The Never Have I Ever Club

by Mary Jayne Baker

  Robyn peered through the serving hatch into the main hall. Two long tables had been set up in front of the stage, where a brass band was giving a dirge-like rendition of ‘Mistletoe and Wine’. About thirty senior citizens were sitting around the tables, with a couple more propping up the bar.

  ‘Oh, it’s Aunty Fliss,’ Robyn said, waving. ‘Heh. Should’ve known she’d be here if there was a bar.’

  Will came to stand behind her. ‘The old chap’s still got his cap set at her, you know,’ he said, nodding to the man chatting to Felicity. ‘You’ll be calling him Uncle Brigadier soon if you don’t look out.’

  Norman Berry, a stiff, ruddy-faced gent with huge walrus whiskers, prided himself on being a bit of a local character. His posh accent, booming voice and fondness for double-breasted blazers had earned him the nickname Brigadier around the village, although his background was in accountancy rather than the army. The old man’s admiration for tie-dyed, free-spirited, crystal-worshipping Felicity Heath had to be a classic case of opposites attracting.

  ‘Fliss settle down? It’ll never happen.’ Robyn looked at the rows of pensioners sitting in sedate silence. ‘I’m glad she’s here to add a bit of party atmosphere anyway. This lot certainly want livening up.’

  ‘They’ll be dancing on the tables after a couple of drinks, you’ll see,’ Will said. ‘Come on, Bloom, the buffet’s getting low. We need another batch of turkey sandwiches out there, stat.’

  ‘Yes, Doctor.’ She grabbed a knife and got to work on the bread rolls.

  *

  An hour later, every roll had been buttered, every chocolate log sliced, every biscuit harmoniously arranged in alternating circles of custard creams and bourbons. Robyn pulled off her apron.

  ‘Hot work, this catering malarkey.’ She squinted at her reflection in the stainless-steel water boiler. ‘Ugh. I look like I’ve just done a month’s solitary in a notoriously tough women’s penitentiary.’

  ‘Oh, give up. You’re grand.’ Will took his apron off too and tossed it onto a work surface. ‘Right, nothing to do now until they’ve all gone home. You fancy helping your aunt and the Brig prop up the bar?’

  ‘Are we allowed? They’re not paying us to socialise.’

  ‘They’re not paying us at all.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose anyone will mind if we grab ourselves a drink. We’ve earned it.’

  They headed for Felicity and the Brigadier. The old gent’s bald crown had gone a fetching shade of sherry-induced crimson and he was whispering in his companion’s ear, one arm around her waist. Will tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Less of that, you randy bugger. You’re making your young lady blush.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ the Brigadier boomed, giving Felicity a hearty slap on the backside. ‘That’s not a blush, m’boy, it’s apricot brandy. Nothing shames this little minx.’

  ‘Are you just going to stand there and let the old goat talk about your favourite aunt that way?’ Felicity said to Robyn while Will went to the bar.

  Robyn shrugged. ‘Sounds like a fair assessment to me. Are you having a good time then, you two? The answer had better be yes, after me and Will nearly asphyxiated ourselves on butter fumes making all those turkey sarnies.’

  ‘More fun than Night of the Living Dead over there,’ Felicity said, nodding to the old folk seated around the tables. ‘Honestly, I’ve seen more life at a wake.’

  Will pressed a glass of wine into Robyn’s hand.

  ‘Another brandy, Felicity?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, twist my arm.’ She nodded to the Brigadier. ‘Norman will have a sherry.’

  ‘Don’t you think we’ve had enough, my dear?’ the Brigadier said.

  His drawling tone suggested this was probably true. Still, Robyn reflected, it was hard to tell with the really posh accents. They had a tendency to sound tipsy even while completely sober.

  ‘Oh, one little one for the road won’t do us any harm,’ Felicity said. ‘Then afterwards you can walk me home for a nightcap and a cuddle.’

  The Brigadier followed Will to the bar and tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Make it a soda water for me, son,’ he muttered. ‘I’d better keep what’s left of my wits about me if I’m taking the old girl home.’

  Felicity shook her head at the other pensioners. ‘Next year we ought to hire a jazz band, get a bit of dancing going. What’s wrong with this lot?’

