by Tim Lott
What? says Colin, wrenching himself away from his own vague, distant sense of resentment as Frankie joins them.
Alright? says Frankie.
You love it all, don’t you? says Colin, ignoring Frankie and continuing his conversation with Nodge. But you don’t have to live among them.
Neither do you. Not in Harpenden. Anyway, who’s ‘them’?
Remember the estate? The White City Estate.
He turns to Frankie now to include him in the conversation.
Where we all grew up? That estate was never white, but it was sort of white, because the blacks – we all wanted to be like them. Because they were cool and had great clothes and great music. Now it’s half Islamics. They don’t want to know anything about you.
We don’t say ‘blacks’ anymore, Colin, says Nodge.
Don’t we? says Frankie.
It’s ‘people of colour’.
But Colin, not hearing, simply continues.
I had to get out. First to Hammersmith. Now I’ve been chased out to Harpenden.
I wouldn’t want to leave London myself, says Frankie.
I never wanted to leave. I’d have stayed in my mum’s flat quite happily.
You’re drinking too much, Colin, says Nodge.
They hate gays, you know. He looks at Nodge sullenly.
You can’t generalize.
And women.
You should feel at home with them then, says Nodge.
Roxy joins them. She’s had four of the Margaritas in quick succession.
What’s the hap?
Colin was just telling me about his strong feminist convictions.
Oh yeh. Colin’s a feminist all right. Isn’t that right, Col? Tell them why you agreed to come tonight.
Colin looks at Roxy darkly, a plea radiating from his eyes.
Go on, Colinder! Tell them about our deal!
Colin pulls long and slow on his drink as if seeking to frame a suitable reply. Eventually he puts the glass down, and faces up to Roxy.
I never wanted to come in the first place. I hate parties. Especially parties like this.
What kind of party do you mean?
Parties that are just there to show off, says Colin, sullenly.
I think I need to make you a nice cup of coffee, says Frankie, regretting now that he has preloaded Colin.
Colin is rocking very slightly from side to side now, and slurring.
You’ve forgotten where you came from, mate. With your books on the wall and . . . wife . . . and that. And you, Nodge. Call yourself a socialist? That’s a laugh. Where did you get that T-shirt from? Those jeans? Who do you think made them? Where were they made? How much for? And how much did they cost?
Colin, mate, you’ve had enough to drink, says Frankie.
You always know what’s best for me, don’t you? Frankie the big shot.
Colin woozily regards Frankie. He points a finger at him, as if to make an accusatory point. Then he lets the finger drop.
I’ll go and get a glass of water.
Frankie watches as he walks unsteadily towards the kitchen, then makes an urgent diversion to the toilet, where he tries to exorcise his mounting bile, bitter in his throat.
What deal did you make with him then, Roxy? says Frankie.
It doesn’t matter, says Roxy, suddenly repentant.
As if I can’t guess.
Frankie spots Flossie, sitting alone in the corner with China sat on her knee. She is wearing Specsavers 2-for-1 glasses with a modern oval frame in beech brown. It makes her look younger, something that Frankie finds disconcerting. And she is tanned and has lost maybe ten pounds in weight.
She looks up from the book – Hippos Go Berserk – catches his eye and gives him a broad smile. It disappears in a fit of jagged coughing.
You alright, Mum?
Just got a Twiglet stuck in my throat.
The coughing continues, Flossie going red in the face. Frankie slaps her on the back.
She drinks from her glass and the coughing stops.
Thanks, son.
He turns to China.
What’s the book about, China Girl?
Animals, says China, simply.
Well I can see that, silly. What about them?
When are we going to go the zoo, Daddy?
Soon. Anyway, you’ve already been with Mum.
I want to go with you, though.
I’m very busy.
You’re never going to take me to the zoo. You’ve promised me about a thousand million gazillion times.
You’re exaggerating.
And you’re a meanie.
With that she springs off Flossie’s knee, and runs to her mother.
Well, Mum, says Frankie, looking around the room, the gathering, the furniture, the walls, the pictures. What do you think?
Oh, I’m very proud of you, Frankie. You’ve done so well. This place is lovely. And so many friends!
You’re looking well yourself. Cough or no cough. You been on holiday again?
Oh yes.
Where to this time?
Trinidad and Tobago. It was lovely. It’s in the Caribbean.
I know, Mum.
Me and Gordon had such a nice time.
Gordon again, is it?
We’re getting on like a house on fire.
Mum. I don’t even believe Gordon exists.
Don’t be silly.
Well, I’ve never met him. And you’ve been dropping hints about him for years.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist! He just lives in Hemel Hempstead. So I don’t see him all that much.
Except when you go on holiday.
Yes, it’s nice to have company.
Who’s paying for all these holidays?
None of your beeswax.
Gordon’s got himself a sugar momma by the sound of it.
He’s not got much money. I don’t care. Money can’t buy you love, you know.
You haven’t got much money either.
Oh, it’s easy to borrow now.
What do you do with yourselves all day anyway? I can’t see you visiting ancient monuments.
You’d be surprised.
She looks arch. It makes Frankie feel uncomfortable.
Mum. You’re shocking me.
