by Alison May
‘You’re asking me to collaborate with the methods of the male elite.’
‘Yep.’
She opened her mouth to object.
‘We got a red notice for the phone bill this morning. I added it to the pile.’ Alex pointed towards the growing mound of final demands, balanced next to the TV. ‘You can’t afford principles, I’m afraid.’
Helen nodded uncertainly. ‘What’s the Community Dig?’
Alex grabbed another piece of paper from the coffee table. It was a flyer for the university’s community archaeology day. ‘They need volunteers to help. It’ll show that you’re a team player.’
‘It’ll be outside.’ Helen pulled a face. ‘With mud, and weather, and outside things.’
‘And every other hourly-paid lecturer in the department will be there, in their brand new waterproofs wielding specially purchased tiny trowels desperate to make a good impression. That means you have to be there too.’
She looked over the flip chart again. ‘I do not need help picking an outfit though.’
Alex sighed. ‘Yeah. You do.’
She stuck out her chin. ‘I’m sure they’re going to be appointing based on suitability for the post, not on fashion choices.’
If Alex left her to her own devices she’d probably turn up at the interview in something beige with holes in the elbows. ‘You don’t have to do the full power dressing thing, but Homeless Crazy Lady isn’t a good look for a job interview.’
Helen furrowed her brow but didn’t argue. She glanced around the room at the massed products of Alex’s endeavours. ‘What were you supposed to be doing today?’
Alex looked at his feet. ‘Going to the library.’
Helen laughed. ‘Well I suppose your procrastination on my behalf is appreciated.’
He grinned. ‘I don’t have much choice. My mother told me that if I messed up living with you she was disowning me.’
‘Are you sure you’re not going to apply?’
He shrugged. ‘They want a modernist. I told you. Anyway, it’s a ...’ Alex dropped his voice down to a horrified whisper. ‘... permanent job. Not my scene at all.’
The house phone rang, from three different points around the house. Helen pulled herself off the sofa and went to the dining room to answer the oldest and cheapest of the three phones; the basic, physically-plugged-into-the-wall model that actually worked. Alex flicked back to the cartoon he’d drawn on the flip chart. The basic outline was good, but it needed more soul somehow. He reread the caption. Visualise your success. He turned the page.
Helen
The phone call was from Emily. Helen was pleased to hear from her. She could be an independent witness to Alex’s madness. ‘I’ve just had a whole motivational presentation about applying for Sansom’s old job and ...’
‘I don’t think it was enough.’
What wasn’t enough? Helen paused, trying to match up Emily’s answer to what she’d been saying. It didn’t help. ‘Sorry?’
’I got Dom to help me with a driving lesson. It was fine. I thought it was fine, but what if it was too little? What should I do?’
Helen still wasn’t following the conversation. ‘What?’
‘You said I had to make him feel needed. So I got him to give me a driving lesson.’
‘Right.’ A driving lesson? Helen was not expert in matters of the heart, but even the most basic reading around the subject would probably tell you that driving lessons weren’t romantic. She pulled the phone cord away from the wall and sat down on the floor.
‘So what do I do now?’ The anxiety in Emily’s voice was only just below the surface.
Helen didn’t want to get drawn back into this. However much she told herself she was being a good friend to both Emily and Dominic, she couldn’t quite get the tiny devil Helen off her shoulder. Tiny devil Helen thought she was being pathetic. Actually tiny devil Helen thought Emily was being pathetic. ‘You know you shouldn’t have to make him love you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well if you’re unhappy talk to him.’ Helen paused. She was preaching the value of honesty and openness. She was a hypocrite. She gave tiny devil Helen a hard look. ‘Sorry, but you’re his girlfriend. You know what he likes.’
‘Please Helen. You said you’d help.’
Helen took a deep breath. Emily could make her own choices, and those choices should be respected by her friends. So, what could she suggest? ‘Well his family are a big deal to him. Obviously he was totally in awe of his dad, but family generally is a big thing.’ The devil popped back up. ‘But you must know that. I bet you’ve met them loads.’ Emily had never been taken to meet the parents.
