Much Ado About Sweet Nothing

by Alison May

  ‘She looked after me and she looked after the house after her mum had gone. She always kept everything lovely.’

  Tony moves on to hug his daughter. I do feel quite aggrieved that Trix isn’t yelling at him. There really is no justice in the world.

  Trix and Danny are queuing up to give their congratulations now. Trix is kissing everything that moves, and Danny is vigorously shaking hands and hugging people, including some people who aren’t at our table. I think that means the ‘congratulating’ part of the evening has gone on long enough. I pick up my menu. The lamb sounds nice, or maybe the mackerel. It says whole mackerel. That might be bony. I wonder if we’re having starters. No one else has sat down yet. Actually John is sitting down, but he never stood up, so that doesn’t count. Claudio and Henri, are still in a hug, congratulations, handshake cycle with Tony, Trix and Danny. I’m hungry. I think I probably have to wait for them before I order.

  My little brother’s getting married, and I’m happy for him. I am. I’m really happy. I think it’s too soon. I think he’s crazy to change his life because of an infatuation. It’s like Harriet Brooks. Harriet Brooks was amazing. So far as radiation research went at the start of the twentieth century, it was basically all about Harriet Brooks and Marie Curie. Harriet Brooks did some incredible early research into radioactivity and thorium; she identified that thorium gives off radioactive emissions in the form of a gas which … sorry. Anyway, she got married and gave up her research just because that’s what married women did back then. Marie Curie married Pierre Curie, who was a scientist too, and kept going. Marie Curie won the Nobel Prize, twice, and no one’s ever heard of Harriet Brooks. Well, you hadn’t, had you? See. Getting married’s OK, if you absolutely must, but you’ve got to find a way of making sure it doesn’t interfere with the rest of your day.

  I realise that Claudio’s released himself from the hug-a-thon, and he’s leaning towards me. ‘Ben?’

  I’ve already said Congratualations. Am I not off the hook now? I make an attempt to rearrange my face, and remind myself that this is Good News. ‘Congratulations mate.’

  ‘Really?’

  Am I such a misery that my little brother can’t believe that I’m happy for him? I shake his hand across the table. ‘Really.’

  ‘There’s something else.’

  I bet she is up the duff. That would explain the haste. He’s done it this time, hasn’t he? Although, that makes no sense. He was in Italy until three weeks ago, and I’m sure they didn’t do anything at the party, so she can’t be. Well, I guess she could be, but it’d be too soon to know, wouldn’t it? How soon can women tell? I actually have no idea. I know they have a scan at twelve weeks, but they must already know by then, or else they’d have to scan all the women every twelve weeks, just in case. I guess it’s when they miss a, you know, a menstrual, thing. But how late would it have to be? Days? Weeks? Not hours, surely? Interesting. I will have to look into it at some point.

  ‘Well, will you?’

  Claudio is looking expectant, and all eyes are on me. I think I did it again.

  Trix snorts. ‘You must have a fairly poor group of friends if Ben can be considered the best man.’

  Thank you, Trix. Sometimes I almost wonder if she does that to help me out. Best man? I’d have to make a speech. It probably can’t be a speech about maths. Maybe I could explain about Harriet Brooks and thorium emissions though. Claudio is still looking at me.

  ‘Of course. Best man. Very excited.’

  I stand up to shake his hand properly. He traps me in a bear hug, complete with cheek kissing. I really don’t understand how he got all the Italian genes. I was fine with the handshaking.

  At least the hugging puts us close enough to talk without everyone else listening in. ‘This is a bit quick.’

  He glances at me. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t approve.’

  ‘No. It’s just sudden.’ As I say, I’m not great with the touchy-feely. ‘I’m happy if you’re happy.’

  ‘Of course I’m happy.’ He’s absolutely emphatic. He hugs me again. ‘It’s gonna be great, mate.’

  Danny has managed to find his way back to his own chair, and claps his hands. ‘Food!’

  Claudio nods. ‘Yes. Yes. Order whatever you want. It’s all on us.’

  ‘No. No. It’s your night. I’ll get this.’ Tony waves his hands.