Then you shouldn’t ask.
She starts to cough again, less violently this time. She holds her hand up when Frankie reaches for her glass.
I’m alright. It’ll pass in a moment.
Listen, Mum, I’ve got to make a speech. Don’t go anywhere.
Where would I be going?
I don’t know. The Maldives? Peru? Club 18-30?
Frankie leaves Flossie coughing gently now, stops the music and taps his wine glass with a spoon, until everyone falls silent. He feels he commands the room, and scans it affectionately, but also, perhaps, loftily.
Thanks, everyone, for coming. I just wanted to say a few words and thank a few people.
He turns towards Veronica, who is jigging China up and down on her lap.
Firstly, my wife, Veronica. Vronky. My support. My rock. Or at least, my Tree.
Light laughter. He turns to look at her. She can’t quite meet his eye, but smiles, seemingly embarrassed by the public flattery.
When she met me I was living on a diet of IKEA and tomato soup. Now look at what we have. This beautiful house.
He raises a glass to her.
You have given me a home. I want to thank you for that.
There is applause. Frankie turns again, this time towards the staircase.
I also want to thank Veronica’s parents, Michael and Cordelia, who have very much welcomed me into their family. And helped me more than I can say.
He swaps a quick glance with Michael, which Michael returns, before readjusting his face to one of neutral humility. Michael and Cordelia smile politely at the light applause.
And Mum. My lovely mum, who gave me life. And appears to have a second lease on it herself, the amount of tim
e she spends on cruises nowadays.
You’re just jealous, calls Flossie.
She winks at him. Frankie can’t help but feel obscurely disapproving. But now he takes a deep breath and takes in the scene around him, gesturing with an arm outstretched.
Feels like I’ve made it at last. The Poggenpohl kitchen and all that. The Eames chairs. Living it large. All the same. All this, you know, counts for nothing.
There are sceptical ummhmms and raised eyebrows.
No, not nothing. Not nothing. But . . . Family is what matters. Our beautiful China Doll . . .
He gestures towards China, who is indifferently sitting on the carpet by the light stand, eating from a bowl of low-salt Twiglets.
. . . who we made together the night of the Millennium. She is the one of the first children of the new millennium. Who knows, perhaps the first.
Shouts of ‘wa-hay’ and ‘too much information’.
Frankie opens his arms as if to embrace the gathering.
I also want to thank you, all my friends, for coming today. And for being my friends and standing by me while I’ve been through the things I’ve been through. You all mean a lot to me.
Mutterings of approval.
I’d also like to thank absent friends. Not only friends who couldn’t be here, but those we’ve fallen out with, or drifted apart from. Thanks to them for all we shared, while we could share it. Things get in the way sometimes. It’s just the way it is. I miss them all. Absent friends!
He lifts up his glass until the reprise echoes round the room – ‘Absent friends’.
He pauses, takes stock of the space, which he still holds. China has now started wandering around the room, among their feet, with a giant My Little Pony which Frankie recognizes as Rainbow Dash. It was a present that day from her Aunty Rocks.
I look around at old friends and new. I look at myself, all Armani’d up. All the trappings. My amazing wife, my beautiful daughter, my lovely house, my wonderful friends. And I think, what did I do to deserve all this? I’ve been lucky. So, so lucky.
It’s been a long road to here. A lot of hard work. As some of you know who grew up with me on the White City Estate, life was very different. No fancy cocktails then. All we could afford was lager. On draught. Because it was cheaper. Me and Colin and Nodge used to walk along the Goldhawk Road on the way to watching QPR and dream of the day when things would get better. Now they have. Not for QPR, though, sadly.
Laughter.
But for all of us, yes. Man, I’d never thought I’d say this. But we live in an amazing country, a country that’s never been so full of promise and opportunity and pride.
Whoops of agreement.
And as for the Olympic bid, I’ve just got one thing to say. Fuck the French! You are going to be TOAST.
Even louder cheers.
So. Now. If I may just step away from the world stage for a moment. I want to raise a glass to my oldest friend. Nodge. And I want to raise my glass to Colin and Roxy, married earlier this year. I was proud to be his best man. Colin and I have known each other since we were at primary school together, and I have never seen him so happy as he is today.
All raise their glasses and cheer. Frankie looks for Colin but he is in the loo, throwing up again. Roxy holds his glass up for him in acknowledgement.
And to you. All of you – good luck and may your future be bright, says Frankie, feeling suddenly emotional, a tear welling up.
The future is Orange! shouts a wag.
No, it’s Blue! shouts another.
Frankie waits for the laughter to die down then pats the air to quiet the gathering.
These are good times, people. Times of champagne and canapés. Times of children, times of wives and husbands and houses and holidays.
He pauses for dramatic effect.
It’s our time. It’s our generation. Let’s celebrate it.
Roar of approval. He raises his glass once more.
To us. To our time.
They all raise their glasses, and repeat:
Our time!
Frankie and the crowd drain their glasses and cheer. Frankie shouts over the noise.
Enough talking bollocks. Let’s karaoke!
Cheers and laughter. Frankie heads over to the karaoke machine, which is plugged into the TV, and switches it on.
