Ralph's Party

by Lisa Jewell

  Ralph couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather do tonight, he tried to hide his excitement: ‘That sounds absolutely perfect – I’d love to. I can’t promise to be much help in the kitchen, but I’ll skin up.’

  ‘Done.’

  It was all Ralph could do to stop himself punching the air as Jem left the room.

  ‘Right, I’ve decided,’ Jem was back, barefoot in thick black stockings and a short dark-green jersey dress with capped sleeves and a flirty skirt, ‘Have you ever seen that programme Can’t Cook Won’t Cook?’

  Ralph looked blank.

  ‘Oh, come on, you must have, you’re at home all day. It’s for people like you’ – she pointed at him – ‘people who write off cooking without even trying it. This chef guy gets two pathetic people to cook a dish by watching what he does – well, anyway, it’s crap but that’s not the point. I think every bachelor should know how to cook at least one dish, and since you like curry so much I thought I’d teach you. Come on, get up.’ She held out her hand for him and he smiled and followed her into the kitchen, enjoying the feeling of her tiny little hand on his.

  ‘I thought we said that I’d skin up and you’d cook.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’ve changed my mind. OK, as you know, there are many, many different kinds of curry. Tonight I’m making a chicken jal frezi – actually, you can make a spliff while I’m doing the talk bit – yes, tonight I’m making a chicken jal frezi, it’s very, very easy. You can pretty much do it to your own taste – I like mine quite green and stinking hot! So, I’ve got the chicken breasts, we can chop those later, and a really big bunch of coriander, lots of these monster-hot little green chillies – the big ones are crap, don’t bother with them. Keeping up so far?’

  Oh, yes, so far so simple.’ Ralph was sitting at the table crumbling grass into a translucent paper balanced on an upside-down box of Shreddies. He was entranced: why had none of his girlfriends ever taught him to cook before?

  ‘You can get ready-made pastes but it’s better to make your own – you can put what you want in really. OK, I’m going to put in loads of this coriander, some fresh fenugreek leaves and some ground fenugreek – smell that’ – she held the plastic packet under Ralph’s nose – ‘that’s what your armpits smell of the day after a curry …’

  Soon enough Ralph was chopping up pieces of chicken and slicing onions and mincing garlic. He must have eaten a million curries in his life but he’d never heard of half the things that went into one. Ghee? Cumin? Curry leaves? He was amazed to find that he was thoroughly enjoying himself, even suggesting additions and asking for more jobs to do, and he was feeling wonderfully relaxed with Jem, for the first time since he’d found out about her and Smith. They were chatting and laughing together like old friends, singing along to the Pogues and dancing around the kitchen.

  They laid the table together, and Ralph was ecstatic to be served with a plate of curry and rice that he’d helped to cook. And even more ecstatic when he tasted it – it was delicious.

  ‘Ralph,’ Jem began as they ate, ‘can I ask you a question?’

  Oh, Lord, one of life’s most worrying openers.

  ‘How do you feel about me and Smith – be honest?’

  Oh, gawd. What was he supposed to say? ‘I want you I want you I want you, that’s how I feel about you and Smith.’ That would have been honest. Smith doesn’t know you like I know you; you don’t know Smith like I know Smith; it’s all wrong and I’m as jealous as hell.

  ‘I’m very happy for you both,’ he said. How about that for honesty.

  ‘So you don’t feel excluded or, or left out or anything? It’s just that you and Smith have lived alone together for so long, maybe you feel I’m crowding you, pushing you out?’

  ‘Ooh, no, not at all, it’s nice having you around.’ Well, that was true at least.

  ‘You would tell me if it was a problem, wouldn’t you? I’d hate you to feel uncomfortable in your own home.’

  ‘I promise you, it’s not a problem, it’s been so long since Smith was even interested in a woman, it’s a relief in a way.’ Pinocchio, eat your heart out. ‘I’m glad to see him happy. I’ve never seen him this happy before, you’re very good for him.’ But you’d be even better for me.

  ‘Oh, good, that’s a weight off my mind. So why aren’t you seeing Claudia tonight?’