‘Well he knows my dad quite well.’
Helen sighed. She couldn’t do it. Being bitchy for her was a moment of spite followed by days of guilt and self-recrimination. Her belief in the sisterhood ran too deep. ‘Yeah, but in a work way. Maybe you could invite him to something with your dad and Tania outside of work.’
‘Don’t say Dad and Tania.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they’re not a proper couple. It’s a moment of insanity. It won’t last.’
Helen didn’t reply. Professor Midsomer was engaged. It sounded like it might well last. ‘Okay, well your dad anyway. Make Dominic feel part of the family. He’ll appreciate that.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah.’ Of course she was sure. She’d undertaken a decade long study of the character of the man. She was just too cautious to ever shift her theories into action. They wrapped up the conversation, but Helen didn’t move. Maybe Alex wasn’t the mad one after all. At least he had a plan for her future. She pulled herself back to her feet and marched into the lounge. She picked a marker pen from the tray at the bottom of the flip chart and turned the pad to a new page. In capital letters she wrote a new heading. OPERATION GET OVER DOMINIC.
Alex watched her from the sofa. ‘Seriously?’
She nodded. ‘He’s with Emily.’
‘Which you said you were fine with?’
‘I am.’
Alex raised an eyebrow.
‘I’m not fine yet. But I’m going to be. I need a plan.’ She stopped and stared at the rest of the empty flip chart. ‘I’m not sure what the plan should be.’
Alex jumped up. ‘You need to get back out there.’
‘Out where?’
‘Out dating. You need to meet new people, to help you forget about the old people.’
Alex grabbed the pen and wrote ‘speed dating’ and ‘internet dating’ on the paper.
Helen shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve been on dates. Dating people are weird.’
‘Not all of them. The trick is to meet enough. If you meet enough people, some of them are bound to be acceptable.’
Helen wasn’t sure. The whole notion sounded horrendous. She liked familiar people. She liked people she already knew. Meeting new ones was traumatic.
Alex slung an arm over her shoulder. ‘We’ll start with speed dating.’
‘We?’
‘Definitely.’ He nodded.
‘I don’t need a chaperone.’ She glanced at her lodger. ‘Not one that’s going to be better at it than me anyway.’
He laughed. ‘So you’d rather go on your own?’
Well obviously not. ‘Together then.’
‘Together. One for all. Like the Muskehounds.’
Dominic
Dominic looked round the gaggle of students crammed into his office. They were second years, all of whom had expressed some level of interest in doing their final dissertation in Dominic’s subject area. For his first few years as a lecturer he’d met with each new potential dissertation student separately. Eventually it had dawned on him that he was spending half an hour with each student and the conversation only varied for about forty-five seconds between each session. He told himself that putting all the students together into a group was efficient, rather than symptomatic of his growing lack of inte
rest.
‘So, let’s start by you each telling me what area specifically you were thinking of working on?’
He glanced around the room. Four straight History students. One History and Politics, and one History and Drama. He made a mental bet with himself. Four witchcrafts, one Thomas Cromwell and a Shakespeare. Undergraduate dissertation topics were nothing if not predictable. He turned his gaze to the first student in the circle, and raised an eyebrow.
‘Er ... maybe like witchcraft.’
‘Very good.’ He turned to the rest of the group. ‘Any more votes for “maybe like witchcraft”?’
Three nods. As he expected.
‘And you Cecily?’
‘Well I’ve been reading Wolf Hall and ...’
Dominic zoned out. At least Hilary Mantel was saving him from a witchcraft clean sweep. He mentally ticked off “Thomas Cromwell.”
‘And you Nick?’
