‘Suitable for table conversation?’ said Buck. ‘Have you done a body-swap with Miss Priss and her School for the Dainty?’
Peach waved a hand at him. ‘Oh, please don’t make me laugh yet,’ she said.
Sasha flung himself out of his seat and strode to the sideboard, where he swiped up a fistful of blackberries. He headed back, throwing them into the air and catching them in his mouth. When he drew level with Peach and Rosalie, he tossed one, caught it, then stopped, his hand flying to his throat, choking sounds coming from him.
‘Oh, God, Sasha!’ said Rosalie. ‘Jesus, you idiot. Does anyone know the Heimlich manoeuvre?’
‘I do,’ I said, banging down the plates I was carrying and rushing forward.
Sasha shook his head, put out a hand to stop me and groped on the table-top, picking up an empty coffee cup, then throwing it down.
‘Here,’ said Rosalie, grabbing Peach’s glass.
Sasha knocked back a good glug of the fizzy liquid, then coughed hard and deep, finishing with a retch. A blackberry shot out of his mouth and landed on the marble skirt of the fireplace, sending up a cheer from the rest of them. Kim, who’d been hopping from foot to foot, sank down into her chair again.
‘God almighty, Peach,’ Sasha said, staring into the glass and coughing again. ‘That’s pure vodka.’
There was a long, silent moment and I wondered if Peach was going to grab the glass and douse him with it. In the end she just shrugged. ‘Hair of the dog,’ she said. ‘Vodka, Perrier and Alka-Seltzer.’
‘Your own recipe?’ said Buck. He and Peach were the only ones who laughed. ‘Oh, don’t be so fucking sanctimonious, Sasha. This is supposed to be a party.’
‘It’s not as if I don’t know I drink too much,’ Peach said. ‘I’m not an imbecile. But your anniversary shindig doesn’t seem like the time to sign the pledge. Anyway, how’m I supposed to stay in touch with my sponsor when we’ve gone all Amish for the weekend?’
‘How about a round of Buck’s Fizz for everyone?’ I said. ‘I was going to serve them tomorrow but there’s no reason I can’t start today.’
‘Lovely,’ said Kim. ‘Count me in.’
‘Me too,’ said Peach. ‘But no orange juice, eh? It’s full of sugar.’
They all laughed at that and were friends again. They were like children, I thought, the way they split and regrouped, made allies and enemies and five minutes later changed sides. As I went to the fireplace to retrieve the spat-out blackberry, Paul and Sasha were collaborating to tell a story about a stag weekend in Amsterdam, not a trace of coolness anywhere.
I was thinking just that – how childish they seemed – when I straightened and saw, at last, what I had half noticed earlier. There was something on the mantelpiece that I hadn’t put there: in a silver frame, behind glass, a photograph of a crowd of kids. I looked closer and felt a smile spread across my face.
They were all there. Sasha was sitting at a table heaped with presents, a paper hat on his head and a huge grin showing unfixed teeth crowded in his mouth. His eyes were glittering. I had never seen a kid so excited about his birthday. Peach, just as cheerful, and even chubbier than today, was sitting next to him in a striped boatneck T-shirt that showed the beginning of her breast buds. Buck stood to one side, legs slightly bent as if he didn’t know whether he’d be in the photo. He looked straight at the camera, grinning under a bum-fluff moustache and wispy goatee.
Behind them, Paul leaned forward, a long swipe of blow-dried hair hanging down, obscuring his gaze. Ramsay had the same no-nonsense haircut he wore today, with no attempt to hide the flare of acne all over his face. He was staring off to the side, ignoring Jennifer, who was pushed up against him, laughing as if someone had said something funny and she was checking to see if Ramsay got the joke. Right at the edge of the group stood Rosalie in a shiny dress with big sleeves and a wide skirt, her toes turned in and her hands clasped in front of her, her head on one side and her mouth pursed. She looked at the camera from the corner of her eye. What did she remind me of? An idea floated through my brain but was gone before I could catch it.
Anyway, I had been standing still far too long. ‘Kim, Sasha,’ I said. ‘Look. Someone’s left a surprise for you.’
Sasha flicked a glance at it, not pausing in his description of the brothel he and Paul had been stuck in, no credit cards, police on the way. Then his voice died and he rose, steadying himself with both hands on the table-top.
