by Julia Blake
‘Scott you already know,’ Annaliese was still working her way round the room. I looked up from piling food onto my plate and we exchanged grins. ‘So, that just leaves my dear heart, Ferdie, and that’s everyone.’
I accepted with thanks the glass of icy cold white wine which Ferdie, who was absolutely definitely gay, handed me. Mimi struggled to sit up to reach for more Chinese and I smiled when she eventually gave up and simply swapped her empty plate with Andrew’s full one. He sighed in resignation, before helping himself to more food. ‘I have him well trained,’ she smirked.
‘When are you due?’ I asked shyly.
‘Another three weeks,’ she sighed in resignation. ‘I shall be the size of an elephant, my skin all stretched and wrinkled.’ She huffed in mock disgust as her husband patted her reassuringly on the thigh, before holding a mini spring roll out to her which she delicately ate, kissing his fingers when she’d finished.
‘Tuck in, Eve, there’s plenty,’ urged Annaliese, gesturing towards the oversized coffee table on which a long line of warming trays stood, piled high with dozens of cartons all full of wonderful looking food. Like I’d said, my parents are extremely plain eaters and I’d never really eaten Chinese food before. Sure, Mike and I occasionally had a takeaway, but because we were always broke our sole excursions had tended to be of the chicken ball and chips variety.
So now I ploughed in with anticipation, trying a little of everything, finding it all utterly delicious, carefully watching the others out of the corner of my eye, observing that first you smeared the dark sauce over the pancake, then piled on shredded duck and vegetables and rolled it, before picking it up with your fingers and biting into food paradise.
‘Eve,’ began Annaliese, then stopped, hand flying to her mouth. ‘Oh, how silly of me,’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s not your name is it? You must think I’m dreadful, what’s your real name?’
‘It’s Melissa,’ I replied shyly. ‘But,’ I went on hastily. ‘I don’t mind you calling me, Eve, I quite like it actually.’
‘Alright,’ she said, smiling at me, her blue eyes warm and friendly. ‘Eve it is. It’s so wonderful to see you again, where did you disappear to last time?’
‘Oh,’ I began awkwardly, aware of the barely veiled curiosity of the others. ‘Ally wanted to go home and as I was getting a lift with her, I really felt I should go.’ She nodded thoughtfully, then seemed to accept my words and dropped the subject, turning to face Scott as he gestured at the TV with a chopstick.
‘What are we watching?’
‘Oh, Miles brought it, it’s absolutely fascinating,’ replied Annaliese. ‘It’s about a woman who gets abandoned by her husband for a beautiful famous actress and decides to exact her revenge.’
‘I know this, I’ve read the book, it was amazing,’ I declared in excitement, paying the screen attention now the more urgent need for food had been addressed. ‘I usually hate it when they adapt a book I’ve loved into a film or TV programme,’ I turned to Miles. ‘Please tell me they haven’t completely re-written it?’
‘They haven’t,’ he promised, his soft brown eyes lighting up with pleasure. He leaned forward, refilled my glass as I absent-mindedly spooned more food onto my plate. I envied the way the others all ate so easily with chopsticks whilst I was left ladling it up with a spoon, watching in awe as Mimi waved her chopstick about to emphasise a point, a single pea held daintily mid-air.
‘She hates this bitch so much,’ she stated, her accent making me think of the Eiffel Tower, accordions and cigarette smoke wafting up from bereted men in black polo necks as they philosophised on existentialism and the bleakness of life. ‘She hates her so much,’ she continued. ‘For taking everything she has, so sets out to completely destroy her.’
‘No, you’re wrong,’ I interrupted and Mimi raised a brow at me. ‘What I mean,’ I hastily continued. ‘Is, yes, she destroys her, but there’s more to it than that. She takes back everything the other woman stole from her, but doesn’t stop there. She goes further, she actually becomes this woman, if she’d only hated her she wouldn’t have done that, she’d have been satisfied with ruining her life, yet she actually becomes her, that’s not hate, that’s envy.’
