by Jenny Colgan
‘Sit here!’
The boys moved over carefully, and crammed themselves in.
‘I just need to change, and, well, you know, get ready.’
‘Actually,’ said Angus, ‘I really like that spoon in your hair.’
I clapped my hand to my head, and found a teaspoon covered in tomato puree peeping out of one of my more unruly curls. I made a grab for it, but dropped one of the coats instead. Nash stood up again.
‘Would you like a hand?’
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ I screeched, trying to reach down to the floor without exposing my breasts over the top of my baggy pyjamas. Despite being practically hysterical by this time, I remembered what came next in the good hostess book of gracious living.
‘Would you like a drink?’
The boys muttered that that would be lovely, and started to bring out bottles of wine they’d brought. Angus had also brought a bottle of whisky. They handed them to me, although I already had my arms full of coats. Not knowing what to do, I indicated that they should pile the bottles on top of the coats. As they didn’t know what to do either, they did so, and I staggered into the kitchen. Or tried to; I didn’t quite make it, and everything fell on the floor. The boys dashed in looking worried when they heard the noise, but fortunately nothing had smashed, so my luck was in.
‘Are you OK?’ Angus lent me a hand and I scrambled up, blushing fiercely.
‘Calm down,’ he said, gently, not letting go of my hand. ‘It’s only us. Me, remember, who’s nice, and Nash, who’s a bit mad.’
‘Aye, right enough,’ said Nash.
‘I’m sure dinner will be lovely, no one else will be here for ages, so why don’t you let us get ourselves a drink, then you can disappear and get changed and beautify yourself, then re-emerge like a butterfly.’
‘Will you pretend I’m somebody else?’
‘If you like. Just leave those coats there, we’ll sort everything out. Now, off you go.’
I escaped to the shower, and was in and out in double quick time. I shoved the grey silk dress on again and bunged on some slap. Twenty-five minutes later, I was just about presentable. Still no Fran and Alex.
I walked back into the sitting room, where the boys applauded sweetly. They were intrigued when I explained my dilemma.
‘Do you think I should call the police?’ I asked them.
‘Naw, they dinnae file until forty-eight hoors,’ said Nash.
‘What?’
‘He means they won’t listen unless they’ve been away for a couple of days,’ Angus explained. ‘Up until then it’s assumed they’re out on the razz somewhere.’
That didn’t make me feel any better.
‘Do you think they’re up to anything?’ asked Nash, as if the thought had just occurred to him. Angus frowned.
‘No, they hate each other,’ I explained. ‘That’s why I’m so worried.’
I got up and pottered around the kitchen, bringing in a bottle of wine.
‘They’ve probably just gone for a pint somewhere to get out of helping you,’ said Angus.
Relief that this was obviously the case was tempered with annoyance.
‘You’re right. They’re like a pair of spoilt twins sometimes, those two.’ And I stopped stuffing my mouth with pistachio nuts like they were going out of fashion.
The doorbell rang again.
‘Christ, what was that?’ said Nash.
‘I’ll get it.’ I hoped it was them and I could give them a bollocking. On the other side of the door, however, stood Mookie, looking skinny, blonde and absolutely freezing.
‘Hello! Come in!’ I said.
‘Thank you. Rally! South London. Well, you know, I have some friends in Chelsea, but I never normally get down this far!’
‘That is fascinating,’ I said, taking her Barbour jacket.
She snorted with laughter. ‘I’m more used to Kensington than Kennington!’ she said hilariously.
I laughed along merrily. ‘You know, Mookie, you are really funny,’ I said.
She stopped immediately.
‘Do you rally think so?’
‘No!’ I said, and she laughed herself silly, even though I was being honest. I beckoned her through to the dining room. Angus and Nash were out of sight behind the table.
‘Oh God, am I first? That’s so embarrassing. I’m so mortified. I thought quarter past eight would be fine, but I’ve obviously completely messed it up. Oh God. This was always happening in Switzerland.’
‘Mookie,’ I said gently, ‘it’s fine.’
The boys stuck their arms out from behind the table and waved vigorously.