  ‘Give them a break, Aunty,’ Robyn said. ‘There must be an average age of about eighty in here.’

  ‘So? They’re not dead yet. Although you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise.’ She nodded to a man whose funereal expression gave him much the look of a melted bulldog. ‘You see that old misery guts? That’s Arty Johnson. He used to be the life and soul, once upon a time.’

  ‘Do you know him then?’

  ‘There was a time everyone in this village knew Arty,’ the Brigadier said. ‘He was in my class at school, a real Roger the Dodger character. Whatever you wanted, Arty was the man to get it for you. Part of every racket going, always flashing his ill-gotten gains, and never without a girl on his arm. He’s got a criminal record as long as your hairdo, young lady.’ The Brigadier gave a low chuckle as he took the soda water Will handed him. ‘How I hated him when we were lads. At eighteen, all I dreamt about was having the kind of ready money and success with women that Arty Johnson enjoyed, the lucky stick.’

  Robyn looked at Arty, who was poking suspiciously at a plateful of potato salad. ‘Seriously, that guy was a racketeer ladies’ man? He looks so… I don’t know, dull.’

  The Brigadier sighed. ‘Not dull. Unhappy. Tired of life, perhaps. It’s not much fun for some of us, getting old. Arty lost his wife last year and I don’t think I’ve seen him smile since.’

  ‘Poor soul,’ Felicity said with a sympathetic glance at Arty. She pointed out a jolly-looking lady with a blue rinse sitting at another table. ‘And while we’re dredging up ancient gossip, that’s Molly Gardiner, an old flame of his. There was quite a scandal – she left him for his best friend, Harry.’

  ‘Shocking,’ Will said. ‘Is Harry still around?’

  ‘Not any more. He and Molly had a good life though. They were travel junkies, forever moving from one place to another.’ Felicity smiled. ‘Molly said that when she left Arty for Harry, he promised he’d show her the world. Well, he certainly did that. They were living in Bora Bora when he died, after more than fifty years together.’

  ‘I always dreamed I’d pay a visit to Bora Bora,’ the Brigadier said with a wistful sigh. ‘That place looked like my idea of heaven. Time just got away from me, I suppose.’

  ‘What’s stopping you going now?’ Will asked. ‘If my idiot brother can drop everything and run off to the other side of the world, I don’t see why you can’t.’

  ‘Oh, I’m too old for all that nonsense.’ He knocked back a mouthful of his drink, then looked at it in disappointment when he remembered it had no alcohol content. ‘Adventures are for the young, not washed-up old coots like me.’

  ‘Adventures are for the living. And if we have any more of that talk, Norman, I’ll be withdrawing my offer of a nightcap,’ Felicity told him with a stern frown. ‘I like my men like my liquor. Strong, intoxicating and enough to last all night.’

  The Brigadier spluttered into his drink. ‘Dear God, woman, I’m seventy-nine. You’ll be the death of me, do you know that?’

  ‘But what a way to go, eh?’ she said, grinning.

  He slipped an arm around her waist. ‘You come to Bora Bora with me, Felicity.’

  ‘Maybe I will.’

  The old man looked sober, but his eyes sparkled. ‘Ah, but I want you to come as my wife. What do you say we make it a honeymoon? You can’t keep turning me down forever.’

  ‘I’ve told you before, Norman Berry. I’m not the marrying kind.’ She drained her glass and leant over to kiss his cheek. ‘Right, old boy, drink up. I just need to powder my nose, then you’re taking me home.’

  The Bri
gadier’s lips twitched as he watched Felicity hobble from the room.

  ‘A smashing girl, that,’ he said with an infatuated sigh. ‘She’ll never have me, you know.’

  Will patted him on the back. ‘Well, keep trying. I think she’s weakening.’

  ‘Of course. There’s no question of giving up now.’ He finished his drink and shook each of them by the hand. ‘Have a jolly evening, you two. And, er… don’t wait up, I think is the expression.’ He shot them a wink as he left to meet Felicity by the door.

  ‘She never slows down, does she?’ Will said when he and Robyn were alone.

  ‘Felicity slow down? What a horrible idea. If there’s any divine justice, she’ll drop in her prime after her tenth brandy of the night in the arms of some unsuitable man.’