I’ll go first.
He hits the button and the first chords of ‘You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling’ by the Righteous Brothers fill the air. Frankie starts to sing in a deep, wavery voice, not entirely out of tune, but a fair way from pitch perfect.
He’s not bad, is he? says Owen, who is drinking Diet Coke.
Not bad at all, says Nodge.
There’s real feeling there.
Nodge and Owen begin close dancing, Nodge clumsily, Owen with his usual grace, but somehow leadenly. Nodge notices that he is pale and there is a frost of sweat on his brow. He stops dancing.
What’s the matter with you, Owen?
I’m fine.
But Owen stumbles and almost falls.
Bullshit. I’m taking you home.
It’s just getting started.
You’re not well. You haven’t been yourself all evening. We should go.
Nodge. Just a little longer. I’m fine, really.
I’m calling a cab.
Owen stares at him as if about to resist again. Then resignedly he nods.
Thanks, Nodge. Thank you.
A cab arrives in less than five minutes. After saying their goodbyes, Nodge and Owen climb into the back, where Owen nearly crumples and starts to shake.
How much have you had to drink? says Nodge as they are driven away.
Hardly anything.
Is there something you’re not telling me?
Nodge, I don’t know anything.
What exactly are the symptoms?
Tired. Pain in the stomach. My piss looks like coffee. My knees and elbows hurt like fuck. Itchy. Really itchy.
Let me see your eyes.
Nodge switches on the interior light of the cab, and stares into them. A coral island in a polluted sea.
They’re yellow.
Probably the light.
Now he picks up Owen’s hand and examines it.
Your skin looks yellow too.
I just need to sleep. Been working too hard.
In the curtain department at John Lewis? Pull the other one. You need to see the doctor.
There’s no need to fuss. I’m fully grown.
You’re going. End of.
* * *
Colin wakes and rubs his eyes. The hangover from the Saturday night at Frankie’s took two days to wear off. But now, five days later, he’s fresh, and brisk, even excited.
It’s a big day for him – the day of the first presentation of his new game, Clash of the Serpents for Sony, the product of a year’s solid work.
Roxy, already awake and nested in her waffle-weave bathrobe, sits on a chair at the end of the bedroom filing her toenails. She looks up at the sound of movement on the bed.
All right? says Colin, hauling himself out of the four-poster. It has semi-transparent drape lace curtains that stretch from vertice to vertice.
Cup of tea?
Let me make you one, Rocks.
He makes tea for them both, then takes a shower. He emerges ten minutes later, brushing his teeth. His gums leak blood, and he spits pink water into the sink. He dresses and walks to the kitchen where Roxy has made him a bacon sandwich.
Thanks, Rocks. What you going to do today then? He bites into the sandwich.
I might come with you, says Roxy. Do a bit of shopping up town. I could use a new coat.
You’ve already got about fifteen new coats.
So? Then I’ll have sixteen. Anyway they’re not new anymore. Might see if I can get Veronica to come with me.
Colin puts the three quarters of his sandwich down uneaten. He checks his watch.
I’d better get moving.
I’m not ready yet, s
ays Roxy.
Come in later on the train.
Are you going to be there all day? We could have a celebration lunch.
If it goes well.
It will, I’m sure. Clever Colin.
I’ll give you a call later on, all right?
He bends down and plants a kiss too close to the edge of her open mouth. She recoils from the taste of his spit, and the hint of the blood from his gums.
Can you do me a favour before you go? says Roxy.
What is it? I’m really going to be late if I leave it much longer. But there is no irritation his voice, his mood is too bright.
I can’t get my computer to boot up proper.
I’ll sort it out when I get back.
Please, Colin. Have a quick look. There’s some stuff I need to do online. It’s important.
What stuff?
There’s a twelve-hour sale of some shoes.
I thought you said it was important.
I’ll drive you in to the station so you don’t have to park. It’ll only take you a sec.
He checks his watch again.
Anything for my Rocks.
Colin takes the laptop and switches it on, then goes through the safe startup mode. Two minutes later he hands it back.
There you go. Now let’s get a move on.
You’re a genius.
Let’s just hope the big knobs at Sony think so too.
Roxy throws herself into a pair of white jeans, but can’t find the right pair of shoes to match. Colin, anxiety finally wrung out of him, is now shouting at her from the bottom of the stairs.
Come on!
Just a minute! You’ll be fine for time.
A minute later, she goes outside to find Colin sitting in the car, holding his briefcase on his lap.
We’ve still got ten minutes.
Colin says nothing and Roxy fires the engine. Five minutes later they hit traffic on the road to the station. There are roadworks ahead that weren’t there yesterday. Colin checks his watch again.
I’m going to miss it.
There’s another one in twenty minutes. You’ll still make it in plenty of time for your meeting.
I don’t want to wait at the station for twenty minutes.
You’ll be fine. I bet you always sit in the same seat as well, don’t you?
Colin says nothing.
You do, don’t you?
If no one else is sitting in it. Why not? And the later train is more crowded. I like a bit of peace and quiet.
The lights finally change to green. When they arrive at the station car park, Colin sees his train on the platform.