’s spirits.’

  ‘What a lovely idea,’ Val says, smiling widely.

  Oh, yeah, fab idea, because this worked out so well for me the last time. If there’s one thing I’m learning about the extended Wright family, it’s that they just love playing games, and not only do you not always realise you’re playing one, but they will bend the rules to their will.

  ‘Well, I was thinking, because it’s Christmas and we have unexpected guests who we don’t have gifts for, we should take it in turns to say what we’d give each other today, if we could.’

  Oh, my God, that sounds so lame.

  ‘That’s a great idea,’ Oscar replies. ‘I’ll pour the wine while we get started.’

  If anyone is wondering what they can get me, a bigger glass would be a great place to start.

  ‘I’ll start,’ Millie chirps excitedly. ‘I’d get the girls new tent
s for their school trip next year.’

  ‘That’s a boring present,’ Lisa/Louise call out from the kids’ table.

  ‘It’s a useful present,’ she corrects them. ‘Do you want to be the only kids there without a cool tent?’

  Neither of them replies, obviously not seeing the importance. I imagine they’d rather have an iPad or an axe, or whatever the evil little duo are into.

  ‘I’d get you a rainbow diamond,’ Alex tells her, and I wish I had my phone to google whether or not that’s a real thing. She smiles widely at the thought.

  ‘Maybe you could finally give her another child,’ Val adds. ‘She’s not getting any younger.’

  ‘Yeah, OK, don’t go on about it,’ Millie insists moodily. ‘We’re working out the practicalities. Obviously, I’d love lots more kids.’

  ‘You can’t leave it too long, or nature will make your plans for you,’ Val reminds them.

  ‘We don’t want to leave it too long, but we’ll definitely be getting married before we have kids, so you’ll have your extra grandkids eventually,’ Mark assures his mum with a laugh.

  I feel my body stiffen as he speaks for both of us about something so huge that we’ve never discussed before. He says it as though it’s an unspoken fact. As much as I want to say something, to stop him thinking this immediately, now isn’t the time.

  ‘I’d get Ste some clothes,’ Oscar chimes in, as he fills Ste’s glass.

  ‘Random,’ Ste laughs.

  ‘Is it?’ Oscar says under his breath. I can only imagine this is a dig at Steve’s sense of style – or lack thereof.

  As Oscar goes to fill up his daughter’s glass, she stops him.

  ‘None for me, thanks,’ she replies.

  ‘What? Why?’ her dad asks. ‘White wine is your favourite.’

  ‘It’s full of calories,’ Mel insists.

  ‘Oh, so that’s why you’re not eating much dinner,’ her mum replies. ‘Not just because there’s no gravy.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Mel says.

  It’s so annoying, to see a girl so skinny, complaining about needing to lose weight when my chubby arse is sitting opposite her. I could happily stay the size I am forever, but it’s people saying things like this that cause my insecurities to rear their ugly head. I think I’ll be giving dessert a miss this evening – not least because I’ll probably spill the custard.

  ‘I’d give Mel liposuction, so she could eat whatever she wanted,’ Ste tells her sweetly, squeezing her hand.

  I see Mel roll her eyes at her boyfriend, but he’s oblivious. And a complete arsehole, I can now safely conclude.

  ‘I’d give you something pretty to match your ring,’ Mark tells me, adding: ‘I still might.’

  ‘A pearl necklace,’ Ste laughs, his joke thankfully going over the heads of anyone over forty and below ten.

  ‘That’s very materialistic,’ Mel ticks him off.

  ‘Because liposuction was so romantic,’ Mark replies.

  ‘OK, children, settle down,’ Oscar reminds them.

  I think to myself for a moment. What would I give Mark right now? Nothing I can say out loud, over dinner, in front of his parents, that’s for sure.

  ‘I’d give Roxie a hat,’ Bea laughs. ‘You weren’t wrong about needing a hairdryer.’

  Now that my hair is fully dry, I look like I’ve had a perm. It might not be my preferred style, but I didn’t think it looked awful – until now, especially after the sniggers from other members of the family that follow her remark.

  ‘Bea, don’t be like that,’ Mark says. ‘You look cute, Rox. She’s just messing.’

  ‘Roxie knows I’m teasing,’ Bea says in her defence. ‘She said herself that her hair looked awful if she air-dried it.’

  That’s not what I said, but I don’t have the strength or the confidence to argue right now.

  ‘Said the ironing board,’ Kerry mutters, jumping to my defence like the sweet, friendly wildcard she is.

  ‘Nice,’ Bea says sarcastically. ‘Really mature. I suppose I’m an ironing board because I’m wearing a long, floral dress? Or is it because my chest is flat?’

  ‘It’s both, Be-atch. So why don’t you leave Roxie alone?’

  ‘Kerry, control yourself,’ Val snaps at her. ‘Do you want me to send you home to your parents?’

  Val’s threat is aggressive, and not unlike the kind you’d make to a naughty child.

  Kerry backs down. She doesn’t say anything, but her silence is evidence of her retreat.

