by Lacey Dearie
I am terrified of how tonight will turn out.
Comments
Scarlett McDonald – 3rd January 18:02
I thought I was your best friend!!! :( And it was a seagull.
Christos Polycarpou – 3rd January 19:49
You have me intrigued. But I’m not going to ask how your parents got their money. Looking forward to the blog about how dinner went.
Adam Robertson – 3rd January 23:02
One day, that Mr. Universe crown will be mine!!! Mwahahahaha!
3
3rd January
It was certainly the house which stood out most in the street. The whole area screamed “straight-laced,” with the exception of this house, which screamed, “more money than sense.” Although it was dark, Flic could tell the house had been painted a different colour from the others around it. There had to be at least a dozen hanging baskets dotted around the front garden, all filled to the brim with cheerful winter flowers. While the other gardens in the street had been paved and chipped, this one had been turned into a miniature crazy golf course. There were three putting greens, one with an Arc de Triumph to putt through, one with a Taj Mahal and another humped green going over a small pond, which on closer inspection appeared to be Loch Ness, the humps being the back of the monster.
Flic pressed her finger against the doorbell, expecting a ding-dong. She couldn’t help but smile when the James Bond theme tune was played and she guessed this was a family with a sense of humour. She decided that was a good start. At least they wouldn’t be boring. The last thing she needed tonight was an evening of stilted conversation and formalities.
She tried to calm her nerves by reminding herself that Maggie was meeting her boyfriend’s family for the first time, so was bound to be more nervous than she was, although reaching for a glass of wine was a far more tempting way of getting rid of her jitters.
There was no response at the door. That struck her as odd. She was asked to arrive at quarter to six. It was ten to six now. She always drove slowly and was a few minutes late for everything. Better late in this life than early in the next was her motto.
Was this the right house? She pushed the bell again and smoothed back her ponytail nervously. The ponytail, she had decided, made her look younger. She was conscious of the fact she was older than Adam and he looked to be in his early twenties, meaning Maggie could possibly still be in her teens.
Flic shrugged her shoulder uncomfortably. She was laden down on one arm with bags of dessert – chopped and tinned fruits, a small fondue set given to her as a Secret Santa present and her leftover chocolate from Christmas. Vicky had insisted she didn’t have to bring anything but she had refused to visit without contributing to the meal. Given the circumstances of their meeting this morning, and the fact she had now considerably sobered up and didn’t want to go over the edge again, she decided it was a bad idea to bring wine.
She thumped the bag down on the step and rattled on the letterbox. A can of mandarins spilled from one of the bags and she rushed after it, out of the driveway and halfway down the street. She had just collected it when she heard the door open and close again. Someone had opened the door, taken the bag of dessert and then shut the door.
Trying not to run back in case her stilettos let her down in the frosty weather, she made it a quick business-like march instead, imagining how ridiculous she must look marching up the street holding a can of mandarins. The door opened again just as she reached the steps.
‘Maggie?’ quizzed a teenage girl with a heavily black lipsticked mouth.
‘Flic,’ she replied and offered her hand to shake. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Pamela,’ the girl shook her hand in response. ‘You don’t seem like a snooty cow at all.’
Vicky arrived at the door in time to hear Pamela’s remark and closed her eyes softly, signalling an inner-cringe. ‘Ignore her! She’s got a weird sense of humour, as you’ll find out,’ Vicky covered.
‘Nice accent by the way,’ Pamela called back as she disappeared through to the living room.
‘I brought dessert. It’s chocolate fondue,’ Flic cheered, attempting to ignore the eccentricity she had already been met with.
‘My mother will love you for that! So will I actually….’ Vicky trailed off as she lifted the bag of goodies and poked her head inside. ‘Come in, take a seat. Adam and his new girlie aren’t here yet so we’ve got time to introduce you to my parents and have a quick chat.’
‘You’ve got a lovely garden. Really fun!’ Flic attempted a compliment.
Vicky groaned. ‘My Dad’s idea. And my Mum’s design. They’re a little bit strange.’