‘What would you like to drink?’ I asked.
‘Vodka martini, please.’
Ahh. Linda’s drinks cabinet was pretty wide, but we’d drunk all the vodka, and it didn’t stoop to martini.
‘Aha! Look at your face, it’s rally funny,’ said Mookie. I was regretting asking her already. She’d seemed quite nice in the taxi.
‘Here you are, darling!’ And she drew out an enormous bottle of Absolut Vodka, some brand of martini I’d never heard of, and a jar of olives.
‘I came prepared. Have you got some lemonade, darling? And some ice?’
I nodded, stunned at such largesse. I began to like her again.
‘Would anyone else like one?’ The boys nodded their assent, and I headed back to the kitchen with the bottles. Mookie tapped in behind me. ‘Oh, let me make them,’ she cooed. ‘I’m very particular.’
So I left her to it and went and rejoined the boys. I was chain-munching pistachios again, which obviously meant I was getting tense. And sure enough, when Mookie brought back the delicious martinis, we sat perched in between the table legs in a not entirely comfortable silence. I sensed Angus giving me faintly wounded looks for not returning his calls.
‘So what do you do, Nash?’ asked Mookie.
‘I work on the rigs, ken.’
‘The oil rigs?’
‘No, the Runrigs,’ he said, guffawing heartily to himself. I didn’t have a clue what he was on about.
‘The Runrigs? Rally?’ asked Mookie. ‘What does one do there?’
Nash took pity on her. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I meant the oil rigs. Hey, Angus, did you hear Runrig are doing a Stones tribute cover?’
‘No,’ said Angus, smiling.
‘Yes, it’s called “Hey, McLeod, get off of my ewe”!’
They cracked up at this, although I didn’t quite get it. Neither did Mookie, judging by the way she was staring into the middle distance.
‘Gosh, my daddy owns one of those,’ she beamed. ‘But I thought you said …’
Fortunately then the doorbell rang again. The draught swirled in with Amanda and Fraser, filling the air with glamorous perfume and a sprinkling of snow from their heavy coats.
‘It’s snowing!’ I exclaimed. ‘Fantastic!’
‘Revolting, more like. Hello, darling. How are you?’ said Amanda, giving me an air kiss.
Traitorous, I wanted to say, but didn’t.
Fraser gave me a hug. ‘Sorry to put you to all this trouble,’ he whispered.
‘Oh no! My fault! My fault entirely,’ I said cheerily, when of course I should have said, Not at all.
‘Come in, come in.’
‘Well, I’ve never been to your humble abode, darling.’ Amanda had divested herself of her coat and was prowling around.
‘Yes, because the last time you were invited you didn’t come,’ I said. ‘For my birthday.’
Amanda pretended she hadn’t heard and made an entrance. She was wearing a beautiful champagne-coloured dress, not too fancy and not too plain. It set off her golden hair wonderfully.
Nash and Angus stood up to greet her. She nodded regally at them, and kissed Mookie, who toddled off to make some more martinis, bless her.
‘Is this everyone?’ asked Amanda.
‘Umm … no. We’re missing Alex and Fran …’
She turned to face me. ‘W
here are they?’
‘Well, they went out for a loaf of bread about two hours ago and haven’t returned. I’m very worried about them.’
‘Worried? God, they’ve probably gone to America, darling. Now, where is there to sit? Or are we at table already?’
‘Umm, no,’ I said, controlling the urge to slap her. ‘I’m afraid there’s not much room, so if you wouldn’t mind sitting on the sofa …’ Nash bunched up, leaving a very small space between him and Angus, which she regarded disdainfully ‘… as soon as we’re all here, we can eat.’
‘I think I’ll stand, darling. This dress creases terribly, you know.’
She accepted a drink from Mookie without saying thank you. And of course, everyone else then had to stand up too. So we leaned on the table, Nash nearly knocked over a candle, and Amanda geared herself up for the latest round of ‘What’s going on with the wedding?’ I noticed she cast very significant glances at Fraser as she prattled on about flower arrangements, and he was nodding politely a fraction of a second too late.
