by Anna Mansell
‘Of course I don’t mind.’
‘Mitch?’
‘He doesn’t mind either. So long as you’re okay getting home later?’
‘Of course. What show are you seeing?’
‘I still don’t know. He won’t tell me.’ I checked online. There are two options, one is some kind of political drama type play with an incredible cast but it looks a bit dry, the other is some musical on a UK tour after a stint in the West End. I don’t know if I’m up for either really. I always feel so out of place in the theatre. Never sure I entirely belong… or know what’s actually going on. I blame a visit to see an operatic version of Romeo and Juliet with school. Shakespeare and Italian opera… I didn’t have a clue!
Mum perches on the arm of the chair, watching out of the window for Mitch to arrive. ’I think that’s lovely, that.’
‘What?’
‘That he’s making it a surprise.’
‘I hate surprises.’
‘You hate not being in control.’
‘That too.’
‘Maybe it’s time to relinquish a bit of that. Let someone do nice things for you. Let him spoil you a bit, you deserve it.’
‘Do I?’
She shoots me a look. ‘We all deserve nice things, Jem. You are not the exception. And look, don’t worry if… you know…’ She stares back out of the window again. ‘If you decide to stay out…’
‘Mum!’
‘What? I’m just saying. I won’t worry about you.’
‘I’ll be back tonight,’ I say, pointedly, because she’s been suggesting she’d be fine if I didn’t come home since we indulged a mutual craving for eggs Benedict down at Lawries on the bottom road. The very idea of it was utterly preposterous until I went to get ready earlier on and her words leaked into my psyche and totally freaked me out. What if I do want to stay out? What if I do want to spend the night with him? We’re just mates, aren’t we? That’s not even on the cards, is it? Does he like me like that? I can’t tell. I’m out of touch. With me, with my feelings. With his…
Which is exactly what this neurosis became when I got dressed and could only find a fairly average pair of M&S pants and a bra that doesn’t match. Which is why I will not be stopping out tonight. I’ve rushed into things so often before. I’ve not even thought about it beforehand, just done it and wondered afterwards if I even enjoyed it. I’ve not cared if my underwear was matching, but this time, this time, I think I do. I think… maybe I want it to be at the right time. In the right place. If anything is going to happen, it has to be different to the past. I will not mess things up by having casual sex in the back of his car with mismatched, ageing underwear.
* * *
‘In you get, Mrs Whitfield,’ says Mitch with a big grin on his face. ‘Jem can go in the back, you get in the front next to me.’ Mum giggles, obliging.
I open my door, ungainly clambering into the back seat owing to the heels I found at the back of the wardrobe. A pair I’ve not worn in years. Mitch gives them a wry look. ‘I thought you didn’t wear heels?’
‘I don’t,’ I say. ‘And that less than graceful arrival is why.’
‘Go back and put your trainers on then, we’ve got time.’
‘I will not put trainers on with this dress. It’s vintage Biba from the second-hand shop. Vintage Biba and trainers equal no.’
‘Whatever you say. Just don’t come crying to me if you fall over and do yourself a mischief.’ He winks at Mum.
The car reeks of flowers, a massive bouquet rests behind me on the parcel shelf. ‘Good grief, have Interflora got anything left?’
‘Haha, nope. Wiped them out of the lot. Let’s hope Aunty Vi doesn’t have allergies.’
‘Ahhh, that’s so sweet of you,’ says Mum.
I nestle my clutch beside me, turning back to take a sniff of freesias and lilies and goodness knows what other flowers there are in there. I’m no horticulturist. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’
‘I know I didn’t. But it’s always nice to bring a little something when you’re gatecrashing a party.’
‘You are not gatecrashing. You’ve been invited. You’re my guest.’ He nods, his eyes still focused on the road up ahead. ‘And we’re not stopping long anyway.’
‘We can stay as long as you like.’
‘What time does the show start?’ asks Mum.
‘Not ’til seven thirty. We’ve plenty of time. We can chat, you can have a drink, maybe even a dance.’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t do dancing.’
‘Well you should,’ he says, holding my gaze in the rear-view mirror. ‘You look lovely, by the way.’
