by Mo Fanning
‘Do you think we should put our shoes back in the car?’ Andy says and I swipe him.
‘No, you’re right,’ he says. ‘Outside on the doormat is probably fine.’
The hall carpet is an impractical light beige and we’ve already left a line of damp footprints.
‘Quick, before she sees these,’ I say as her voice booms from the far end of the hall.
‘Gin and tonic?’
She’s wearing a pink apron and holding a bottle of Gordon’s.
‘Erm, yes please, just a small one, I’m driving,’ I say.
‘Large one for me, because I’m not.’ Andy rubs his hands together. Audrey nods and vanishes back into what must be the kitchen.
‘I wish we’d got a cab,’ I say. ‘If I could have a few drinks, I might be able to relax.’
‘Bad idea,’ Andy sniffs. ‘Drinking to excess got you into this mess in the first place.’
Audrey’s head appears again.
‘Don’t loiter in the lobby, dears. Go through and take a seat, the living room is first on your left.’
I sit down on a thick white towel placed so as to protect a cream leather sofa, while Andy warms his hands in front of a roaring open fire. Above, the mantelpiece sits a collection of Toby jugs and Andy picks one up to look at it as Audrey returns with our drinks.
‘I see you’ve discovered my weakness,’ she coos. ‘I’ve got 36 of the little buggers now.’
‘They’re lovely,’ Andy smiles. His sideways glance tells me he thinks otherwise. ‘Do they have names?’
‘Oh yes.’ Audrey warms to her subject. ‘This one is Charlie, right here is Alf and this one is my favourite. I call him Norman.’
‘Not Brian?’ Andy picks up Norman and gives him the once over.
Audrey looks confused.
‘Why ever would I call him Brian?’
‘Well if he is your favourite…’
‘Not getting your point.’
‘No, you’re right, he does look more like a Norman.’ Andy holds up the ornament for my approval. I nod and make what I hope is an appropriate sound.
‘Hello Lisa,’ he says in a booming voice.
Audrey squeals and claps her hands in delight. She takes the ugly little misshapen mug from Andy, kisses it and returns it to pride of place on the mantelpiece.
‘That’s exactly how I thought he’d sound,’ she says in a little girl voice. ‘You ought to be on the stage.’
‘You’re not the first to say that.’
Andy charms our hostess, while I act like there’s a pole up my bum.
‘Does Norman have a wife?’ I say to break the ice.
Audrey turns to stare and her face changes. She looks like she wants to slap me silly.
‘Why would he?’
‘I thought it might be company for him.’ My voice trails off.
‘My dear, they’re mugs.’ Audrey says simply. ‘They don’t need anyone else.’
An uncomfortable silence is broken by the sound of someone cursing and a thud from the hall.
‘Who left their fucking shoes in the middle of the hall?’ Brian appears, soaked through and carrying a bottle of wine.
‘Oh, hi Lisa,’ he says and when he spots Andy, he holds out a hand. ‘Adam isn’t it?’
‘Andy.’
‘That’s right. You work Front of House, don’t you?’
‘Used to work in the box office.’
‘Oh right, you’re married to Felicity?’
‘Young free and single.’
‘Right. Good. Well that’s all settled then.’
Brian studies Andy.
‘Anyway, welcome one and all. Sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, had to do a last minute dash to the off license. Mother announced she can only drink sweet white wine.’
‘I’ll take that.’ Audrey relieves her husband of the bottle. ‘And hand me your coat, I’ll put it somewhere to dry.’
She leaves us in the living room. At first, nobody seems to know what to say so we exchange smiles.
‘Audrey’s been telling us about the Toby Jugs.’ Andy says.
‘Hmm, yes.’ Brian looks less than enthusiastic. ‘Has she told you they’ve all got names?’
‘Yes, Norman is her favourite.’
Brian nods, but says nothing.
I look around the room, desperate to find something to talk about. A photograph on a bookcase catches my attention. Brian follows my gaze.