‘Oh, ok,’ Flic blushed. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. ‘It’s quite an impressive design. What does your mother do?’ She gingerly sat down on the edge of a cream leather sofa, hoping her indigo jeans wouldn’t stain it and removed her long grey coat.
‘I’ll take that for you,’ Vicky offered. ‘She was an engineer in another life. She works for Ann Summers now.’
‘Right,’ Flic responded absent-mindedly, too focused on her surroundings.
The photographs hanging on the walls and mantelpiece told a story of a very unusual family. It was hard to believe that Vicky was a part of this group of people. There were older pictures, possibly from the seventies judging by the fashions, of a glamorous couple, the man always smartly dressed in suits and the woman in a variety of sensational dresses and haircuts which undoubtedly had been fashionable in their day.
She followed the story in pictures, seeing a baby appear, then another, then a little later there were two children holding another baby. School pictures followed, along with snapshots taken around various famous landmarks. A man stood next to Vicky in some of the later pictures. Clearly they all enjoyed travelling. Then she noticed a more recent picture of Vicky holding a baby. The man who had been by her side had vanished. It was clearly her own child.
‘I see you’ve been having a look at the family portraits,’ Vicky said, returning from having hung up the coat.
‘Yeah. You’ve done a lot of travelling. And your parents looked very glamorous in their day,’ Flic noted.
‘We’ve been a few holidays,’ Vicky shrugged.
‘Is that your baby there?’ Flic asked pointing to the most recent photo.
‘Yeah, that’s me and Sasha, my daughter,’ Vicky smiled.
‘Where is she?’ Flic bobbed her head around looking for evidence of a baby in the house. She couldn’t see any.
‘She’s in the kitchen with my mum. It’s Sasha’s favourite room in the house. She likes to talk to the vegetable rack. Earlier tonight she was chatting away to a butternut squash.’
Flic laughed, imagining the scene.
‘I blame Mr. Bloom’s Nursery,’ Vicky shook her head.
‘What does your dad do for a living?’ Flic enquired. She was sure he had to have an exciting job, given the size of the house, area they lived in and amount of travelling they’d obviously done.
‘Dad’s a mystery shopper,’ Vicky answered.
Flic mulled this over for a second. She was sure there wasn’t much money involved in either mystery shopping or working for Ann Summers, as fun as they both sounded. Vicky didn’t appear to want to elaborate so she decided to change the subject.
‘Your family are all so good looking too,’ Flic praised.
‘Yeah. They are. I don’t know why I turned out so average though,’ Vicky contemplated.
Flic was about to tactfully rubbish that statement, even though she thought there was some truth in it when the doorbell sounded again.
‘They’re here already? You haven’t even met Sasha or my parents yet! I’ll be back shortly, I want to suss out Maggie before Pamela gets to her,’ Vicky blurted, rushing towards the door.
Vicky fled, closely followed by Pamela who had swept through the room within seconds of the doorbell sounding. Flic was left alone once again. She glanced around the room again and decided
to see where Pamela had come from. She cautiously peered around the door and was surprised to find it was a library. The shelves were stacked with paperback books from the ceiling to the floor and the only furniture was a single soft cosy looking armchair.
Flic edged away from the library and sat down on the couch again. She retrieved her compact from her handbag and scrutinised her make-up. All in place and looking as good as it was when she left the house. Her hair colour could do with a freshen up though. At least it was clean and tidy, and the black dye made it shine healthily. She squirted a little more perfume from her atomiser onto the back of her neck and took a deep breath. She felt ready for battle.
Flic had been interested in Adam since she first started visiting the gym last January. She had always seen him surrounded by female gym-bunnies, looking all young and toned and naturally pert. Flic on the other hand had to work at her fitness. She was convinced her bum cheeks were falling down the back of her legs. She had always meant to go over and strike up a conversation with him once she was feeling a bit sexier and more confident. That day hadn’t arrived. But now, she reasoned, she had nothing to lose.