There was silence, and I took a large gulp of the most delicious wine I’d ever had, feeling rather stupid and wishing I’d kept my big mouth shut. I glanced around, Annaliese was looking at Mimi, their faces thoughtful; Andrew and Ferdie seemed preoccupied with their food; Robert, was gazing at Annaliese, his expression concerned; Scott, his face unreadable as usual, suddenly smiled at me and gave one of his characteristic shrugs, as though he didn’t care one way or the other. Beside me, Miles nodded, beaming as if I’d correctly solved a complicated puzzle.
‘Well done,’ he said. ‘You’re absolutely right, Eve, it is a book about the powerful force jealousy can be, the desire to actually become that which you envy. A lot of people fail to understand this, believing it is purely about hatred, but, as you so succinctly put it, if it were merely about revenge, then why put yourself through so much in order to become the person you are supposed to despise.’ He nodded again, obviously pleased, and I felt as though I’d just been awarded a medal, smiling at Annaliese when she patted me on the shoulder.
‘You’ve made Miles very happy,’ she whispered. ‘He teaches English Literature at Queens, and feels we’re a desperately illiterate bunch, it’s nice he finally has someone to talk to.’
‘But...’ I stammered in surprise. ‘You’re an author, can’t he talk to you about books? I mean, you ...you write such awesome ones, I would have thought...’ my voice trailed away and Annaliese actually blushed with pleasure.
‘Bless you, Eve, what a lovely thing to say. But I’m afraid it’s true, I write from the heart and although I do enjoy dipping into the odd novel, I’m afraid my tastes are for fun and frothy women’s fiction, and not the great classics which Miles keeps insisting I should read.’
‘You should at least attempt them, Annaliese,’ he protested, half-heartedly, and I sensed this was a dispute of long standing.
‘I just can’t get into them,’ Annaliese insisted, a twinkle in her eyes. ‘And life is simply too short to waste time doing something I don’t like, I’d rather be having fun with my dear friends.’ Miles sighed in exasperation, but I could tell from the tender look he gave her, anything Annaliese did was fine by him, that he was as much under her spell as the rest of us.
How can I describe that evening? The light hearted conversation which lapped and swelled around the room, the amiable teasing that spoke of an easy familiarity amongst them that, like the wronged wife in the DVD, I envied. Although, far from wishing to destroy them, become them, I wished merely to be allowed to be a part of their elite, to feel one of them, to be fully accepted as a member. I knew Melissa could never aspire to such heights, I hoped maybe Eve could.
They made it easy, so easy, for me to like and admire them, all of them, although, for the first time, I realised Caroline wasn’t there and wondered at her absence. Ferdie, obviously the group jester, kept the level of humour topped up with his outrageously witty comments, reducing us at times to helpless hand gestures, clutching at stomachs aching with laughter, Mimi begging him to stop because all this laughing was making her need to go and pee, again. Robert and Andrew were the most serious of the group, yet contributed warmth and stability, calming Ferdie’s more giddy excesses, their eyes seeming to constantly stray back to their respective wives. Again, I felt envy at such quietly unassuming, totally unassailable, love and affection.
Miles chatted to me hungrily and eagerly about books and authors, keen to discover my tastes and experiences in the field of literature. I realised how isolated I’d become in terms of reading. At school, I’d absorbed myself in the world of A level English, also belonging to several book clubs and the school library, not only consuming books at a frantic rate but also having th
e chance to discuss and analyse them with other, likeminded, people. Since leaving school I still continued to read occasionally, but it had become a solitary and guilty pleasure. Mike never read anything more complicated than the TV guide, as for discussing what I was reading with him, I may as well have attempted to explain open heart surgery to a Mongolian goat herder.
Annaliese, of course, was her usual sunny self. Sitting back on the sofa, glass of wine in hand, she watched with obvious quiet pleasure, as the evening unfolded and expanded around her, dropping the odd comment into the mix to ensure it never lapsed or ran out of subject matter.
Mimi, I was at first unsure of. Being a woman, I was automatically more suspicious of her, feeling maybe her acceptance of me into their charmed circle was not as effusive as that of the men, that she had reservations about me. I wondered exactly what was going on behind that flawless façade and the carelessly correct French manner.