I smooth out my dress feeling noticed. Maybe he does like me.
33
I’ve barely taken a step inside the door when Leanne launches herself at me. ‘Jem!’ she says, squeezing me tight. ‘You look amazing. Is this for Aunty Vi or the theatre?’ she asks. ‘The theatre…’ she says again, as if by theatre, she means something else entirely.
‘It’s for me, actually,’ I say, squeezing her back. ‘I dress for me.’
‘Sure thing. ’Course you do.’
I poke her in her side, right where she’s most ticklish, and she jerks out of my grip with a giggle. ‘Oi, you! Touchy!’
‘Is Andy here? I’ve not seen him for months.’
Leanne rolls her eyes. ‘No, Elsie Alice’s temperature sky-rocketed this afternoon, so he offered to stay home with her. Any excuse to avoid a family gathering, he’s probably got his slippered feet up in front of some rugby replay, wine open, Calpol on standby.’
‘Ahh, is she okay though?’
‘She’s fine. And I’m just jealous. I’d forgotten how much I hate leaving the house of an evening. I could be in my pyjamas right now, you know.’ She adjusts her dress with a grimace.
‘Come on then, where is she?’ I glance around the sea of people to try and spot Great-Aunty Vi.
‘She’s propped up in a corner with a ginger wine and some beef crisps until the buffet comes out.’
‘Standard.’
Mitch, having taken Mum to hang her coat up, has now arrived beside me. ‘Mitch! Oh my God, how long has it been?’
She flings her arms around him and I can just about see him smile at me, between the flowers, over her shoulder. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Barely any time at all, looking at you!’
‘Don’t be fooled. I’ve got a bulldog clip at the back of my head,’ she jokes, sucking in her cheeks, making her face look thinner and younger.
‘You’re kidding. You’ve probably just got one of those ageing paintings in your attic.’ Leanne raises her eyebrows at me, clearly enjoying the flattery. ‘Now, is there anywhere I can put these?’ He extricates himself from her, holding up the flowers. ‘Just a small token for… Vi, is it? Aunty Vi?’
‘Great-Aunty, yes. Ahhh, thank you.’ Leanne sniffs at them. ‘God, she’ll be delighted. They’re gorgeous. I was just saying to Jem, she’s over there. She’ll be thrilled to see you both.’
‘Great. Come on then, Jem.’
‘Yes. Coming.’
‘A joint gift, is it?’ says Leanne, as Mitch leads me off to deliver the flowers. I give her a good-natured glare and she winks in response before greeting Mum with just as much excitement as she did Mitch and I, dragging her over to see Harley who is knee sliding across the dance floor.
Aunty Vi spots me coming through the crowd and necks her ginger wine before unsteadily standing to give me the kind of hug she’s always given me. One of those nana hugs where you’re completely consumed by their love and the not-so-gentle aroma of Lily of the Valley. ‘Jem, love, you look gorgeous. How are you?’
‘I’m really good thanks, Aunty Vi. Happy birthday.’
‘Oh, thank you. I didn’t want any fuss.’ That will definitely be a lie. ‘But you know what this lot are like, any excuse for a party.’ Leanne’s family hate a party. They have always had them because Aunty Vi insists on family gatherings. ‘Still, I’ll manage. You
know.’
‘Of course. You’re a trooper. So, this is Mitch.’
‘Mitch, hello. Gosh, you’re handsome. Tell me you’re finally going to get our Jem to settle down, she really needs a good man and you look like a good man.’
Mitch laughs. ‘Only the best for Jem, eh?’
‘We’re just friends, Aunty Vi,’ I steam in, possibly a little overzealously.
He looks at me, head cocked slightly to one side. ‘Yes. Friends.’
‘I’ve heard about you young people and your friends,’ she says, winking. ‘Friends with extras, is it?’
‘Benefits,’ says some woman sat beside her who I’ve never seen before.
‘No benefits round here, more’s the pity.’ He winks and I flush. ‘We’ve only just met up again, knew each other back at school. We’re just… getting to know each other, isn’t that right, Jem?’
I nod, shyly. Confused because he wanted to be single the other day and now we’re getting to know one another. Am I misreading signals?