Voices reached her from the other side of the door. She couldn’t hear anyone other than Vicky, Pamela and Adam. Perhaps Maggie had changed her mind after all and decided not to come to dinner. She was sure she could see four silhouettes through the glass though. Two of them were very tall. And masculine looking.
That doesn’t make sense, she thought.
Vicky opened the door to the living room and beamed, ‘Flic, this is Magnus, Adam’s friend.’ She stood aside to reveal a tall blonde man with strong features and alarmingly green eyes. He reminded Flic of He-Man, minus the warrior costume. He looked trendy – possibly the same age as Flic - but he dressed younger. He was the type who wore jeans, a t-shirt and a scarf but no jacket. Flic just didn’t understand how that could be warm enough in this weather and made a snap judgement that he was a vain idiot. Despite her own vanity, she always made an effort to dress weather-appropriately. Nothing was more unflattering to someone’s looks, in her opinion, than chattering teeth.
Flic stood and prepared herself for a handshake but was instead greeted with a double cheek kiss. She then determined he was also a bit of a smoothie, before he had even said a word.
‘I’m Magnus Pellicci, it’s lovely to meet you Flip,’ he smarmed.
‘It’s nice to meet you too, and it’s Flic actually,’ she corrected.
‘Oh, forgive me,’ he grinned. ‘I’m terrible with names, but I never forget a pretty face. And I’ve seen yours before, at the gym.’ A wink followed.
Flic couldn’t recall ever having seen this man before – and he was quite striking so she was sure she would have remembered him. She wasn’t usually one to disregard a flattering remark but as she guessed they were the norm for Magnus, she paid no notice to it and turned her attentions to Adam.
‘Nice to see you again,’ she grinned, hoping for a double cheek kiss from him too. She was disappointed though when he agreed with her and then asked Vicky what dinner was to be that night. It was clear Vicky wasn’t going to be much help to her tonight in her attempt to get Adam’s attention. She was too busy admiring He-Man.
‘Are you all coming through?’ a female asked from beyond a second door in the living room.
‘Be there in a minute, Mum,’ Adam called back.
There were a few minutes of removing coats, scarves and gloves and Vicky hung them up, though Magnus, after some kind of internal struggle, decided he would keep his scarf on.
The five of them made their way through to a small dining room. No photo gallery in here, Flic noted. There were, however, a few paintings of street scenes in various European cities, with the corresponding landmarks in the backgrounds.
They were met by the glamorous couple from the photographs and Vicky’s daughter Sasha who was already in her high chair sucking on a rusk. Introductions were made and everyone took a seat, Vicky making sure that she and Magnus were side by side. Flic was seated across from Adam, which suited her fine. That meant plenty of opportunity for eye contact.
‘When Adam said he was bringing his partner Maggie, we weren’t sure what to expect!’ exclaimed the older man who had been introduced as Bob.
‘We thought you were a woman he was having it off with,’ Pamela hooted.
‘I just didn’t want to say too much in front of Scarlett this morning,’ Adam explained.
Magnus twitched in his seat and appeared uncomfortable. ‘Well, Maggie has been a kind of jokey nickname of mine for a while. I prefer Mags or Magnus though.’
‘What’s Flic short for?’ Pamela quizzed.
‘It’s not short for anything,’ Flic fibbed. She never used her Sunday name and didn’t intend to give anyone the opportunity of doing so.
‘Do you all like Maria’s lasagne?’ Bob asked, to which they all provided positive responses. Flic inspected her plate. So that’s what it is, she thought. It did resemble lasagne, as there were some sheets of pasta but there were also some pasta shapes too. Squinting and turning her head, she tried to understand what the shapes were, but was baffled.
‘I ran out of lasagne sheets so I had to use the leftover pasta from the last Ann Summers party,’ Maria pouted.
Oh God. That’s what the shapes were. Men’s bits. Flic gulped the mouthful of pasta down awkwardly and forced a smile. She looked over at Vicky who mouthed the words, ‘I’m so sorry,’ before inspecting her daughter’s plastic plate. It looked like Sasha just had mashed up vegetables and crumbs of rusk thankfully.