‘Happy days,’ he says and I can’t help but pick up on the edge to his voice. It’s a picture taken some years earlier of Brian and Audrey together, in what looks like a bar, and they’re both laughing. Brian has a classic eighties mullet and bum fluff moustache. His face is thinner, yet somehow softer. Audrey too is a different person. Her hair is longer and unruly, her untroubled face lit by laughter. There’s something unfamiliar about the two people in that picture. They’re happy and look like they might be in love.
There’s a gentle tap at the door.
‘That’ll be mother,’ Brian says. ‘No matter how many times we tell her to make herself at home, she insists on knocking. Excuse me.’
He opens the door to reveal an impeccably dressed elderly woman, propped up on a walking frame.
‘Come on in,’ he says. ‘I thought we said, you don’t need to knock.’
‘I don’t like to go barging in uninvited. This isn’t my house after all,’ she says. ‘Help me to the table.’
‘We’ve got guests, mother. Lisa and Adam from the theatre.’
She nods, but doesn’t look over. ‘They work with me at my theatre.’
She stops and looks at Brian. ‘Your theatre? It isn’t your bloody theatre. Like this place, it’s hocked up to the eyeballs. Now help me to the table.’
He takes her arm and fusses around as she slides her bony frame into one of the chairs.
‘Why are we eating so late anyway? You know anything after seven repeats on me. I’ll be up all night with my bowels, you see if I’m not.’
Her careful and characterless accent tells me at once this is Audrey’s mother, not Brian’s. When I look closer, I see the family resemblance. The same cold, watery eyes, the same mean lips, the square manly jaw.
Brian tries to make her comfortable.
‘I’m not a sack of spuds,’ she grumbles. When settled, she shuffles around in the chair and stares at us.
‘Welcome to the mad house,’ she smiles at Andy. Her face changes when her eyes fall on me. ‘My name is June, you can call me Mrs. Hawe.’
‘Mother’s staying with us in the spare room while the builders tackle a hole in her roof.’ Brian sounds fed up. ‘She’s been here since before Christmas.’
‘That must be nice for you all, being around each other over the festive season.’ I say, determined to be the up-beat one.
‘If you say so.’
‘I’m not deaf.’ Mrs. Hawe raps on the table. ‘I might be old, but I do still have my senses. Stop talking about me as if I’m not here.’
‘Sorry. I meant that it must be lovely being together as a family.’ ‘What would you know about that?’
‘I was only saying…’
‘Well keep your pretty little Paddy nose out.’
Brian looks uncomfortable and I want to get away from the mean old lady. Audrey seems oblivious and stands to clap her hands, like a formidable school ma’am bringing us to order.
‘Time for dinner, shall we all take our places? Mother will you join us or would you prefer a plate in your room?’
‘And miss this? You must be kidding.’ She winks at Andy and gives me a look that could curdle milk. Brian follows his wife into the kitchen. I fiddle with a cloth napkin and rearrange the knife and fork. I loo
k around at the artwork and back at the Toby jogs. Anywhere but right ahead where Audrey’s mother sits, her eyes fixed on me.
When our hosts return, Brian carries a tray with five small bowls of soup. Audrey supervises as he places them in front of each guest. It’s a fairly bog- standard tomato and tastes like it’s out of a tin.
‘This is lovely,’ I say between mouthfuls. Everyone agrees. Everyone except the old bat opposite, who isn’t eating.
‘Mother, are you not hungry?’ Audrey says.
‘Don’t like it,’ she says in a spiteful little voice and pushes her bowl away. Soup spills over the side and sinks into the crisp white tablecloth.
‘Oh honestly, mother!’ Audrey scolds.
‘Let me help,’ I say and lean across to help soak up the spilled soup with my napkin.
‘Leave it!’ Audrey snaps, and I jerk back in shock. I’ve heard about dinner parties from hell. The trouble usually starts after coffee as the drink flows, when guests pick on each other. I’d not expected to feel so horribly small mid way through the starter.