Nick Bottomley – joint honours history and drama student – was the student who Alex had found in the corridor a few weeks earlier, no longer in possession of his shoes. Dominic had been forced to acknowledge that that wasn’t a one-off occurrence. If he was entirely honest, Dominic was stunned that Nick was still on the course, and managing to attend at least some sessions fully dressed and in the general vicinity of ‘on time’.
Nick was working his brain towards the act of speech. ‘So like, yeah, like witchcraft, yeah ...’
Dominic frowned at losing his mental bet. He thought a joint history and drama student was a safe bet for a Shakespeare dissertation.
‘... but like not like the actual real witches ...’
Actual real witches?
‘... more like witches in Shakespeare ...’
Of course.
‘... and that. Sort of like about how witches are depicted in plays, but like not just witches. Like the whole supernatural – you know fairies and stuff too. Yeah.’
Dominic watched Nick lean back in his seat, clearly exhausted by the depth of academic rigour in his previous, like, sentence.
‘Very good.’ Dominic listened to his own voice starting his annual pep talk on how to approach the undergraduate dissertation, the admonishments to start early and not leave it to the last minute (which would almost certainly be ignored), the encouragements to come and see him as their supervisor if they felt anxious or pressed for time (which he could only hope would be taken on board). He finished, as he always did by handing out formal dissertation proposal forms, where the students would detail more clearly their area of research, the sources they planned to use, and would explain what was original about their approach. Anything more specific than “like real witches and that” would be progress.
‘Professor Collins?’
He turned. Nick was loitering in the doorway.
‘What’s up?’
‘I wanted to say like thanks and that. For the hardship fund thing.’
Most of Dominic’s students had Mummys and Daddys they could run to when money ran out. Dominic was aware that Nick’s mum was a lone parent with two younger children still at home. Spare cash to bung in the direction of the one who’d already moved out wasn’t a luxury she could offer. ‘Do you remember what else we talked about?’
Nick nodded. ‘Yeah. Like budgeting and that. I’ve got a part time job. I wanted to say thank you for that as well. For the thingy.’
‘The reference?’
‘Yeah.’
The official policy of the department discouraged students from working during their second and third years. The official policy of the department wasn’t written by someone who was strapped for cash.
‘What’s the job?’
‘Waitering. For like posh parties. Really posh parties, where they eat weird shit.’
Jolly good. Dominic had no doubt that any really posh party could only be improved by what he was sure was quite an individual approach to the handing out of the weird shit.
Nick wandered off. A few seconds later Dominic saw him wander back past his door in the opposite direction. At least being a waiter wouldn’t be too complex, he thought, and it had been nice of him to take a minute to say ‘thanks.’ Dominic smiled, and then stopped. He was proud of something he’d done at work. He might actually have made a tiny difference to somebody. He didn’t get that feeling very often.
A knock on his office door disturbed the train of thought. ‘Come in.’
Emily popped her head round the door. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t sure if you had anyone in here.’
Dominic shook his head. Emily pushed the door shut behind her and strutted towards him. She stopped directly in front of his chair and swung one leg over his thighs so she was straddling him, before she leant forward and kissed his lips.
‘Em ...’
‘What?’
‘Not here.’
She pouted slightly. ‘Why not? We’ve done it here before.’
Dominic closed his eyes. It was true. They had. One afternoon last summer when the department was all but deserted. He shook his head. ‘That was different. I’m working. Your dad’s probably sitting about ten metres that way.’
She stood up and folded her arms. ‘Fine.’
Now she was upset, which wasn’t what he wanted either. He was aware that he’d been drifting recently, and he was aware that he was dragging Emily with him. He was telling himself the feeling started when his father died, but maybe that was a lie. Regardless, he wanted to feel like his life was on track. He wanted to feel anchored, safe, certain, under control. ‘I’m sorry. I’m a bit preoccupied.’
She unfolded her arms. ‘I actually came to ask if you wanted to come for dinner with Dad and ...’ She paused. ‘... and Tania.’