  ‘Not at all.’ Danny interrupts. ‘You’ll have enough expense with the wedding.’

  The three of them continue to try to out alpha male each other. I should join in, but it’s probably my money that Claudio’s planning to pay with, and if last night’s sleeping arrangements are anything to go by, I could end up playing unpaid landlord to Henrietta too. Financially, I’ve done my bit.

  I order brie and lamb. I decide the mackerel sounds high risk. Looking around the table, Claudio, Tony, Trix and Danny are engaged in a four-way conversation, which I’m just too far away to easily join in with. I’m between Henrietta and John. I decide Henrietta is the easier option. At least in a conversation you can generally just set her going, and then you don’t need to do too much more work.

  ‘So, was the talk on Zero OK for what you wanted?’

  She nods, enthusiastically. She does everything enthusiastically. I’m not sure she has any other settings. ‘It was brilliant. I loved all the stuff with tomatoes.’

  ‘And the stuff after that? The Babylonians, and the imaginary numbers?’

  ‘Yeah. That as well.’

  ‘Brilliant. Sometimes I worry that people won’t understand the more in-depth stuff. It can be hard to find a way into the detail.’

  ‘And everyone’s really excited about the competition.’

  ‘Really?’ Yes. The competition. I am judging an art competition. I know nothing about art. Seriously, how do I get myself into these things?

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Em, about the competition, I’m not really an expert on art …’

  ‘That’s OK. You just have to pick the ones you like best.’

  ‘Yeah. You’ll be there too, won’t you?’

  ‘I won’t be any help. I probably don’t know any more than you do.’

  ‘But you’re Arts Development Officer?’

  ‘Well, yeah …’

  ‘And you did a degree in Fine Art …’

  ‘Well not really Fine Art. It was Fine Art and History of Art, sort of combined, so …’

  ‘So you must know even more! So you can help me.’

  She smiles. She actually seems a bit embarrassed that I want her help. I suppose that’s sweet, if you have the emotional depth to cope with embarrassment. I don’t, and now I can’t think of anything else to say about the competition. I grasp at the most obvious straw.

  ‘Are you excited about planning the wedding?’ Get me. First I remembered to say congratulations and now I’m showing interest in a wedding. My social skills are on fire tonight. If I carry on like this, Trix won’t have any excuses left to take the piss out of me at all.

  ‘I haven’t really thought about it.’

  ‘Well, you should. There’s lots to think about. Dresses, and cars, and …’ I tail off. That’s actually all I can think of. What else do you need to get married? ‘A big room. You’ll need a big room.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Maybe two big rooms, if you get married in one and then have the party somewhere else. Yeah. Two big rooms.’

  I’ve lost it, haven’t I? I resign myself to eating the rest of my meal in silence. Predictably enough, Henrietta turns towards Claudio a few minutes later, and I’m out of the conversational loop again. At least, I’m alone with my own thoughts now, which I really don’t mind at all.

  But I’m not alone. I’m sitting next to John. I can hear him breathing, and the more I try to tune it out the louder it sounds. He leans away from the table, and angles his face towards my ear.

  ‘It won’t last.’

  His voice is quiet and uncomfortable, like he’s out of practice at ta
lking.

  If it were Trix or Danny I know I’d come back at him and we’d be debating the merits of romance for the rest of the night. With John, I don’t.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine.’

  ‘Nothing ever lasts.’

  I glance around the table, expecting to see Trix or Claudio readying themselves to dive in, but everyone’s engrossed in their own conversations.

  ‘Some things do. Look at you and Danny.’ As soon as I’ve said it, I wish I hadn’t. An image flashes into my brain, and I feel like I need to physically shake my head to dislodge it.

  ‘He’s far too good for her.’ It takes me a second to process that comment, because John offers it in an entirely pleasant voice, like the sort of tone normal people use to discuss the weather and the best variety of tomatoes to grow on a south-facing wall. I have to replay it in my head before I’m certain he is being unkind.

