The Last Laugh

by Tracy Bloom

  ‘You’ll just have to excuse me for a moment,’ I say to Dave and attempt a run across the lawn to join my fellow Spices.

  ‘You never said,’ I said, breathing heavily when I reach them. ‘You all look amazing!’

  ‘Oh darling,’ gushes Zoe/Posh, taking a swig from her champagne bottle, ‘we couldn’t possibly let you be the only Spice Girl here. You needed your girls around you.’

  ‘Girl Power!’ shouts Lisa, her foot only just missing my chin. ‘I told you we wouldn’t let you down,’ she adds.

  ‘Girl Power!’ says Heather, giving me a ‘V for victory’ sign with her fingers.

  ‘I can’t believe you came as Scary Spice,’ I say to her, shaking my head.

  ‘She’s a very positive feminist role model,’ says Heather. ‘Or so my daughter told me.’ She grins.

  I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her grin. She’s clearly enjoying stepping out of her flat brogues and into someone else’s knee-high boots for a while. Perhaps it will allow her to shake off her intellectual snobbery just for a moment and breathe the normal, mostly-making-a-fool-of-ourselves air that the rest of us mere mortals breathe.

  ‘We’ve had such a great time getting ready at Zoe’s,’ says Emma, giggling and rosy-cheeked. ‘She got a naked butler in to serve us champagne before we left, can you believe it? And then this car turned up,’ she adds, breathlessly pointing at the enormous Hummer.

  ‘What an absolute scream,’ I say, for once not minding Zoe’s barefaced desire to upstage my party at all costs. She’s gone for it, even if it meant throwing a naked man and an obscene amount of money at it, and I’m truly grateful. They all look like they’re having the time of their lives and that’s what really matters. Maybe, despite the fact we are all very different, we all bring something to the party, and maybe I should embrace their quirks and foibles. They’ve come up trumps tonight and maybe I should give them the chance to do that in the coming months. Looking at the epic effort here, I’m sure they will.

  It’s not often that you see the cast of Toy Story alongside the Spice Girls, but the next thing I know, Buzz Lightyear looks as though he’s doing the conga with Posh Spice. Even more surprising than that, it looks as though Posh Spice is lapping it up. Peering through the plastic bubble helmet, I spot Tim roaring with laughter as he pushes Zoe around the patio whilst Julie dressed as Jessie the Cowgirl shakes her head in despair.

  ‘To infinity and beyond,’ he shrieks when he spots me. He dashes over and lifts me off my feet.

  ‘He’s already had a whole vodka melon,’ says Julie.

  ‘Bloody addicted,’ says Tim. ‘Where’s that son of yours? I need to go and shake the boy’s hand. Vodka and melon? Just genius.’

  ‘He’s slaving over the barbeque,’ I say, pointing to where George has set up shop on the far patio.

  ‘Come on, peeps,’ says Tim, waving over Woody, Little Bo Peep and Mr and Mrs Potato Head. ‘Come and meet the child genius Mark has managed to father.’

  I hug tightly the collection of Mark’s old friends that Tim has managed to muster. They all beam at me as though we have only seen each other last week. I wish we had only seen them last week. We’ve missed out, I can tell, just by looking at them. Their open smiling faces… We would have had fun. There would have been good times, but we stepped away.

  I try not to worry about whether Mark will turn up. I very much doubt that he will. The success of the night can’t depend on it. I can’t let his non-appearance destroy all this. This has to be bigger than just him and me.

  The sight I then see makes it all worthwhile. Every bit of it. I look across at the pathway that snakes from the visitor car park and, miserably lolling towards me, is Kermit the Frog. I close my eyes and then open them again, praying I haven’t dreamt it. But I haven’t. Antony is making his way across the lawn towards me, his frog’s legs open wide in astonishment as he takes in the dress code of the other partygoers.

  ‘You said Muppets!’ he rages.

  ‘Did I? Oh, I think that was the theme when we first started thinking about the party and then we changed our minds to 1996. Did I not tell you?’