She looked up, caught me watching her; to my surprise lowered her eyelid in a deeply conspiratorial wink. She glanced at the others busy piling up plates and cartons, shot me a wickedly mischievous look, then placed a hand on her stomach and let out a moan.
Instantly, the whole room were by her side.
‘What is it?’ ‘Darling, was it a contraction?’ ‘Are you in pain?’
‘Oh God, someone rip up some sheets, quick.’ The last was from Ferdie and earned him a mildly reproving look from Annaliese.
‘Ferdie,’ she murmured and he mumbled an apology, looking shamefaced. I was later to discover you could swear as much as you liked around Annaliese and she wouldn’t bat an eyelid, but blaspheming was a different matter.
‘I’ve eaten too much,’ exclaimed Mimi, eyes wide and innocent. The others groaned in disgust.
‘She’s crying wolf again.’ ‘You have got to stop doing that!’
‘One of these days it really will be the big L and nobody will believe you,’ chided Scott mildly, dark eyes amused. Mimi shrugged carelessly, smirked at me, slugging a mouthful of wine from Andrew’s glass.
‘Sweetheart,’ he cautioned, and she gestured irritably.
‘Pah, I’ve been so good, given up all the things that make life worthwhile, shellfish, brie, pate, alcohol. So, I’ve decided to now work on the basis of happy mother, happy baby. Besides, this close to the finishing line, I hardly think one sip of wine is going to have a drastic effect.’
Andrew said nothing, merely continued to hold out his hand. Mimi pouted moodily, handing him back his glass and scowling at the glass of tonic water he gave her in return.
And then there was Scott. Him I couldn’t read at all. He took taciturn to new levels, spoke only when necessary yet appeared an integral part of the group, the others seeking his opinions as if used to interpreting and expanding on the sparse replies he gave. Often, I would glance up to find his gaze resting thoughtfully upon me, his expression closed and inscrutable. I wondered what emotions, if any, brewed and churned behind his still façade. Mostly, I wondered what he thought of me. Later, when I raised my eyes to him again, he was gone. Before I could wonder where, he casually sauntered back into the room, a glass of coke in hand and raised his eyebrows at me. ‘Your clothes had finished,’ he said. ‘So, I put them in the tumble drier for you.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ I mumbled, mortified to the core at the thought of Scott handling my threadbare fraying bra and baggy grey pants.
There came a point in the evening when an apex was reached, when bonhomie and goodwill had steadily swelled forming a protective golden bubble around them. I saw, for the first time, how well they came together, meshing and merging to become almost machine like, an intricate, beautifully crafted device in which each individual cog and part appeared incompatible and diverse, yet worked in harmony, each playing his or her part to perfection, the whole becoming so much more than the sum of its parts.
I sat back, gazed in stunned wonder, half in love with them all. I’d thought them royal-like before, saw now they were so much more. They were kings, but not as our modern royals are, feet of clay firmly planted in mortal soil, but as kings of old used to be, worshipped by their people as being only one step removed from the gods.
A door slammed, the bubble burst, Caroline O’Donnell stalked abruptly into the room, running impatient fingers through her short hair which had frizzed unbecomingly and glistened damply. Bringing the fresh smell of rain with her, she shook droplets of water from her jumper; eyes blind behind the steamed up windows of her thick glasses.
‘Caro, darling, how was your evening class? Look, isn’t it lovely, Scott practically ran Eve over and brought her round for the evening.’ Was it only me who heard the faintest beseeching note in Annaliese’s voice? Caro flicked a quick hard glance in my direction, which seemed to suggest my presence was anything but lovely, though she said nothing, only murmured a vague hello to the room in general.
‘Any wine left?’ she barked in her gruff masculine voice with its strong Irish flavour. ‘It’s absolutely pissing it down out there, didn’t think I was gonna get through at one point, half the bloody field’s across the road at Shaw’s Corner.’
‘I’ll go and get some more,’ offered Annaliese, and quickly left the room.
‘Not for me,’ sighed Mimi. Caro dropped a hand on her shoulder, her stern face softening.
‘I’ll put the kettle on, mint tea?’ she offered. Mimi blew her a kiss.
‘Angel,’ she murmured, and Caro too left the room.