  Claudia, Claudia? That was a conversational quantum leap. Ralph had to think hard to remember exactly who Claudia was, let alone why he wasn’t seeing her.

  ‘Oh, yes, yeah, she’s gone to Paris for the weekend, something to do with work – fashion shows or something.’

  ‘Ooh, very glamorous. I’ve not met Claudia yet, what’s she like?’

  ‘What, honestly?’

  ‘Yes, we’re being honest, aren’t we?’ She tore off a piece of kitchen roll and blew her nose, which was running from the heat of the curry.

  ‘Well, she’s very attractive, very tall and slim. And she can be quite sweet sometimes. But mainly she’s a real pain. Everything I do is wrong. If I phone her it’s inconvenient, if I don’t I’m a bastard. If I invite her out with my mates she complains that she doesn’t like them, if I go out without her she complains that I’m leaving her out. She tells me I’m scruffy and should make more of an effort, and then when I buy something new she says, “Oh, you can afford to buy new clothes but you can’t afford to take me out for dinner.” I can’t do anything right.’

  ‘Do you love her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you like her?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘So why are you going out with her?’

  ‘For the sex, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, that’s honest, I guess. Wouldn’t you like to be with someone you were in love with?’

  Ralph reached for the kitchen roll – the heat was getting to him too. ‘I have to admit, just lately I’ve wanted something more. I’ve been too scared for a long time, you know – the emotional investment, the insecurity, the vulnerability.’

  ‘You’ve been hurt in the past?’

  ‘Well, not hurt as such, just too involved, drained almost – it took over my life and I haven’t wanted to risk getting entangled like that again. But now, I don’t know, I think I might be ready for something real – the love thang.’ He laughed nervously. He couldn’t believe he was talking like this, he hadn’t talked to anyone about real feelings for so long.

  ‘Just haven’t met the right girl yet?’

  Oh, Jem, if only you knew.

  ‘Yeah, something like that.’ Time to redirect the conversation: ‘So, you and Smith – is it a love thang?’

  Jem smiled. ‘Oh, yes, definitely. Very, very much so. Smith is everything I ever wanted, he really is. He’s perfect.’

  No, Jem, he’s not. He’s a prat and he doesn’t deserve you.

  ‘Yeah, he’s a great bloke.’ Ralph wanted to say something bad about Smith, put him down, but that was really small-minded and mean. He wanted to tell Jem about Smith’s disastrous romantic history, that would take the shine off her rose-tinted glasses. He wanted to tell her that Smith thought her ideas about dreams and destiny were ludicrous but a good way to get into her knickers. He wanted to tell her that Smith would drop her like a hot potato if Cheri was so much as to glance in his direction. There was so much he wanted to say but he couldn’t possibly say any of it. Jem saved him from his thoughts.

  ‘How come you don’t paint any more?’

  Well, they really were getting to the nitty-gritty tonight.

  ‘Phew – that’s a big question. I wouldn’t say that I don’t paint any more, more that I don’t paint at the moment. I’ve tried, but the inspiration just isn’t there. Maybe I’ve got too complacent. I was very unhappy when I was younger, very introspective – it was easy to paint then.’

  ‘You’ve cut yourself off, haven’t you? Cut yourself off from feeling things. I bet if you were to meet someone and fall in love it would all come back, all those emotions would be unlocked a
nd you’d be straight down to the studio. It wouldn’t feel like a chore, like an effort. Yes, that’s Dr Jem’s remedy. Get yourself a decent woman and fall in love.’

  Irony was just so painful sometimes.

  Ralph’s eyes were starting to stream now, the chilli heat was on slow-release and his mouth was burning, his lips were swollen, his nose was running and his mind was in overdrive, full of things he wanted to say but couldn’t.

  ‘Not finding this too hot, are you, Ralph? All that talk about how you’ve never had a curry that defeated you?’ Jem teased.

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Another lie, but there was no way he was going to admit that to this girl! ‘Just how I like it. You look like you’re suffering yourself, Miss I’m-So-Hard.’

  ‘Humph – no way! This is mild compared to my usual curries, I was being kind for your sake.’

  ‘Oh, I see, you think you’re a bit of a chilli queen, do you?’