‘Nobody has any food allergies do they? Every time Scarlett comes to dinner I seem to make something she’s allergic to,’ fretted Maria. They all confirmed they didn’t.
‘Scarlett?’ Magnus asked.
‘Vicky’s friend, and work colleague. Pain in the backside. Total drama queen,’ Adam spat quickly.
‘That’s a very unusual name around here. Can’t be many Scarletts in Inverness,’ Magnus flustered.
If Flic hadn’t known any better she would have said that she’d just witnessed Magnus blush. She wondered if he and Scarlett had met before.
‘That’s my mate you’re talking about Adam!’ Vicky protested.
‘That’s an interesting mix of names you have Magnus,’ Maria smiled, trying to avoid a feud. It wasn’t surprising she worked for Ann Summers. She struck Flic as the type who can distract her audience from embarrassing situations and looked ready to try and win everyone over with a smile and a sex-themed consolation prize if her lasagne hadn’t hit the spot.
‘I had a Swedish mother and an Italian father,’ Magnus enlightened them.
‘Oh, so you have all the charm of an Italian and the looks of Scandinavians. What a lovely combination!’ Maria flirted and winked. Flic noticed Vicky softly close her eyes in the cringing motion she had seen earlier and gave her a sympathetic half-smile.
‘Anyway, let’s hear how Vicky and Flic met. I hear you just met earlier today,’ Bob changed the subject.
‘It’s actually quite funny! I accidentally hit Flic in the face with a s... pigeon,’ Vicky laughed, almost forgetting Flic’s inability to distinguish breeds of bird.
‘A spigeon? Take it you had to be there to appreciate the humour,’ Pamela frowned.
Vicky ignored her and went on, ‘How is Jesse the pigeon anyway, Flic?’
‘Oh, he died this afternoon. I buried him in the communal garden near my flat.’ Flic instantly regretted this announcement after seeing how uncomfortable everyone had become. She should have just lied and said he was fine. This wasn’t going well at all. Where was her sparkling wit? Her effervescent conversational skills? Did they get made redundant too?
Bob cleared his throat. ‘We’re sorry for your loss, girls. Pamela, how was your day?’
‘It was alright I suppose. I still haven’t come up with a title for my musical yet,’ she grumped.
‘You should get Vicky to come up with something, she’s good at
that,’ Adam advised.
‘I’ve tried, I can’t think of anything,’ Vicky flustered, visibly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking.
‘Are you writing a musical?’ Magnus enquired, genuinely interested.
‘Yeah. You know how tribute musicals have been all the rage for a while? Like there’s Mamma Mia and We Will Rock You and Never Forget? Well, I’ve been trying to write a tribute musical of my own,’ Pamela explained.
‘For which band?’ Flic asked.
‘Chaka Demus and Pliers,’ Pamela smiled.
Flic almost laughed out loud, then remembered how eccentric this family were. Her eyes darted towards Vicky for guidance. Vicky’s lips were pursed together and her eyes gave a stern warning. Pamela was not joking.
‘Well, there IS a nineties revival right now. That would probably go in your favour if you were trying to market it,’ Flic reasoned.
‘If you need a business plan when you’ve finished the writing process, come and see me. I’ll be happy to help you explore your options for getting your work out there,’ Magnus offered. ‘I know some good solicitors too, so they can advise you on copyright.’
‘Cheers Maggie,’ Pamela grinned.
‘Wouldn’t you be better making it a reggae musical in general?’ Adam scowled.
‘That’s not my dream! A Chaka Demus and Pliers musical is my dream,’ Pamela protested.
‘It’s good to have dreams. We should all follow our dreams. It’s exactly what Adam and I are doing by opening our own gym,’ Magnus told them with a smirk.
Flic exhaled a sigh of relief. So Magnus was his business partner. Adam was not gay. For a few minutes she had wondered if Magnus was a life partner.
‘So you’re finally going to do it! That’s wonderful news!’ Bob grinned, patting Adam on the back. Adam nodded and beamed proudly in response.