And where the hell were those two? I bet they were in some fucking pub. Slagging me off, most like. They were probably having a Why-Melanie-is-so-awful competition. I was furious.
I decided to start dishing up the first course, as I’d eaten all the pistachio nuts, so I slipped surreptitiously away as Amanda lurched into a detailed hymnal repertoire.
Angus followed me into the kitchen.
‘Look, Melanie … I … Have I done anything to upset you?’
‘No!’ I said. ‘No, definitely not.’
‘Well, you know, I thought we were friends, but you didn’t return my phone calls or anything …’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s been absolutely hectic.’ And I explained to him about moving in with Alex. He was amazed.
‘I thought … I mean, he’s a right bastard, isn’t he? Sorry.’
‘No, that’s OK. He’s not really. He just gets … well, mixed up in things, and he’s going through a really tough time at the moment.’
‘And you’re not,’ he said gently.
I hadn’t thought I was, but before I had the chance to ask him, he’d picked up a bottle of wine and was heading for the living-room door.
‘I’m sorry to have bothered you,’ he said.
‘You never bother me.’
He smiled ruefully and sweetly. As he opened the door, I involuntarily said, ‘Angus!’
He turned and faced me, but I hadn’t a clue what to say.
‘I … er …’
There was a long pause.
‘You sound like you’re waiting for the doorbell to ring, as a useful interruption,’ he said, smiling.
I tilted my head towards the door for a second. Just as I was on the point of giving up, it actually did ring.
‘Yes!’ I said, punching the air.
He smiled one more time and headed back to the others. I felt ashamed of myself.
‘Where the hell have you two been?’
Covered in snow, pink-cheeked and giggling, Alex and Fran stood at the door like a couple of children.
Alex leaned forward and kissed me on the nose.
‘We’ve been making up!’ he announced. ‘We thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I’d have been more pleased if you hadn’t disappeared into the pitch-black freezing cold in the middle of the night when you were meant to be gone for five minutes!’
‘It’s only quarter to nine, pumpkin. It’s hardly the middle of the night.’
It felt like it.
‘What have you two been doing?’ I asked again incredulously.
Fran smiled shyly. I had never seen her do this in my entire life.
‘We’ve decided to stop fighting. For you, Mel.’
This smelled fishy.
‘You don’t fight, you snipe,’ I protested.
‘Well, now we’re moving in together …’ Alex stepped inside and put his arm round my shoulders, ‘Fran and I had a talk and decided that we would try and get on.’
‘So we can all be friends,’ added Fran.
I stared at them. Moonie Cult! Moonie Cult!
‘Are you sure you’re not zombies?’ I asked them. ‘Or vampires, that you have to ask over the threshold before they can eat you?’
‘Vampires don’t eat you,’ said Alex. ‘They have metaphorical sex with you. In fact, in many ancient cultures …’
‘BORING!’ Fran and I shouted simultaneously. And I relaxed, took their coats, and went to see how everyone was getting on next door.
Everyone was getting on very poorly next door, and I immediately felt hollow, both as a hostess and as a person.
Amanda was resting delicately on the edge of the sofa, nose to nose with Mookie, whom she looked to be telling off in some way. Angus and Nash were muttering quietly next to them. And Fraser was sitting on his own, staring off into space.
‘The fugitives have returned!’ I announced loudly, in an effort to break the tension. Everyone looked up like they were exhausted, and said hello briefly without any great warmth. Oh God, this was awful.
‘Mookie!’ I squealed. This was all getting a bit Abigail’s Party.
‘Could you possibly make us another round of those delicious martinis? And if everyone wants to take a seat, we can start.’
There was a general rumbling from the boys, who were clearly starving to death. As soon as I got them seated, they launched into the bread like ravenous kestrels.
‘Did you get the extra bread?’ I whispered to Fran.
‘No.’
Amanda sat at the head of the table. Fraser was on her right, and Mookie was to his right. Amanda was leaning right across him in order to talk to her. He sat there stoically.