Nobody speaks as Audrey pushes back her chair and collects half full soup bowls.
‘Do you want a hand with the main, darling?’ Brian says. She doesn’t answer, just leans in to dab at her mother’s lips with a white tissue and then heads for the kitchen. I transmit silent pleas to Andy to say something witty and diffuse the situation.
‘Do you go to the theatre much Mrs. Hawe?’ he says.
‘I already said you should call me June dear, and no, I don’t. There isn’t much on I fancy. And even when there is, old money bags claims he can’t get free tickets. He’s supposed to be in charge. Surely he can swing something for family.’
‘Mother, you know how it is. Lisa can tell you…’ Brian starts to say.
‘I don’t need that girl to help explain anything you’ve been up to, do I?’ she says and once again conversation dies.
‘Ta-dah!’ A revitalised Audrey places a roast chicken surrounded by golden roast potatoes in the middle of the table. She goes back to the kitchen only to return with dishes loaded with butter-soaked vegetables and a gravy boat brimming with rich brown liquid. I’ve never felt less like eating.
‘This looks lovely Mrs. Hawkins.’ Andy helps himself to chicken.
‘Yes thanks, it does,’ I say unconvincingly and hold out my plate which Andy loads first with slices of meat, then stuffing, potatoes, carrots and peas.
‘Tuck in,’ says Brian and everyone does. Everyone except me. I push my dinner around the edge of the plate.
‘Not hungry Lisa?’ Audrey says. ‘That’s the trouble these days. Women like you are always too busy watching your figures.’
‘I bet she’s not the only one watching her figure,’ Brian jokes and Audrey glares.
June stops eating and once again pushes away her plate. ‘That was lovely darling, but it isn’t sitting well with me.’
‘Oh dear, do you want an indigestion tablet?’ Audrey says.
‘No I’ll be fine. Let me sit here for a minute.’ She leans back in her chair. Her bony cheeks become flushed and her eyes bulge. Everyone stops eating, forks poised in mid air.
‘Are you OK mother?’ Audrey says.
June gulps for air, clutching at her chest.
‘Christ Brian. Call an ambulance.’ Audrey jumps up, her chair crashes to the floor. She unfastens her mother’s collar and rubs her back. ‘Quickly. 999.’
Brian runs to the phone and dials, soon he’s given directions, describing symptoms.
‘She’s turning blue,’ he says. ‘You need to come now.’
That’s when June’s eyes open, she smiles and lets out the hugest belch. I swear the chandelier above the table shakes. Nobody speaks. She sits back up in her chair and leans on the table, her hand still at her chest.
‘That’s better,’ she says.
Brian apologises and hangs up. Andy’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter and I feel an uncomfortable need to join in. Please God don’t let me laugh. It would be so hideously inappropriate. June tries to stand.
‘Get my frame would you, love,’ she says to Audrey.
‘Are you OK mother?’
She takes hold of her arm for support.
‘I’ll be fine. That stuffing didn’t agree with me. I’ve never been able to keep sausage meat down since they took away half of my colon. I’m going to have to get it all up again.’
She makes her slow, steady way to the door. Was this what Brian had coming to him, was Audrey gradually turning into her mother? They must have been in love once upon a time. Once again, I look at the photo of their smiles captured in time.
Brian shakes his head slowly.
‘Is it any wonder I work such long hours?’
The door closes and the three of us dissolve into helpless laughter.
I relax. Andy is on his third large gin and tonic and Brian has found me some orange juice. He pours himself a huge glass of red wine. The room feels warm for the first time since we arrived. Maybe now the real dinner party can begin.
Audrey’s return soon tones down what threatened to develop into a pleasant, almost giddy atmosphere and the room once more feels chilly and distinctly uncomfortable.
‘Time for desert,’ she says. ‘Brian, maybe you and Andy can go see to it. Leave us girls alone to talk.’