The DVD had finished, the men began debating fiercely about which one to put on next. Murmuring to Mimi about needing the loo, I slipped silently from the room. My excuse was only half true, in that, yes, too much wine had finally caught up with me, but I also had a vague need to check on Annaliese, concern tingling my spine at the subtle underlying threat I’d fancied I’d read in Caro’s body language. She’d left me in no doubt she resented my presence, although why, I couldn’t begin to imagine.
Silently, I walked down the side of the stairs, glancing through the banisters saw Annaliese and Caro framed in the open kitchen door, talking. At least, Annaliese was talking, in a low, urgent whisper inaudible to me, hand clutched at Caro’s sleeve, face a mask of agonised pleading. Caro shook her head, once, a sharp jerky refusal of Annaliese’s intense request. I watched, confused and concerned, as Annaliese’s body slumped in despair, her blue eyes mutely begging for Caro’s agreement to something.
Finally, Caro sighed, briefly closed her eyes as though in pain, before slowly, reluctantly, nodding her head. Annaliese’s face lit up, she hugged Caro fiercely, before releasing her and dancing away down the hall. Thinking she was alone, unobserved, Caro removed her thick rimmed spectacles and rubbed a shaking hand across her face, eyes sombre and downcast. She looked oddly vulnerable, naked, without the usual barrier of her glasses. She replaced them, looked up, straight through the banisters and into my eyes, her expression hardening into a hostile resentment which knocked me back a step. Then she turned, stalked into the kitchen, her back rigid and implacable.
Shaken, I quickly visited the loo and hurried back to the others, needing the reassurance of their presence. When Annaliese and Caro rejoined us, bearing wine and tea, it was as if the intense exchange I’d witnessed, that brief confrontational moment between Caro and I had never occurred. But, for the first time, I had the unsettling sensation that this was a house of secrets.
‘Favourite novel?’ the evening had turned, Miles and I were once again discussing books, his eyes warm with interest.
‘Erm,’ I considered his question, tipping my wine around in the oversized glass, thinking, casting my mind over the vast number of books I’d digested in my short life. ‘That’s a tough one, I’m re-reading Bleak House again, I love it, all the complicated twists and turns and I’ve just reached the point where Lady Dedlock is telling Esther she’s her mother.’
‘Yes,’ h
e agreed enthusiastically. ‘Dickens at his best, very Victorian, all those family secrets just waiting to come bursting out of the woodwork...’
‘And of course, Woman in White, I keep going back to that one.’
‘Again, family secrets, and again the lengths someone will go to, to hide their shame of having had an illegitimate child...’
There was a sudden commotion on the other side of the room; Annaliese had spilt a full glass of wine. She pulled a rueful face as the others leapt at her brandishing napkins, apologising as they dabbed at her skirt and carpet. ‘Sorry to make you all jump, darlings,’ she laughed. ‘Thank heavens it’s white and not red.’
‘What happened?’ asked Robert, topping her glass back up.
‘It just slipped from my hand,’ she replied. I turned back to Miles and our conversation.
‘There seems to be a pattern emerging in the books that have struck a chord with you,’ he commented, taking a sip of wine, frowning into the firelight. ‘They all deal with secrets buried deep in a family’s past. Are you an avid seeker of the truth, Eve?’
‘In my career, maybe,’ I replied slowly. ‘I really want to be a journalist and I guess going after the truth is part of the job description, but in my private life? No, I wouldn’t say I’m particularly keen on rooting out secrets best left uncovered, hell,’ I laughed. ‘I’m not even interested on finding out who my real mother is.’ There was a fascinated silence in the room. Scott moved to sit beside me.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘Are you adopted or something?’
‘Yes, my parents adopted me when I was one.’
‘And you’ve never felt the need to know?’
‘No, absolutely not. As far as I’m concerned, my birth mother gave me away, she didn’t want me, so now I don’t want her.’
‘Very black and white,’ murmured Scott, brushing a stray curl off my cheek. ‘Tell me, young Eve, is there room for shades of grey, or is everything in your life so cut and dried?’ I flushed, sure he was mocking me in some way, uncertain how to respond. Miles saw my discomfort and came to my rescue.