Kim got to it before him and picked it up. ‘It’s this room!’ she said. ‘Oh! It’s the time you were all here before, isn’t it?’
I hadn’t noticed but she was right. Behind the kids in the picture was this fireplace and the mirror above it. The camera flash reflected there.
‘What?’ said Paul, coming over. ‘Who brought this? Christ, look at my hair.’
Peach shrugged and Buck shook his head.
‘’Fess up, Kim,’ Ramsay said. ‘You planted it, didn’t you?’
‘Me?’ said Kim. ‘What makes—’
‘Who else would have a photo of Sasha’s birthday party?’ Rosalie said.
‘Uh, his sister?’ said Kim. ‘Anyway, what’s the problem? It’s a sweet thing to do. I would have wrapped it up and given it as a present, not left it here. That’s kind of weird but … it’s a lovely thought.’
‘Oh, yes, it’s darling,’ said Rosalie. ‘I’m thrilled to have a picture of me looking like Grayson Perry.’
I couldn’t help a snort of laughter, because that was exactly the thought I’d been chasing.
‘You are the most self-absorbed woman who was ever born,’ said Sasha. He spoke coldly and stared at the photograph as if it was a cockroach. He was standing quite close to me – they all were, huddled round to study the picture – and I could see that his breathing was tight and fast. What was wrong with them all?
‘Jellifer!’ said Peach, suddenly. ‘It must have been Jelly who put it there. And then she forgot to scoop it up again when she flounced off.’
‘Or she stuck it there deliberately after she’d decided to flounce off,’ Ramsay said.
‘It can’t have been Jennifer,’ Sasha said. ‘She doesn’t know how to Photoshop people out of a picture. She barely knows how to email an attachment. Ramsay?’
‘I’ve got the technical know-how but I’d have Paintshopped my face. I look like a rock bun.’
‘Cherry and macadamia,’ said Buck.
‘Oh, puke,’ Peach said.
‘But who’s been Photoshopped out?’ said Kim.
No one answered. In the silence, I scrutinized the picture. It was an odd grouping, actually. The four in the front row were centred but the three in back row were off to one side, nothing but an empty wall filling up that quarter of the picture. And as I looked up and down, from picture to setting and back, I could see that the wall shouldn’t have been empty. There was a bell-pull there and the edge of an alcove with a drinks cupboard below it. Someone had copied a section of plain wallpaper from the edge of the shot and repeated it.
‘Who’s gone?’ Kim said again.
Sasha lifted the photo out of her hands. ‘No one,’ he said. ‘Couple of random locals who wangled themselves an invitation.’ He put an arm round Kim. ‘I’m not angry with you,’ he said, ‘but I want you to stop this. Admit who it was that suggested this house as a venue. Was it Jennifer? Was it someone in this room?’
‘What the hell?’ said Rosalie. ‘Sasha, we all know it was you. Stop messing about.’
‘Look,’ Sasha said, very calm, ‘this is ridiculous. Someone knew we were coming back here, didn’t they? It wasn’t me. I’m not playing silly buggers with a photograph.’ His voice was rising now. ‘Kim, for God’s sake, forget about your stupid weekend and all your stupid surprises and gimmicks, and tell the truth.’ By the end he was shouting.
Kim’s face drained until she looked as sick as Peach the night before on her way to the bathroom. She pushed past Ramsay and Buck, both of them trying and failing to catch her,
and rushed out of the room. We heard her running upstairs and the soft thump of her feet on the bedroom corridor, before a door slammed faintly.
‘Jesus,’ said Peach, and took off after her.
‘What a prize you are, Sasha,’ said Rosalie. ‘Why don’t you believe your wife?’
‘She found the house online,’ Ramsay said. ‘She booked it. She wanted to make you happy. Jennifer brought the picture, obviously. Since she’s the only one who’s not here. She Photoshopped out the … unhappy memories because she wanted to make you happy. For God’s sake, Sasha!’
‘Yes,’ said Paul. ‘For God’s sake, Sasha. Stop being the same spoiled brat you were twenty-five years ago, can’t you?’
Sasha was glaring around at them as he listened, every look like a flick-knife. Then he got to me. ‘Why are you standing there listening to all this?’
‘Good question,’ I said, starting to move. ‘It was just pretty interesting, I suppose. Sorry.’