  Robyn didn’t look at him as she spoke. Her eyes were fixed on the old man the Brigadier had been telling them about, Arty Johnson. Will leaned round to catch her eye.

  ‘You okay, Bloom?’

  ‘Yeah. Just thinking.’

  ‘Penny for them?’

  ‘I was thinking about Arty and his wife. And that woman Molly and her husband. And… life, I guess.’ She sighed. ‘Was I completely deluded, Will, to think me and him might grow old together?’

  ‘What, you and Arty? He’s got a bit of a head start.’

  ‘You know who I mean.’

  ‘Course I do.’ He rubbed her shoulder. ‘You weren’t deluded,’ he said quietly. ‘Ash was smitten with you, Robyn. Everyone was convinced he’d finally met the one, me included.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. I had a proper go at him when he broke up with you. Told him he was throwing away the best thing that had ever happened to him. Not that it made any difference.’

  She patted the hand on her shoulder. ‘Well, thanks for being in my corner.’

  ‘I don’t know what he was thinking. It’s like the stupid bastard was on a mission to destroy everything he had going for him.’

  ‘I get it though,’ Robyn said, her gaze still on Arty. ‘After the last couple of weeks… I understand, now, why he did it.’

  ‘You mean you’re not angry?’

  ‘Are you kidding? I’m fucking furious. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand. We only get one life and there’s a lot of stuff to cram in.’ She shrugged. ‘Ash made his bucket list, and being with me obviously wasn’t on it. Now it’s time I started thinking about what I want to put on mine.’

  Will was silent, his lips pursed.

  ‘Sorry, Will,’ Robyn said in a softer voice. ‘I didn’t mean to talk Ash down. I’d never expect you to take my side against him.’

  ‘It’s not that. I was just thinking about Mum. How she was at the end.’

  ‘Oh.’ Robyn briefly slipped her hand into his. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t even think… sorry.’

  ‘I remember her talking about all these things she’d planned to do and see. How she’d wanted to visit the Great Barrier Reef, and Yellowstone Park, and to see me and Ash happy with people we loved. How she wished she’d fallen in love herself, just once. She made us promise we wouldn’t waste time, and seize every day because we never knew how many we might have. I think that’s part of what sent Ash off on his travels, the memory of that promise. Coupled with the feeling we weren’t exactly young any more.’

  ‘Poor Grace,’ Robyn said with a sigh. ‘Had she really never been in love? Not even with your dad?’

  Will snorted. ‘I’m not sure the bastard stuck around long enough for her to find out.’

  ‘She was right though. All of us waste time like we think we’ll never run out of it, don’t we? When I thought I might have something seriously wrong with me, all I could think about was the things I hadn’t done – that maybe now I’d never get the chance to do. Well, I’m not wasting any more time.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re not going to get a face tattoo, are you?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’ She glanced around the hall. ‘All I know is, when – or if – I get to the age these people are, I want to have lived a little. And I want to still be living, like Fliss and the Brig, not sitting waiting with immaculate British stiff-upper-lippedness for the grave. As soon as I’ve got through Christmas, I’m going to make myself a few New Year’s resolutions.’

  ‘You talk about getting through Christmas like it’ll be hard work. I thought you loved this time of year.’

  She sighed. ‘I do normally. It’s the thought of spending it alone that’s getting me down.’

  ‘Yeah, same here,’ Will said, sighing too. ‘I’ve never spent a Christmas without our Ash before.’

  ‘Well, at least you’ve got your grandparents.’

  ‘Not this year, they’re going to my cousin’s. I’m just going to stay in and heckle the Strictly contestants over a huge mulled wine.’ He glanced at her. ‘Can I tempt you to join me?’

  ‘What, spend Christmas with you?’

  ‘Why not? You did last year.’

  ‘Yeah, with your family. And Ash.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s silly though, sitting either side of a wall feeling sorry for ourselves because we’ve got no one to spend Christmas with?’

  ‘I guess, but…’ She looked up into his open, cheerful features, forcing herself to remember, again, that it was Will’s face smiling down at her and not Ash’s. ‘Aren’t you worried people might get the wrong idea?’

  He laughed. ‘About us? Don’t be daft.’

  ‘It’s not so far-fetched, is it? That does tend to be what happens round here when single people are spotted spending time together.’