Aunty Vi eyes up the flowers. ‘Are those for me?’
He laughs good-naturedly. ‘They are for you. Happy birthday!’
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have.’ She pulls him in for a big hug, planting what looks distinctly like a classic wet kiss on his cheek, letting the woman beside her take the flowers to put them somewhere in water.
‘You look like you might need a drink, too.’ He nods to her empty glass. ‘What you on?’
‘Oooh, I like this one, Jem!’ she whoops. ‘Ginger wine and it’ll all be fine,’ she says, dropping back into her seat and nudging the woman sat on the other side of her.
‘Coming up.’
I follow him to the bar. ‘Good lord, you never told me I was going to be eyed up by the octogenarian.’
‘Eh, she’s ninety now!’
‘A noctogenarian. Is that the right word?’
‘No idea.’
‘Me neither.’ He laughs. ‘Is she always like that?’
‘Pretty much. Hey, let me get these drinks.’
‘Put your money away.’
‘You bought flowers. And the show tickets.’
He turns to face me. ‘So?’
‘Well… I just…’
‘You don’t need to spend your money. Christ, it’s not like you’ve got much, is it?’
He laughs and I’m sure it wasn’t meant to sound harsh, but it bruises a little. I’m probably being hormonal. Oversensitive. After all, the more I look at the state of my ‘business’, the more I wonder what the hell I’m playing at.
‘What you having?’
‘Vodka and Coke, please.’
‘Two vodka and Cokes and a ginger wine, please,’ he asks, then turns to me and strokes my arm, just gently, for a second. ‘You really do look lovely.’
‘Even though I can’t walk in these shoes?’
‘Even though you can’t walk in those shoes.’ He hands me my drink and the first sip seeps straight into my veins, making every ounce of nervous energy leak out of my bones. ‘You’ll just have to hold on to me, won’t you. Wait there, let me take this over to Vi.’
I watch him nip through the dance floor, occupied by a few girls spinning to the music, delighting in their skirts as they poof out with the energy of their twirls. Some of the younger kids, including Harley, are entranced by a decidedly sweaty entertainer who’s twisting a pink balloon into something concerningly phallic. Mitch delivers the wine, chats a little more with the women at the table, making them all laugh.
Leanne sidles in behind me. ‘He’s very charming, isn’t he?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Smooth.’
‘Mmmhhh.’
‘I can see you watching him.’
‘Shut your face.’ I spin round.
She holds her hands up. ‘Just saying. I notice things… you like him. So I’ll be watching him too, he’s got to measure up to get your loving.’
‘I’m in charge of who gets my loving, thank you very much.’ She sticks her tongue in the side of her cheek and I push her away before Mitch gets back.
34
Two and a half hours and numerous drinks later, I’m sat at a table in the corner of a room, two vodkas lined up and a plate of buffet food in front of me. I love a buffet. All those tiny sausage rolls and bowl after bowl of crisps. I can lose myself in a buffet, I’ve always found that. If I’m ever at a party with a trestle table covered in a tablecloth and be-doilied plates, you can guarantee I will have truffle-pigged my way through every one to load up a plate of delights. They should offer a buffet on the NHS. It’d save them a fortune on antidepressants.
‘You want more?’ Mitch asks, finishing the last slice of miniature pizza on his plate.
‘Shouldn’t we be going?’ I ask, lovingly gazing at a prawn vol-au-vent before shoving it in my face.
‘What? Drag you away from your friends and the bar and all that lovely food up there. I’m sure I’ve just seen tiny Cornish pasties arrive.’
‘Won’t be as good as a real one but I’d be happy to give them a go. What time is it though, half six? We’ll be late.’
I’m suddenly assaulted by a small person with a vice-like grip and a snotty nose. ‘Aunty Jem,’ comes a small voice and I know it’s my godson.
‘Hey, Harley Farley Chocolate Barley, how are you? Have you been watching the magician?’ He holds up a bag of Haribo sweets and I try and snatch it from him.
‘No! They’re mine.’ I pick him up and blow a raspberry on his belly ’til he calls out for mercy. ‘Oh, alright, you can keep them. Hey, Harley, this is my friend Mitch. Mitch, this is my brilliant godson.’