The men stand and I consider grabbing the corner of Andy’s shirt, begging him to stay or at least take me with him.
‘Let’s take our drinks over to the sofas, sit by the fire. Desert is fruit and cheese. We can eat it there.’
Audrey stops to light a cigarette and inhales deeply before she blows the smoke in my face. My eyes water and I force myself not to cough. It feels like facing up to playground bullies. She sits and pats the sofa next to her.
‘I think it’s time for a little chat, don’t you?’
I do as I’m told, determined not to look her in the eyes. ‘How long have you been working for us now?’
She takes a long drag on her cigarette, holding in the smoke, not breathing, waiting for my response. Perhaps if I don’t answer, perhaps if I wait long enough she’ll suffocate and die. Well not die, perhaps pass out. That’s kinder. She’s still staring and my resolve buckles.
‘I’ve been at the theatre for six years now.’
‘Six years eh? Seems like only yesterday when you came for an interview. I said at the time, she’s a smart one that Lisa Doyle, Brian. You make sure you give her the job.’
I stay silent.
‘Don’t think I don’t know what they all say about me. I know everyone calls me The Rottweiler. I’ve even heard rumours that nobody gets a job in that place without my say-so. Isn’t it a silly thing to say?’
She smiles.
‘I suppose so.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I said I suppose it is a bit silly.’
Audrey looks me up and down, momentarily distracted. I attempt what I hope passes for a winning smile.
‘It’s true, you know,’ she whispers.
‘Sorry? What?’
‘It is true.’
Her voice grows louder and she shifts closer with every breath. I half expect her to throw her head back in a pantomime cackle and see bugs crawl from her mouth.
‘I do have final say. Brian doesn’t do a thing without first checking with me.’
‘I see,’ is the best I can manage.
I want to go and find Andy. He’ll protect me.
‘But there is one little thing he hasn’t run past me, isn’t there, Lisa Doyle?’ It may be a cliché, but when someone uses my full name, I know it means trouble.
‘One little thing seems to have slipped his mind?’
‘If it’s about the party, I
can explain. I’d had a little bit too much to drink ...’
Audrey looks bemused.
‘The party?’
‘New Years Eve.’
‘Oh that! Come on, did you honestly think that you’d throw anyone off your trail with such a silly little display? I was a bit disappointed by your bare-faced arrogance.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You’re shagging my husband,’ Audrey says, her face now almost touching mine.
I get to my feet and back away from the sofa. A few drinks, a quick verse of a Shirley Bassey classic and now I’m accused of sleeping with my boss. I’ve always thought he was handsome, but I’d never dream of mixing work with pleasure. Not after what happened that summer when I worked as a chalet maid at a holiday camp and slept with the DJ. After we split up, he used to play ‘Hey Fatty Bum Bum’ every time I walked into the bar.
‘Don’t bother trying to deny it. I found these in the glove compartment.’
She holds up a pair of what look like tiny lace pink knickers. The sort that more-or-less come with a written guarantee of cystitis.
‘Darling?’
Brian is at the door, holding a tray of assorted cheese, biscuits and two different sorts of grape. I probably look like I’ve glimpsed Dante’s inferno.
‘Don’t darling me,’ Audrey turns on her husband. ‘I was giving your little slut her underwear back.’
‘Can we talk in the kitchen?’ he says.
‘So you can tell me more of your lies?’
Andy bounces into the room, takes in the scene and swiftly sits down in a chair near the action, not wanting to miss a thing.
Audrey rounds on Brian.
‘How long has this been going on? How long have you been having it off with this tart?’
‘Darling, I really think we should take this elsewhere?’ Brian tries to take hold of her arm to lead her out of the room, but she jerks free, causing Brian to stumble. His hand comes to rest on the mantelpiece.
There’s a crash.
‘Norman!’ Audrey kneels to pick up shards of broken china, then stops, stands and rounds on Brian one more time.