Buck laughed. ‘What the hell sort of operation is this?’ he said, which stung me even though I suppose I deserved it.
‘No, it’s my fault,’ Sasha said. ‘You make the mistake of mingling with the staff and they lose all sense of their place.’
I speeded up, trying to get out of the room before I turned and told him where to go, but Rosalie came after me, grabbing my arm before I could get through the kitchen door.
‘Mingling?’ she said.
‘What?’ I wanted to shake her off but her grip was firm.
‘Sasha and you have been mingling? Fraternizing? Consorting? Communing?’
‘Give me a break,’ I said. ‘You don’t need to warn me off him. He’s forty-odd and I’m—’
‘Oh, Donna, I’m not warning you off him,’ she said. ‘I’m telling you to be careful around him. You’re, what … twenty? Twenty-one? That’s right up Sasha’s street, actually.’
‘I’m older than that!’ I said. ‘And it’s his anniversary! And he’s your brother!’
‘Which means I know him better than most. It’s his tenth anniversary and his wife is twenty-six. His first wife was twenty-five when he traded her in.’
I knew my lip was curling but I couldn’t help it. ‘Jesus, poor Kim.’
She rolled her eyes and nodded. ‘Go and get those Bucks Fizzes while I see how she’s doing,’ she said. ‘We’re going to need them. I’m traumatized from looking at that picture. What an insufferable little prig I was.’
I went into the kitchen and leaned against the closed door. They still weren’t done. Voices rose up over the monitor.
It was Ramsay. ‘Google it, for God’s sake! Google “Holiday House in Galloway. Sleeps ten” and I bet this one comes up on the first page. You’re paranoid!’
‘The more I think about this the less sense it makes,’ Sasha said. ‘None of you knew you were coming here? None of you looked it up? None of you recognized the address?’
‘Believe it or not,’ Paul said, ‘this weekend isn’t the be-all and end-all of our lives, Sasha. I came as a favour to Ro, and Ramsay came as a favour to me. We haven’t all been poring over the website for months in delicious anticipation.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Buck. ‘I was thrilled to get away on a free jolly. But of course we didn’t recognize the address. The house has changed its name! We put the postcode in the satnav and first we knew was when we rocked up on the drive same as you. Stop freaking out.’
‘Why not phone Jennifer and ask her if she brought the photo?’ Buck said. ‘If it’s bothering you that much.’
‘Because we’ve all given our phones to Donna and she’s spirited them away,’ said Sasha. ‘And Jennifer won’t answer a landline number she doesn’t recognize.’
‘Right,’ said Paul. ‘We’ve all given our phones away. That was my suggestion, if you remember.’
‘So?’ Sasha snapped.
‘Rosalie asked me to suggest it. Kim asked her. Kim wanted you to have a proper break but she knew you’d cut up rough. So I stepped in. See? We’re not hiding anything. We’re not playing games. For God’s sake, calm down before—’
‘She’s crying her bloody eyes out,’ Rosalie said. I hadn’t heard her coming back. ‘What is wrong with you?’
I knew I had to take the champagne in, not to mention three more plates of breakfast, but I knew if I went back through there now Sasha would ask for his phone and I’d have to admit I didn’t know where it was.
‘Now look,’ Rosalie was saying, ‘we all need to try to get this weekend back on track. For Kim’s sake. It’s her anniversary too, in case it escaped everyone’s attention. This weekend isn’t another instalment of The Sasha Show, like the last one. So what do you suggest? Quick, before Peach gets her back down here. Oh, and, Sasha? Lay off.’
‘Lay off what?’
‘Yeah, yeah, butter wouldn’t melt in your bum crack,’ Buck said. ‘I second that. Lay off, Sasha.’
Communing, consorting, mingling. The words fizzed in my head. Fraternizing. Rosalie’s breathy hiss in my ear. Another instalment of The Sasha Show.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked my own reflection, bright and bulbous in the curved side of the chrome kettle. But, like me, my reflection didn’t know.
Chapter 9
1991
‘The bar’ turns out to be the pool room. Bryan Adams is finished at last and there’s a Bobby Brown on that nobody knows how to dance to, so they’ve turned it down a bit. It’s still too loud to let you talk but at least the speakers aren’t squealing and buzzing and I can only feel the hum in my body if I lean against the table.