I put Alex on one side of me and Nash on the other, with Fran and Angus joining up to Mookie. And, finally, I brought out the salmon roulades, which almost looked like the snail shapes they were supposed to. Not quite though.
I poured some of the white wine, and we all sat down at last, although some of us were at different heights than others.
‘To the chef!’ Angus proposed, and everyone else joined in. Finally, the ice was starting to break and I could relax. Alex began gabbing to Nash and Angus about the music business, and they were listening politely. Fran was listening to Amanda with a glint in her eye and a glass in her hand, which could, I suspected, cause problems later.
‘I’ll just go check on the lasagne,’ I announced as everyone tucked in, except Amanda and Mookie who had politely declined – well, not that politely, actually. Amanda had announced:
‘It’s quite clear you eat dairy products, Melanie, but some of us want to keep our figures,’ and rudely handed back the two plates. I wasn’t sure Mookie didn’t want hers, but she wasn’t getting much of a chance.
‘Are you going to eat that?’ Amanda said sharply to Fraser.
Fraser nodded dully. There was silence as everyone waited to see what she was going to do. However she simply made a martyr face and returned to ignoring him.
Two shocks awaited me in the kitchen. Number one was the lasagne that I had made up ready to go in the oven but hadn’t actually got round to putting in there. In fact, the oven wasn’t actually on.
‘Fucking hell,’ I moaned, looking at it in all its dark red and freezing glory.
The second was Linda, who was unobtrusively attempting to pour herself a glass of sherry.
‘Fucking hell!’ I yelled again. ‘Squared! Linda! Why aren’t you next door?’ I blamed her instantly.
She stared at the floor and shrugged.
‘Come on! Let me make you a vodka martini, then I’ll take you next door to meet everyone.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t come.’
I felt like a complete heel as I jammed the lasagne into the cold oven, turned the heat up, made her a vodka martini and tried to smile ingratiatingly all at the same time.
‘Of course you should,’ I said. ‘Come on, they’re dying to meet you,’ I lied.
; Shuffling and looking at her feet, Linda followed me into the sitting room.
‘Ehm, everyone, this is … Linda,’ I announced. I’d even forgotten to set her a place, so I plonked her down in my seat, although I’d already taken a bite out of the roulade. Then I poured her a large glass of wine and made eye signals to Fran to talk to her, which she studiously ignored.
Back I trailed to the kitchen, to drag in the extra-high stool I had thought I wouldn’t have to use. I checked the lasagne in the flaming oven, but it was still so cold as to be solid. This night was not going to be easy. Sighing heavily, I dragged myself back into the sitting room with another couple of bottles of red wine.
‘That was lovely,’ said Angus, and there were mutters of agreement and a sniff from Amanda. ‘What’s next?’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Well, there’s a funny story about that … While I was in the kitchen, the lasagne went through a mystery freezing process which reversed its cooked status and took it back to a rudimentary uncooked state. I’m not sure whether it’s a time slip or a cryogenic disorder, but the FBI are on their way over. In the meantime’ – I put the wine on the table – ‘we’re just going to have to get drunk.’
There was a pause, then Alex started to uncork the bottles.
‘Those aliens are pesky things,’ he said. ‘We’d better fight them off with this magic elixir.’
‘How long have we got, Captain?’ asked Fraser, perking up momentarily.
‘I’ve reversed the polarity of the neutron flow,’ I announced gravely. ‘We can expect to see reconstituted lasagne in about forty-five minutes.’
‘God, they’re so childish,’ I could hear Amanda whisper to Mookie. And I was at the other end of the room.
‘Have you got any more bread?’ asked Nash.
‘Sorry. I’ve got some salad.’
He stared at his empty plate mournfully.
‘Real Scots don’t eat salad.’
Strangely, the lack of foodstuffs seemed to break the ice. No one was going anywhere for a while and eventually a beautiful, warming smell of lasagne began to seep through into the room, the candles burnt on, and we found Nash a tin of cold beans in the fridge. Everyone else made do with increasing quantities of red wine, and the chatter level grew commensurably.