  ‘I don’t think it, I know it. I’ve never met anyone who can eat food as hot as I can.’

  ‘Well, I think you’ve just met your match.’ Ralph was well and truly fired up with competitive enthusiasm now. He leapt up from the table and took a handful of raw chillies from the bag on the counter.

  ‘OK, one chilli each, whole, no nibbling. Let’s separate the men from the mice.’

  ‘No problem. Go on, let me have it.’

  Oh, the pain, the sweet searing pain as the astringent oils from the chillies slowly released themselves over their tongues, first a crack as the shiny green skin broke under teeth, then a hint of flavour followed by an exhilarating burst of fire ineffectually doused by a sudden flow of saliva.

  ‘You can’t swallow it, you’ve got to chew the whole thing and display it on your tongue,’ said Ralph.

  Fingers of fire licked at the back of their throats, their brains sending frantic signals to all areas of the body. Jem and Ralph chewed feverishly, rapidly inhaling and exhaling through puckered lips like antenatal mothers and waving their hands in front of their mouths in a futile attempt to calm the flames.

  ‘Oh, fuck – fuck fuck fuck – it’s burning a hole through my tongue!’

  ‘It’s burning a hole into the back of my throat!’

  Heart racing, sweat flowing, Ralph beat his fists off the tabletop, his eyes bulging slightly out of his head and tears rolling down his cheeks.

  ‘OK, OK, time to show, time to show – I’ve got to swallow this thing before it kills me,’ Jem shouted, her cheeks pinker than ever. Tongue out, please.’

  Ralph and Jem stuck out their tongues, displaying small beds of green mush, and swallowed.

  ‘Water, water!!!’ yelled Ralph.

  ‘No, water makes it worse. Lager!’

  They gulped greedily but the liquid made no difference.

  ‘Oh, God, I think I’m going to die! Rice, eat some plain rice!’

  They both made a dash to the cooker and picked up handfuls of rice with their fingers, stuffing it into their mouths.

  ‘Ice! Is there any ice in the freezer?!’ cried Jem.

  Ralph pulled open the door to the freezer and frantically searched through its contents. ‘Got some, got some!’ He turned the ice tray upside-down and bashed it hard against the work surface, ice cubes flying out in all directions, on to the floor and into the sink. They each picked one up and stuffed them into their mouths, sucking hard to extract every last drop of icy coolness.

  ‘Oh, Jesus,’ cried Ralph, ‘Jesus Christ!’ The flames were finally beginning to subside but his whole body was still in a state of sublime shock, endorphins flowing through him like some sort of wonderful drug.

  ‘My God!’ Jem was sliding the ice cube around her swollen lips. ‘That was unbelievable! That was like sex!’

  Their heads were spinning and their pulses racing. Both of them were laughing uncontrollably at nothing.

  ‘That was better than sex,’ replied Ralph.

  Slowly they sat down again at the table.

  ‘So, who won?’ asked Jem.

  ‘I think we can call that a draw!’

  ‘Oh, no, I don’t think so. Someone’s got to win. Best of three!’

  By the time Smith got home the flat was filled with an air of barely contained hysteria. He followed the sound of insane laughter into the kitchen and found Ralph and Jem with their heads in the freezer.

  ‘What the hell are you two doing?’ he asked, putting his briefcase down on the table amid the sea of empty lager cans, dirty plates and melting ice cubes.

  They spun around guiltily, mouths full of ice, cheeks aflame, eyes streaming.

  ‘Chilli Challenge,’ replied Ralph through his ice cube, desperately fanning his mouth, ‘five each – raw ones – it’s a draw.’

  ‘What! You’re both fucking mad,’ said Smith, shaking his head slowly. He caught Jem’s eye. ‘Look at you, you look like a lunatic. You look deranged!’

  Ralph didn’t think Jem looked deranged, he thought she looked absolutely stunning. Her hair was down now, long black curls framing her brilliant red face, glowing with heat and exhilaration as she hugged Smith. She was hugging Smith. It hurt Ralph to see how quickly she was drawn away from the special cocoon of madness they had woven for themselves tonight and into the arms of Smith, like she was a child he’d been baby-sitting all night whose beloved parent had returned. It had been him and Jem, close and totally together, and then Smith had walked in and crushed the atmosphere like a beetle under the weight of his stupid fucking briefcase. There’d been one brief beautiful moment when Smith had walked into the kitchen and he’d felt like Smith was the odd one out, the spare part, and Jem was his.