Sasha’s mugging away at the other end of it, shaking something in his two hands like someone trying to get a lucky throw of the dice, or like a Spanish dancer with her maracas. When he stops and unscrews the top of the canister I feel stupid for not knowing it was a cocktail shaker, but it’s too dark in here for any of them to see me blushing.
He pours the drink he’s been mixing into two glasses and hands them to Jellifer and the Rosalie girl in the homemade dress. They clink and drink, then raise their glasses to Sasha. He doesn’t notice. He’s already busy mixing more.
I never know what to do at a party if you’re not dancing. So I concentrate on eating my plate of food, even though the gluey salads taste disgusting. It’s not salad cream sticking them all together. It’s something like cold cheese sauce, claggy and bland, and it’s beginning to melt and slide in greasy lumps off the chunks of potato and pasta. I keep eating anyway, wondering how to get any of this crowd to talk to me, wondering what I’m doing here, wondering how come Lynsey isn’t beside me.
Then the music changes. I love Madonna. I wanted to dress like her when she had lace in her hair and leather knuckle gloves. I’d been putting one extra necklace on every day, thinking if I did it gradually enough Mum wouldn’t notice. It lasted until I added the big cross, then I was back to square one and had to smuggle them out of the house in my bag, get ready on the bus and remember to take them off again at home time.
I put my plate down on the pool table and I’m thinking about maybe starting to move my feet and see if anyone joins in, when I notice what the rest of them are all laughing and whooping about. Lynsey’s dancing. She’s biting down on her bottom lip with her goofy little buck teeth and she’s got her hands locked above her head as she gyrates her hips in time to the bass.
Suddenly Sasha’s standing beside me. The smell of the cologne makes me sneeze and I blush again. But it’s only because there’s so much of it. It would smell fine if he’d worn it like you’re supposed to.
‘Thirsty?’ he says.
‘What is it?’ I look at the glass he’s holding. It’s shallow and conical and it’s got fruit in it as well as liquid.
‘Pimm’s,’ he says. ‘Mostly. It’s a cordial.’
‘Have you got any Coke?’
‘I’ve never heard of putting it in Pimm’s, to be honest.’ He takes a sip from the glass, keeping his eyes on mine. ‘I think it would be a wa
ste, actually. It’s pretty good as it is.’
‘I meant instead.’
‘Absolutely. You are my guest, and if you want a cup of cocoa, I will get you a cup of cocoa.’
‘Coke!’ I say, even though I know he’s teasing me.
‘All milk or a mix of milk and water? Do you take sugar?’
So I grab the glass out of his hand and take a swig of it.
It tastes like all booze tastes if people would be honest: like something that could have been nice but with a bit of medicine added that spoils it.
‘See?’ Sasha says, when I’ve swallowed the first mouthful. ‘Wouldn’t it be a sin to put Coke in that?’
‘Or cocoa,’ I say, and take another sip.
‘Drink it down far enough so it doesn’t spill and then we can have a dance,’ he tells me.
It’s not until I’ve been dancing with Sasha for two records that I notice Lynsey’s got a glass in her hand too. I put my mouth close to Sasha’s head and shout, ‘What’s Lynsey drinking?’ The smell of the cologne’s stronger than ever now he’s hot from dancing. ‘She’s only twelve.’
‘Cordial!’ Sasha shouts back. ‘And look at Mo.’ He turns me round with his two hands on my shoulders and points towards the girl in the 501s. She’s pouring herself a glass of something from a white bottle you can’t see through.
‘How old is she?’ I shout. When I twist round to make sure he can hear me, my back presses against his front.
‘Twelve,’ Sasha says. ‘Ish.’ He’s not really shouting now. He’s close enough so that he can say it straight into my ear. His breath is hot.
‘What is that she’s pouring?’
‘Peach-flavoured cordial.’ Sasha turns me again and puts his arms round me as a slow song comes on.
* * *
I don’t know why we stop dancing or whose idea it is to play Postman’s Knock. I do know it’s quiet in the pool room now. The tape’s finished and no one gets up to put on a new one.
‘I don’t think I know how,’ Jellifer says.
‘One goes out,’ says Morag. She’s lying back on a beanbag with her legs straight out in front of her. Her hair’s pushed back off her sweaty face and her mascara’s in panda rings halfway down her cheeks. ‘That’s the postman. And he knock-knock-knocks. And when he says who the letter’s for, that one goes out.’
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