  Well, maybe a couple of days ago I’d have said the same, but Henrietta seems to make Claudio happy, and, she builds a decent snowman. And she’s sweet and kind, and she’s happy, and what do I know? If John doesn’t like her that also counts hugely in her favour. I don’t respond.

  ‘Look at her.’ He looks at Henri like he’s inspecting a specimen in a laboratory, and then as abruptly as it started, the conversation is over. He leans away from me in his seat and says no more.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Claudio

  Ten years earlier

  ‘Why do I have to come?’

  I see Mum raise an eyebrow. ‘We’ve been through this.’

  It’s true. We went through it when the tickets were ordered. We went through it again when I heard about the party, and then again last night and at breakfast this morning. I still don’t understand. ‘S’not fair.’

  She folds her hands on her lap. ‘It’s a big day for your brother.’

  ‘It was supposed to be a big day for me.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry you’re missing your little party, but it’s your brother’s graduation. We’re all going.’ She glances out of the window. ‘Just as soon as your father gets back. We’re all very proud, aren’t we?’

  She gives me a look when she says that. I’m not proud. It’s just a stupid maths degree and all he’s going to do with it is go to another university and do some more maths. You’d think he’d know enough maths by now. I know loads of maths and I’ve only done GCSE.

  ‘It’s just a party.’ She’s talking softer now, like she’s trying to get around me. It won’t work. It’s not just a party. It’s my school leavers’ ball, and if I’m not there, well, I can’t not be there.

  ‘I was supposed to be taking Joanne.’

  Mum likes Joanne. She thinks she’s a nice girl. ‘Well I’m sure she’ll be perfectly fine going with someone else.’

  I don’t say anything. There’s no point. Of course she’ll be fine going with someone else. She’s going with Patrick Anderson. That’s what happens if you’re not there. She’s going to dance with him, and go outside for a ciggie with him, and then she’ll get off with him. It was supposed to be me.

  ‘I don’t want her going with someone else.’

  Mum smiles that stupid smile she does when she thinks one of us is being cute. ‘Well, if she’s the sort of girl who just runs off with another boy, then maybe she’s not the right girl for you.’

  I give up. Mum really doesn’t get anything.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Trix

  Sunday and I have nothing planned. Nothing at all, which is fine, obviously. I can enjoy my own company. That’s all part of living alone. You learn to love your independence. There’s plenty I can do. With that in mind, I get out of bed, and make it as far as the kitchen. Breakfast. I can have breakfast. My mental image of a lazy Sunday breakfast includes fresh croissants and Sunday newspapers, probably with some classic Motown playing on the stereo and a cat lazily rubbing itself against my ankles. I don’t have a cat. I don’t have any croissants, and I don’t have any newspapers. For this plan to work, I am going to have to get dressed and go to the shop. That’s go to the shop to buy croissant and papers, not to buy a cat. That would be crazy.

  I manage to spread getting dressed out to about forty-five minutes. Don’t ask how. I’m a bit slow-moving at weekends. Getting dressed involves a fair amount of wandering around the house looking for socks that match, and then I inadvertently start reading the letters page in the local free paper. The letters are the only thing I ever read in the local paper. I love that people see all these evils in the world and then believe that the Editor of the York Evening Press is the person to sort it out for them. This week he’s being asked to sort out global warming, get the UK out of Europe and say Thank you to all the nurses on Cherry Ward. He’s a man of exceptional power and influence.

  That all fills time, so it’s nearly two o’clock by the time I set off to buy breakfast, by which time there are no croissants left and a choice between an Independent on Sunday with half the bits missing and the Mail on Sunday. I take the Independent. There are limits.

  On the way home I start to think about last night properly. Henri and Claudio are engaged. I can’t wait to get Henri cornered over a bottle of wine and hear the full story, and I do love a good wedding. I mean, not enough to have one of my own, obviously, but still. I love all the stuff that goes on around them; the dresses and flowers and speeches and food. I’ve always been a sucker for a good buffet. Can you imagine what Ben would make of that? Further evidence for the belief that all women are romantic fools. There’s a big difference between being foolish and being stupid. If he’s scared of looking foolish, he’d better hope he never really falls in love.