  ‘No, you fuckin’ didn’t.’

  ‘Not to worry. The Muppets were around in 1996, weren’t they? So it’s fine.’

  ‘I’m dressed as a frog!’

  ‘It’s brilliant,’ I say, almost moved to tears. I lunge forward and embrace him. ‘Thank you,’ I continue. ‘You have no idea how much this means to me.’ He looks down at me. We look at each other for longer than maybe we ever have all our lives.

  I watch his brow furrow.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

  I spring away quickly. He’s never asked that. Ever. I’m sure. He looks me up and down. Last time he must have seen me was during the healthy Nutella and Chardonnay years. Plumper and happier. He hasn’t watched my slow decline; he is seeing me in stark contrast to his last memory of me.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say quickly. ‘Where’s Lucas?’

  ‘Already gone to find George,’ he says. His lips are moving but his brain is elsewhere, I can tell. His brain is digesting his sister’s transformation.

  ‘Brilliant,’ I say and look over to see Lucas falling easily into the role of chef’s assistant, guided by George. I catch my breath for a moment as I observe my son give instructions confidently and unselfconsciously. I could watch him all night but I need to distract Antony. Fortunately I don’t have to as Mum and Dad arrive at their son’s side just at that moment.

  ‘Doesn’t Antony look marvellous?’ says Mum. ‘He’s such a case,’ she laughs. ‘Still not sure about that hair, Jenny. Now, where can I put your dad?’

  I look at Antony, who raises his eyebrows as if to say, ‘And you’re making me spend Christmas with this?’

  ‘We’ve put you some chairs up on the patio,’ I tell Mum. ‘Look over there, next to Jimmy in the Scottish flag. He’s a lovely man, he’ll look after you.’

  I get them settled with Jimmy, who merrily gasses away to Mum whilst Dad stares at his surroundings. He is calm, which is good; he isn’t agitated. Hopefully he will like it here. Then Maureen comes over and gets stuck into my mother.

  ‘You must be very proud of your daughter,’ she says bluntly.

  My mother blinks at her. ‘Who are you?’ she asks.

  ‘Maureen. I live here, I’m Jenny’s friend.’

  ‘Jenny looks after you?’

  ‘No, she’s my friend,’ I interject. ‘In fact she looks after me more than I look after her.’

  Mum glances between the two of us.

  ‘My daughter,’ she says, staring hard at Maureen, ‘likes to be friends with everyone. She always has.’

  ‘I can see that,’ replies Maureen. ‘Does she take after you?’

  Mum opens her mouth and then closes it again. She knows and I know that she is way too judgemental to want to be friends with everyone. Rejection comes more naturally than acceptance. She doesn’t know how to reply – Maureen has put her in a corner within seconds.

  ‘Well, it was lovely to meet you,’ says Maureen, breaking the silence and offering her hand to shake. Mum stares at it for a moment and limply holds up her own, which Maureen grasps and shakes vigorously before turning and walking off. My mother dismissed within minutes of arriving – I am in awe of Maureen as ever.

  ‘I’d better just go and check on everything,’ I say to Mum, Dad and Kermit. ‘Will you be all right for a bit? Help yourself to food and drink.’

  I turn before Antony catches my eye and demands an explanation for my change of appearance.

  * * *

  Maureen is sitting alone on Alice’s bench. I sit down next to her.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say.

  ‘What for?’ she says, reaching over and grabbing my hand.

  ‘For never looking at me as though I had cancer.’

  She turns sharply to look at me.

  ‘I thought you were going to thank me profusely for being the driving force behin
d this shindig.’

  ‘Nah,’ I say. ‘I’ll thank Karen for that.’

  ‘You will not!’

  ‘So easy,’ I say, shaking my head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘To wind you up.’

  She turns away, looking bothered.

  ‘Of course I was going to thank you for all this,’ I say, sweeping my hand over the scene. ‘This wouldn’t have happened without you.’

  ‘I told you it was a good idea to go to a funeral, didn’t I?’ says Maureen, turning back to me.