  ‘Yeah, but you’re Ash’s ex. No one’s going to think there’s anything going on between us.’

  ‘You reckon?’ She nodded to an old lady who was whispering to her neighbour, occasionally casting an arch-eyebrowed glance in their direction. ‘Mrs Carlton’s one of your patients, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘What do you think she’s saying to her friend there? Because I don’t need to be able to lip-read to have a guess.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous though.’ He laughed again. ‘Seriously, as if I’d ever go for you.’

  She frowned. ‘All right, mate, don’t go overboard with the protests. I’m not that hideous, am I?’

  ‘You know you’re not,’ he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘But you were going out with my brother for the best part of a year. Not to mention the fact that we’ve been mates for a million years, and neighbours for about two million.’

  ‘And since when have little facts like that ever got in the way of good gossip?’

  ‘Oh, bugger the curtain-twitchers. I’m not pulling crackers with myself and sobbing into my pigs-in-blankets because I’m so bloody desperate for Mrs Carlton’s approval.’ He tapped the top of her head. ‘And neither are you, Bloom.’

  She laughed. ‘Aren’t I now?’

  ‘Nope, doctor’s orders. It’s bad for your mental health, spending Christmas Day alone.’

  ‘Okay, what’s your offer? It needs to be good if I’m making a fallen woman of myself.’

  ‘Right, here goes.’ He rolled up his sleeves and clapped his hands together. ‘So, we’ll get up at eight, don our cringiest Christmas jumpers and open presents. Then it’ll be a solid few hours of Quality Streets and Two Ronnies repeats before we start cooking dinner.’

  ‘Sounds good so far. What’s for dinner, Will?’

  ‘We want to go traditional, I think. Turkey with all the trimmings and Christmas pud?’

  ‘Will the Christmas pud be on fire?’

  ‘On fire, dripping with brandy butter and bursting at the seams with coins. In fact, it’ll only be about ten per cent pudding. Bloom, it’ll be the Christmassiest Christmas pud you’ve ever seen in your life.’

  ‘God, that sounds sexy. What else?’

  ‘What, you want more?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘More than the Christmassiest Christmas pudding in the whole world?’

>   ‘Hit me.’

  ‘All right, fine. After dinner we can… make a gingerbread house. Then it’ll be mince pies, Consequences and sherry until we eventually collapse in front of Die Hard around ten.’

  ‘Gingerbread house, seriously?’ She shook her head. ‘Now you’re fighting dirty.’

  ‘So, is it a yes?’

  ‘Well I can hardly say no to an offer like that, can I?’ she said, giving him an affectionate nudge. ‘Thanks, Will, I’d love to spend Christmas with you.’

  7

  ‘Evening, traitors,’ Robyn said when she joined Eliot and Freya in the pub the following evening.

  ‘I told you we’d be in for a bollocking,’ Eliot whispered to his sister.

  ‘You’re all right, El, you got yours last night.’ Robyn glared at Freya. ‘You, on the other hand…’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, okay?’ Freya said. ‘Honestly, Rob, I’ve been in sackcloth and ashes since I fibbed to you.’

  ‘And you, our club founder. And chairman. And treasurer. What happened to “I’m a strong, modern woman who doesn’t need a man to validate her”?’

  ‘Well, even us strong, modern women get randy sometimes,’ she said, shrugging. ‘Only we call it “owning your sexuality”, which to be fair does sound better than “dying for a shag”.’

  ‘How was Bradley’s lawnmower collection?’

  ‘More interesting than you might think. Next date he suggested a trip to the British Lawnmower Museum in Southport.’

  Robyn laughed. ‘So no second date then?’

  ‘Christ, no. I’m going to try out Gerard with the four ex-wives. You never know, maybe he’s just misunderstood.’

  ‘Er, yeah.’ Robyn turned to Eliot. ‘What about you and Winnie?’

  He flinched. ‘Do you have to call him that?’

  ‘It’s his name, El.’

  ‘I know, but it’s so hard to take him seriously when anyone mentions it. I’m wondering if it’s too early in the relationship to introduce a pet name. Or maybe I could start calling him by his last name, like Will does to you. It does make you sound sort of cool, like the Fonz or something.’