  But now the night was over, painfully over. Jem was clearing away the debris on the kitchen table, Smith was unknotting his tie and talking about his night with a load of Swiss bankers. It was over.

  Ralph was anchored to the spot by the weight of his sadness. ‘Um, I reckon I’ll push off to bed then,’ he murmured quietly. ‘Thanks for a lovely evening, Jem. Thanks for the Chilli Challenge and the curry and everything – it’s been brilliant.’

  He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, just as she turned her face towards him, and caught her fully on the lips. The unexpected sensation sent shock waves through his system, a current of excitement from his lips, down via his heart to a loop-the-loop through his stomach, and ended in a hot glow of pleasure in his groin. It was more powerful than the chillies!

  ‘Night, then.’ His body was suddenly contorted by the conflicting desires to stay and ravish Jem and to leave the room as fast as his legs could carry him. He stumbled into the bathroom and sat down hard on the covered toilet. He was shaking.

  He loved her. He was totally and utterly, stupidly and wonderfully in love with her. Shit.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Och aye, this is the life, is it noo?’

  ‘Och, and so it is, Siobhan, it’s a bonny wee country and that’s to be sure.’

  Rosanne sat in the back seat of the Embassy, her snout stuck through the small aperture in the window, her eyes slanted closed against the bitter December wind that was blowing through her long black ears.

  ‘Considering you’re the Gaelic one, you do a crap Scottish accent, Mr Kasparov.’

  ‘Well,’ retorted Karl, ‘have you ever heard Sean Connery trying to do an Irish accent? Bloody dreadful!’

  Siobhan and Karl had left urban Scotland behind them now, and the landscape was slowly building up momentum, growing from tentative undulations in the south to the full-blown tidal-wave formations they were driving through now, along unending, empty roads, a wonder of nature, a spectacle of breathtaking beauty around every corner. For the last forty-five minutes, since they’d hit the Highlands, their conversation had consisted of nothing else but ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s as the sharp Scottish light picked out shimmering threads of silvery water cascading down sheer black hills, or a tiny enchanted island artistically placed in the middle of a loch. The voluptuous landscape that loomed all around them was soft
and womanly, carpeted in what looked from a distance like bright-green velvet, and the late-afternoon sky touched the land below with gentle wreaths of pale-blue mist.

  Neither of them had been to Scotland before, and they felt like overexcited children now, dying to see what lay around the next corner yet wanting to linger every time they encountered a view which they knew would stay in their dreams.

  ‘I hate to say it, but this knocks spots off Ireland. I’ve never seen anything like it,’ said Karl.

  Siobhan was studying the atlas on her lap. ‘One more loch and we’re there,’ she said, brushing her windswept hair out of her face.

  ‘That’s a shame, I could keep driving for ever.’ This was definitely the easiest they’d been with each other for weeks. They’d obviously needed this, a break from London, some distance from their problems. Karl wished it was just going to be the two of them for the weekend, but he liked this Rick de Largy character. He was a nice bloke, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

  It was four o’clock now and the low northern sun was already starting to set.

  ‘Should be just in time to see the sunset over the loch. Jeff said it’s breathtaking.’ Karl couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. He took his left hand from the steering wheel and placed it around Siobhan’s shoulders, giving her a little squeeze. ‘Are you nervous?’ he asked.

  ‘No, well, not really. A tiny bit maybe.’

  ‘Yeah, me too. It’s going to be fine though, you’ll see. And if you don’t want to join in you can just say you’re not feeling well and sit and watch the view.’

  Siobhan forced a laugh. Karl registered its false sound with pain. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a genuine, raucous Siobhan belly-laugh. He loved that laugh; it was a laugh which resonated throughout restaurants, which made people on buses turn and look, which would have got her kicked out of public libraries. Now it was paper-thin, so brittle it sounded as if it could turn to tears, just like that.