  ‘You did. And I’m glad, sort of. I mean, I’m sad that poor Emily had to suffer to make me realise I needed a damn good party.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have minded – she’d have loved the vodka melon.’

  ‘Good.’

  We sit in silence for a while watching the array of decorated people, milling around, chatting, laughing, living. I refuse to think about why they are here. That is for tomorrow, today is for laughing.

  As if on cue Maureen asks, ‘So what happens tomorrow?’

  ‘Shut up, Maureen,’ I say. She squeezes my hand.

  We sit in silence again, holding hands.

  ‘Can I just say that I’ve had a really great time planning this with you,’ she says.

  ‘Me too,’ I nod. I hope she doesn’t get all emotional on me.

  ‘Do you think when Madonna takes off her bustier she has cone-shaped breasts?’ she asks.

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Do you think her nipples reach all the way to the end of the cones?’

  ‘I have no idea, Maureen,’ I laugh.

  I feel happy. I am actually happy; in this very moment I am happy.

  ‘Ey, ey,’ Maureen says, suddenly pulling her hand away. ‘Is this lover boy here?’

  I open my eyes and to my astonishment see Mark sauntering across the lawn. Hands deep in pockets, eyes shaded by sunglasses. I feel my heart flip over just as it did in 1996 when he’d arrived at the beach in Corfu.

  At least, I think it’s Mark. He’s wearing cool jeans, not his normal weekend accountancy jeans, as I call them, and a dark brown leather bomber jacket. He looks younger, I think, as my heart sinks to my knees. Is it for her, I wonder. In my absence has the bitch already taken my husband shopping with his bursting wallet and restyled him to a version more pleasing to her eye? What’s he doing here? Come to show me he’s not too old to shop in Topshop?

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ says Maureen, gripping her glitter-sprayed walking stick and heaving herself up.

  I’m simmering as he approaches the bench, then I notice that he’s somehow grown impressive sideburns in the last week. What’s all that about? Nancy likes the hipster look, does she? My head is spinning.

  ‘So did I pick the right costume?’ he says, sitting down next to me.

  ‘Costume?’

  ‘Yeah, this is fancy dress, right?’

  I turn to look at him more closely.

  ‘Noel Gallagher!’ I finally exclaim, slapping my forehead with my hand.

  ‘Of course,’ he shrugs. ‘Who else?’

  The older boyfriend of a twenty-something blonde whose desperate to update him, I think.

  ‘Noel Gallagher,’ I repeat, nodding.

  It kind of suits him; it kind of is him. A lad from the poor part of town who elevated himself to a higher plane through sheer talent, hard work and determination. A funny guy who put his job before his relationships in order to peak in his chosen field. What does life look like when you’ve made it, I wonder. When your dream has come true. Does the dream match the expectation? Does it override the sacrifice?

  ‘There’s another bit to my outfit parked out front,’ he says.

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘An Aston Martin. I picked it up this morning.’

  ‘Noel Gallagher can’t drive,’ I point out.

  ‘Oh.’

  We sit in silence for a moment.

  ‘Looks like a good party,’ he says, nodding towards the lawn.

  He’s making small talk? Not in the mood for this. I might just ask him. Ask him right now: what the hell is happening with our marriage?

  ‘He’s a nice lad, isn’t he?’ says Mark before I can get the crucial question out.

  He’s looking at Max. He’s on the bouncy castle with Ellie. They’re both covered in foam and laughing hysterically, making foam pies in their hands and trying to shove them in each other’s faces. Ellie is dishevelled. Make-up-free, hair scraped back in a ponytail. I couldn’t be happier to see her in such a state and I grin to myself at the astonishingly glorious memory of us both dancing in sumo suits the night before. After at least half a dozen songs and an hysterical routine we managed to choreograph between us, we’d cast them aside because we were too hot and she’d told me all about the ‘awesome Max’. Max who Ellie admitted she’d never dared talk to before because Phoebe thought he was a ‘dweeb’. I asked how Phoebe was. Ellie shrugged and said she didn’t know. She said Phoebe keeps calling her but she doesn’t feel like talking to her any more. That actually she’s discovered that life is better without Phoebe in it. Then she hugged me in a moment of silent mother-daughter bonding I never thought I’d experience and will cherish for ever.