Dominic was surprised. Apart from his summons, along with pretty much everyone else Theo knew to the great surprise engagement party, he wasn’t usually invited to Midsomer family gatherings. ‘Any particular reason?’
Emily shook her head. ‘I thought you might want to come. I mean family’s important, isn’t it? And you’re important to me and ...’ Her voice tailed off.
It was good, he thought, to be important to someone. He nodded.
‘Next week then? Thursday? Or at the weekend if you’re busy tonight.’
Dominic shook his head. ‘Thursday’s fine. Actually I’m probably going to see Mum at the weekend.’
‘Right.’ Emily started towards the door, and then stopped and turned back to face him. ‘Maybe I could come too.’ She stopped again. ‘Or not. I mean, it’s not a big deal ...’
Taken by surprise twice in one conversation. There was anxiety in Emily’s voice. It wasn’t her fault his head was all over the place. ‘I’ll have to check with her, but okay. Why not?’
‘All right.’ She skipped back over to him and kissed him on the lips. ‘I’d better get back.’
He watched her walk out of his office, and took a very deep breath. This was good. This was what he wanted. Taking Emily to meet his mother was exactly the sort of thing that somebody whose life was moving forward would do. Whatever fancies he’d been harbouring about changing his lot, the moment had passed. It was time to get back on the right track.
Emily
Tania has hired a wedding planner, Mia. She claims it was my dad’s idea but it’s like being in an episode of Real Housewives. There are samples of everything. Dress fabrics, table cloths, flower options, menu cards, party favours. It’s exhausting. We’re sitting in the conservatory looking at napkins with Mia. Smiley, perky Mia who doesn’t appear to be aware of what a complete joke this whole thing is.
‘Er, that one.’ Tania jabs a finger at a plain white napkin.
Mia crinkles her nose. ‘White? With an ivory gown?’
‘Okay.’ Tania shrugs. ‘Ivory then?’
Mia nods. Apparently that’s correct. ‘Ivory sheen or ivory matt?’
I stare, with Tania, at the two napkins Mia has pulled to the top of the pile. For a second I’m almost starting to sympathise with the enemy. That’s
a thing isn’t it? Hostages get it; when they’ve spent too long with their captors they start to get emotionally involved. I’m not here to support Tania. I’m here to find out more about her so I can stop my dad from making this ridiculous mistake.
Tania is still staring at the napkins. ‘I don’t really mind.’
Mia laughs. ‘Oh come on. I know brides. Everything has to be perfect.’
‘Then matt?’
Mia nods. ‘Excellent.’ I guess that must have been the right answer then. Honestly, I expected wedding planning to be a lot more fun than it is. Of course it’s different for Tania – Dad’s far too busy to be expected to spend time on planning the details. If me and Dom get married, we’ll be doing all this together. I try to picture Dom choosing table decorations. The image in my head cracks a little, but I don’t let it break.
‘Now, one last thing.’
I feel Tania shift in her seat next to me. This is Mia’s third ‘one last thing.’
‘The guest list?’
‘I thought that was all done.’ I’m sure Tania ordered the invitations weeks ago.
‘Quite. Quite.’ Mia arranges her face into a sympathetic half smile. ‘It’s just that most couples like to keep it quite even between the sides.’
My ears prick up.
‘What do you mean?’
Mia leans towards us. ‘Well it’s up to you, Tania, but I did just wonder if you wanted to add any of your family at all?’
‘No.’
Mia doesn’t respond straight away, and I let the silence hang there. Maybe Tania will feel pressured into saying more. She shifts again in her seat, turning her face out towards the window. I follow her gaze. It’s grey and drizzly outside. Mia taps her fingers against her folder.
‘Okay.’ Mia eventually moves on. ‘Just one last thing.’
Tania’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Really last thing?’ She glances at the clock. ‘Only we’ve got people coming for dinner.’
Mia laughs slightly. ‘It’s about the entertainment for the pre-wedding party.’
‘The Midsummer’s Eve Party?’