  I don’t know why I’m thinking about Ben. I sat as far away from him as possible last night. When they made the big announcement, he looked like he’d just found something unpleasant in his soup. In fact, the only major fly in the ointment for this wedding is that Ben’s going to be best man, and Henri asked me to be her best woman. Actually, she asked me to be her matron of honour, but I wasn’t having that. Anyway, whatever my title is, it sounds like the sort of role that’s going to end up with me dancing with Ben at the reception. Mental note: must buy bridesmaid shoes with especially pointy heels.

  I turn the corner towards home just as Claudio and Henri are coming out of her flat. For a moment I almost turn back around the corner and wait for them to go. They look like an advert for John Lewis’ Winter Collection. They’re all duffle coats and scarves inside this little perfection bubble. I feel like an intruder. Henri sees me before I have chance to run away, and waves.

  I walk over to them. Henri is still glowing like she was last night. She grabs me in a big hug. ‘We’re going to see Claudio’s mum and dad, and then we’re meeting my dad.’

  She squeals this information at a frequency that is quite distressing for my human ears; it must be sending the neighbourhood’s dog population insane. I nod politely, and hope she comes down an octave. She peers at me. ‘What are you doing today?’

  I feel bad about admitting that I’m still working towards breakfast, so just make a non-committal noise, which I hope demonstrates a nonchalant ‘just chilling out’ type of vibe. Clearly that’s far more work than a shrug and an unvoiced sound can be expected to do, because Henri looks blank. I try again.

  ‘Not much. Reading the papers, you know.’

  ‘You can come with us.’

  Claudio looks uncertain. Whilst Henri has reached the point where there’s so much couply joy around that she wants to share it with her disadvantaged single friends, Claudio is presumably thinking through the realities of turning up to announce your engagement to your parents, with your brother’s ex-girlfriend in tow.

  I shake my head. Given that an hour ago I’d have quite liked a social invite, I’m surprised to notice that I’m finding Claudio’s reluctance to be a relief rather than a disappointment. Their happiness is bordering on suffocating.

  ‘I ought to do some work, you know.’
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  Work? What work? I’m a librarian. It’s Sunday. The books aren’t going anywhere. What work could I possibly have to do?

  Henri looks momentarily stricken. I’m guessing she’s not really been thinking about work this weekend, and, unlike me obviously, she actually does do work at weekends. She always comes in with bags full of art materials she’s found on her own time, and ideas for activities and stuff. Today, though, even the anxiety that I might be better prepared for the working week than her, isn’t enough to shake the perfection bubble. ‘You do need to read Ben’s book.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘For work. For the competition. If it’s all about Zero, we need to get some ideas, don’t we?’

  ‘Well, I don’t really know if I’ve got time.’

  She glares pointedly at my carrier bag of newspapers and bread. I guess I’m not exactly giving the impression of being rushed off my feet. ‘I bet you haven’t even got a copy, have you?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m not spending money on his book.’

  Henri laughs. ‘You don’t have to. He left a whole pile of copies for us. There’s one on my coffee table. Seriously, you should read it. It’s really very interesting.’

  They head off for their lunch and I go into the house. I start off by dealing with the important things, and preparing a plate of lovely hot buttered Marmite-y toast, and a big glass of milk. Later on I will dip the toast in the milk to make it all soft. Don’t tell anyone that. On reflection, it is kind of gross.

  I flick through the papers, but I can’t really concentrate. The Mail would have made me cross, but would also have been easier to get into. Maybe, I ought to do some work after all. Maybe, actually, Henri is right, and I should have a proper look at Ben’s book. I am going to need some ideas about Nothing-based art to help the kids.

  I head downstairs and let myself into Henri’s flat with my landlady key. Now, legally, as her landlady I should only use my key for purposes of essential maintenance and pre-arranged inspection. Traditionally though, it’s mainly used for borrowing T-shirts, which I then stretch out of shape pulling them over my size twelve, all right fourteen, frame, when I haven’t done my laundry. It’s a good job she’s an understanding tenant.