  ‘Is that George?’ Mark asks.

  George has on chef’s whites and is serving out kebabs to my guests as though he’s been doing it all his life. His head is up. Really high. His chin must be missing his neck, they’ve been apart for so long. His eyes shine bright and look into other people’s eyes. The only shy thing about him is his acceptance of praise. It is truly a miracle.

  ‘I couldn’t do that,’ says Mark.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Cook and talk.’

  ‘You never could multi-task.’

  ‘I know. Can I come home, please?’

  I look at him. His face is stricken. I don’t know what to say. It’s what I dreamed of, but... but…

  ‘I fucked up big time,’ he continues. ‘I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to do. All I know is that I want to come home.’

  ‘Can you start by taking off your sunglasses?’ I say. I don’t want to have this conversation with Noel Gallagher. He pulls them off and puts them in his pocket.

  ‘Why?’ I ask. I need to know why; I need to see why in his eyes.

  He takes my hands in his and swallows.

  ‘I guess I’ve been remembering what we had.’

  ‘What did we have?’ I urge. I need to hear this.

  ‘I don’t know how to explain.’

  ‘Try,’ I demand.

  He raises his head and looks out over the lawn.

  ‘I keep thinking about when we got together when I came to your party in Corfu, you know…’

  ‘In 1996.’

  ‘Yeah. I never dreamed you’d be interested in me, to be honest,’ he says, turning to look at me intensely.

  I swallow.

  ‘You were so full of life and fun and excitement. I nearly didn’t come because I was certain you must have thought I was just a boring accountant. I planned to make sure I got your number and then I’d find you when I’d made it and sweep you off your feet. I thought then maybe you might be interested.’

  ‘Whatever made you think that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t think I had anything to offer then apart from a vision of who I might become. I was pretty dull really apart from that.’

  Wow – how the past plays tricks on us! I’d liked his dreams. I’d liked his focus, but mostly I’d just liked him. I didn’t think he was boring. No one with that smile could be boring. And the way he took control, organised me, but not in a domineering way, in a caring way, back in 1996. He looked after me. He made me feel safe; we fitted together like a little piece of jigsaw. I brought the fun and energy and dippiness and he got us there on time and in an orderly fashion. I taught him how to not take life so seriously and he taught me how to take life a little more seriously. It was a fair and equal exchange that made us both better people
. Before our opposite personalities had time to rub each other the wrong way and develop into opposing ways of living life. When the flush of first love had disappeared and couldn’t work its magic on smoothing over the cracks and crevices that develop in a relationship as it wears with age.

  ‘Do you know what I realised this week?’ says Mark.

  ‘That you are a dickhead?’

  ‘Yes, obviously. I realised that if we hadn’t got together in 1996, and that if I’d gone back to sweep you off your feet with the flash car and the huge bank account, you wouldn’t have looked at me twice.’

  I think for a minute.

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘It’s funny,’ he says.

  ‘Oh yes, it’s hilarious.’

  ‘Let me finish. When life-changing stuff happens it makes you look back and try and make some sense of it all.’

  ‘Are you talking about the affair or suddenly becoming minted?’

  ‘Both, I guess. I went to collect the car. I ordered it weeks ago and when the deal was getting really stressful I’d look at pictures of it online and it would remind me why I was working so hard. So I picked it up but I felt nothing. I thought it would be the moment, you know, when I’d feel… happy. And I didn’t. I felt miserable. It meant nothing without you stood there next to me to take the piss out of me for being so flash. I drove off the forecourt in two hundred grands’ worth of car and I never felt so alone.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘You heard.’

  I blow my cheeks out.

  He gets up abruptly and holds a hand out towards me.

  ‘Will you come and have a look at it?’ he asks.