Harley smiles widely, and my heart melts. As far as kids go, he is one of the coolest. ‘We’re gonna have to go soon,’ I say, offering him a crisp.
‘Why?’
‘We’re going out. To the theatre. You know where we went to see Peppa Pig?’
‘We don’t have to go,’ says Mitch. He puts his hand on mine. ‘In fact, let’s stay. You’re having a nice time, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am.’
He squeezes my hand then takes it away. ‘So then. Let’s stay. Maybe you and Harley can have a dance, we can both get more buffet and you can carry on with the vodka.’
‘But what about your car?’
‘I’m happy to drive. Look’ – he checks over his shoulder, lowering his voice – ‘I know you’re not wanting to dwell on anything, but I also know how hard things are with your mum.’
I glance up at her, unsteadily dancing with one of the kids. Something has made her laugh and she’s coughing. I don’t like the coughing.
‘I’ve been there, remember. What I wouldn’t have given for times like this. A family party with seemingly unlimited buffet and a cheap bar and your best mate and her boy around you.’ Harley puts on his best, most sweetest grin and I feel like they’re tag teaming me. ‘You can’t disappoint this one, now can you?’
Mum bids the little girl farewell, tottering back over to a table with some of her friends. Mitch winks at me, warmly. ‘Okay, okay. Yes, it’s nice to be here. Yes, it would be lovely to stay. Are you sure you don’t mind?’
He fixes me with a look. ‘I’m certain. Certainly certain.’
‘Oh! I love this song!’ Harley jumps off my knee and grabs my hand over to the dance floor.
‘Thank you,’ I say to Mitch, taking a swig of my vodka.
As I’m pulled past Leanne, she grabs hold of my hand. ‘I can see you…’ she says, pointing two fingers to her eyes, then at me, ‘… and him…’ She waves at Mitch who waves back. ‘You’ll be shagging by Tuesday,’ she predicts with a belly laugh before ‘twerking’ her way off the dance floor like only a hurtling-towards-middle-aged mum ever could.
35
‘Your mum looks tired,’ Mitch says, coming back from the bar with another drink. I’ve collapsed into the rough velour of a bar seat, exhausted from all the dancing. Which is exactly why I don’t dance. ‘I think I’ll see
if she wants a lift home.’ He goes over to talk to her.
Two minutes later, he’s back. ‘She says she’s had enough. You stay here, I’ll get her coat and drop her home. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.’
‘No, no. I’ll come. It’s fine.’
‘Stay. Honestly. Let me get her home, then maybe I’ll drop my car back and jog over.’ He leans into me. His breath heavy on my cheek. ‘Watching you with all that vodka, doing all that dancing. You’ve rather whet my appetite. Maybe we could throw some of our own shapes.’
‘Throw some shapes? A rave just called. It wants your big box, little box back.’ I wink. ‘And like I told you, contrary to this evening’s display, I don’t usually dance.’
‘Clearly.’
I wipe my brow, probably taking my eyebrows off.
‘Look, I’ll take your mum, then I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere. Maybe rest a while. Save some energy for me.’
He disappears into the crowd, taking Mum by the arm as he goes. I watch until I can’t see him any more and wonder if it’s vodka making me want to feel closer to him, or just because he is being so nice. So kind. Those flowers, they were such a lovely thought. And now, taking Mum back because he can see she’s tired, it’s so sweet. So attentive. And I’ve never let anyone be like that before. Ben tried, for so long, and I always ignored it. Disrespected it even. Maybe this is my second chance. Maybe I could get it right this time. I could appreciate someone giving a damn. Maybe I’m in a better place to respect it. I am over making mistakes. And… I’ve learned my lesson. If there is anything I can take from what happened with Ben, it’s that I can’t keep disrespecting myself and others the way I have for so long.
* * *
I do a bit more dancing with Harley before my neckline feels like I’ve been jiving in a sauna and cool air is needed. ‘I’m just nipping outside,’ I say to Leanne, picking my drink up on the way past. She gives me a nod, having just danced so hard to the Spice Girls that she put her back out on the dance floor and can’t properly move.