  ‘Let’s not play this any more,’ Oscar says. ‘If we can’t place nice.’

  Everyone nods or mutters in agreement. Millie strops slightly because we’ve ruined her game.

  Another awkward silence follows, everyone taking it in turns to glance around the room, looking for someone to fill the quiet. Not even the twins are making a peep.

  As everyone finishes up with their dinner, Bea pipes up again.

  ‘I have something fun we can do,’ she says, all smiles. ‘Roxie, when you said you were a writer, it made me curious. So I did a little Facebook snooping…’

  What is it with women, thinking Facebook is like their own private MI5 database that they can hit up whenever they need a little intel on anyone. I keep my profile as locked down as possible, but there’s only so much you can keep from people. I guess, if she’s friends with Mark, she already knows way more about my life than I’m happy with.

  ‘So, I happened to happen upon a certain Roxie Pratt,’ she continues, but before she has chance to say anything else, Val interrupts.

  ‘Your surname is Pratt?’ she laughs. ‘No wonder you can’t wait to marry Mr Wright. Roxie Wright sounds much better.’

  It doesn’t, actually – it sounds like a cleaning product.

  ‘Actually, I’m keeping my own name,’ I inform her, proudly.

  ‘Are you?’ a chorus of voices reply in surprise. Val, obviously, and Millie. But one of the voices belongs to Mark. I guess we’ve never discussed this either.

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘Well, I’m an only child, and the surname Pratt is actually one of the ones heading for extinction in this country. Plus, I’ve worked so hard to make a name for myself – under my own name – so it would be detrimental to my career to change it now.’

  ‘I think it’s quite clear that you’re one of those women who put their career before anything,’ Val says, shaking her head.

  ‘Well, funny you should say that, because I happened upon a few articles by a certain Roxie Pratt, and I thought it might be nice to share one with everyone,’ Bea says, grinning like a maniac as she pulls a piece of paper from her pocket. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Oscar – I printed it in the study.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he replies. ‘It will be nice to hear more about Roxie’s work.’

  ‘While I was in there, I noticed the pair of you had broken your bed,’ she adds.

  ‘What?’ Val gasps. ‘How do you break a bed?’

  Bea smiles.

  ‘This article will probably clear that up,’ she says, holding eye contact with me before turning her attention to the piece of paper and reading aloud: ‘“I tried out all the famous sex scenes from movies and this is what happened”’.

  The grin on her face is one of victory. She knows she’s got me. She’s read all my articles and found one of the most damning. One written recently, so it’s obvious that it’s Mark I tested these out with.

  ‘Bea, come on, leave it,’ Mark insists. He usually has the patience of a saint, but I can tell she’s getting to him. He is so easygoing and so hard to piss off, but I think everything that has happened over the past few days has piled up high, and it’s starting to bother him.

  ‘No, I want to hear,’ Val insists. ‘Read.’

  ‘Aw, Mark, are you embarrassed? It says Roxie is trying this out with her willing partner, so I’m going to assume that’s you. Don’t be shy,’ Bea giggles. ‘It’s actually so so funny, I really like it.’

  Considering my articles are supp
osed to be funny, light-hearted and pure entertainment, the atmosphere at this table is intense.

  ‘Come on, girls,’ Millie says, rushing to her feet. ‘Time to wash our hands.’

  With Millie, Lisa and Louise out of the room, Bea continues.

  ‘So, the first one is Titanic,’ she starts, as Mark drops his head into his hands.

  I know that I’m a talented writer, and I’ve always been so proud of my work, but right now, I feel terrible about every word I’ve ever written.

  ‘OK, here we go. “Ah, the famous steamy scene in Titanic where young love birds Jack and Rose finally consummate their union in the back of a car. Booking a cruise seemed like an extreme measure for one paragraph of an article, so I had to make do with the back of my boyfriend’s BMW, parked in a secluded spot on a cold night so that we could perfectly replicate the steamed-up windows. How was it?” Roxie asks. “4/5 – Perfectly sexy and suitably steamy, but you’re seriously limited, position-wise, stuck in the back of a car, and it felt a little bit like dogging.”’

  Bea purses her lips, pausing to glance around the room for reactions.

  ‘Roxie, you’re so funny,’ Kerry compliments me, but no one else says a word.

  ‘More?’ Bea asks.

  ‘No,’ Mark replies.

  ‘Yeah, more,’ Ste requests, a little keener than I’d like.

  ‘Yes, read on,’ Val insists.

  I feel my cheeks growing warmer with embarrassment. I can’t believe one simple dinner has resulted in my feeling so bad about my body, my job and my life generally.

  ‘Next,’ Bea giggles, clearing her throat. ‘Risky Business. “Let me start by saying that sex in a public place is illegal, and no one reading this should try it. I did what I did in the name of journalism. 2/5 – Having sex on a train is risky business indeed. It’s hard enough finding a private spot, but even then you’re constantly on edge that someone is going to walk in. Plus, it took a few journeys before we found a train old enough to not have CCTV in all carriages.”’

  ‘Marcus, you had sex on a train?’ his mum snaps. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’