The Engagement Party

by R J Gould

They’d been visiting a client and Si suggested stopping off on the way back to the office. They’d sat in a quiet corner of a pub that had lost its lunchtime clientele but had yet to acquire the after-work customers. Si was unusually subdued.

  ‘What’s up, Si?’ she’d inquired, genuinely concerned because he was a good bloke.

  ‘Look what’s missing,’ he’d replied, holding up his left hand. She’d been aware of a ring and now the gold band was gone.

  With great sadness he described how the relationship with his wife had deteriorated and was now beyond repair. She was Spanish and had taken the children to Barcelona to be close to her family. Clarissa was sure she saw tears well up as he told his story. She took hold of his ringless hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

  They went out a couple of times that week, to the theatre and for a Vietnamese meal. Of course she wasn’t naïve and she did rather fancy him, so before long they were in a relationship. They spent a couple of nights a week together in her flat. He had explained that there were still too many memories for him to bring her to his home and she respected that.

  He always had excuses for the weekends, which should have aroused suspicion, but at the time she quite fancied the solitude after her frantic weekdays and nights. So she avoided friends and spent her time alone, exploring the parks and gardens that she had known by name since childhood but had rarely visited. She wandered around Hyde Park, Hampstead Heath, Kensington Gardens, and Green Park. One glorious July Sunday she was in Regent’s Park, slowly making her way to the café near the zoo. In the queue for the zoo were Si, a pretty woman with straight, jet black hair, and two boys, one blond like Si, the other dark-haired like his mother. Si and the woman laughed, then he rested his arms around her shoulders and kissed her.

  ‘What did you get up to over the weekend?’ she asked him on the Monday at work.

  ‘Nothing much, just moped really.’

  ‘Both days?’

  ‘Pretty much. Well, on Sunday I visited my mother. She lives in the Cotswolds. It was good to get out of London.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  She later found out from his P.A. Annabel that he was a so-called happily married man. Annabel must have known about their affair. In fact, most of the office did, judging by the sympathetic looks she received – though no one had tipped her off at the outset.

  She avoided Si whenever possible since then, although work inevitably necessitated some contact. Then on the Tuesday she’d quarrelled with Wayne, he had come into the office and approached her, looking downcast.

  ‘It really is over, Clarissa, me and Alicia. I can’t stop thinking about you. Would you consider having me back?’

  He got an abrupt “no” but the next day the gift arrived. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted it, she certainly had no intention of getting back with him. She loved Wayne and she despised Si. On Monday she’d tell him what for, and perhaps even give the underwear back. For now, she had to focus on the best tactic to convince Wayne that they were back on track because, although they hadn’t been together that long, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the one for her.

  Wednesday 19th January

  Lil Briggs-Collingwood

  ‘’Ello, Mrs Noble, is Matt about? … Thank you … ’Ello, Matt, you OK? Good. Look, Matt, I want to thank you for being so wonderful on Saturday. I made a right idiot of meself … Yeah, Sunday was funny, it made up for it … I’d love to, what about Camden Market after college Friday? … Great, see you then.’

  Saturday night had been a complete disaster. It had started well enough, with Lil and Matt taking the piss out of Jack as they walked to Rod’s place for the party.

  ‘So there I was in the hall havin’ a normal conversation with your mum about this and that when out comes Jack and he starts winking at me. Interrupts your mum with “goin’ somewhere nice, are you?” More winking, like he’s got a twitch in his eye. And when your mum pops into the kitchen he comes close to me reeking of beer and whispers “you are a very lucky lad, I’ve seen her naked, you know.”’

  ‘You’ve sussed him out quick, Matt. An absolute wanker.’

  ‘Then did you hear what he said on the way out? “Have a ball, you two”, then I get another whisper, something like “whoa”, then he gives me a shove on me shoulder.’

  Lil put her arm round Matt’s neck, pulled him towards her, and snogged him. She liked him, he made her laugh.

  ‘Whoa,’ he joked.

  They walked on, past the terraced houses in narrow streets that Lil knew well, into a more affluent area with steps leading up to much grander Victorian buildings, three-storied villas with soft pastel shaded walls and brightly coloured front doors.

  ‘Wow, a neat place,’ Lil commented as they stopped in front of one of the houses. They entered a small, paved front garden with large silver pots supporting manicured miniature trees each side of the fire engine red front door. The trees were decorated with flashing green and red lights. Matt rattled the polished brass knocker.

  ‘Rod’s dad’s a builder and he’s rolling in it. He’s what made me choose me construction course.’

  ‘Then I’d better stay friendly with you, hadn’t I,’ said Lil, taking hold of Matt’s hand.

  Once inside, they entered a huge room that had been stripped of all furniture except for two trestle tables. Behind one stood a DJ wearing baggy brightly patterned knee-length trousers, a white T-shirt with a cartoon surfing scene, and a navy baseball cap. Lil thought he looked a right prat, but didn’t tell Matt in case he was a friend. His sound equipment was good enough and Kings of Leon were belting out. A projector was throwing multi-coloured patterns onto the ceiling. Behind the second table three blokes in evening dress, including bow ties, were using ladles to serve drinks from three giant glass tureens. The liquids were highlighter pen colours – luminous green, purple, and yellow.

  ‘Fancy one?’ asked Matt.

  ‘Yeah, the bloke on the left,’ joked Lil.

  Matt smiled. ‘What’s in ’em, mate?’

  ‘This one’s vodka-based, this is gin, and this is white wine.’

  ‘Vodka for me. What about you, Lil?’ Lil chose the same. It was sweet and light and it went down quickly. She got another.

  ‘Matt, hello mate. And Lil, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hello, Rod. Happy birthday.’

  ‘Yeah, happy birthday,’ added Lil before planting a kiss on his cheek. ‘Lovely place you got here.’

  ‘Thanks. You both still got your coats on. Run ’em upstairs. Third door on the left.’

  ‘I’ll take ’em, Matt. You catch up with Rod.’ To a small extent this was an act of kindness, but Lil was keen to see more of the house and this was her opportunity. She felt very good as she trotted up the stairs, happy to be with Matt, and just a little light-headed after the rapid consumption of two vodkas and whatever it was that made the drink green. By the end of her short journey, slaloming past snoggers on the stairs, she’d forgotten what door she needed. She opted for the second and switched on the light.

  ‘Switch that off!’ She recognised the screech – it was Mandy. Lil edged around the double bed, pretty certain what she’d find. And there was Darren, shirt open and trousers down to his knees, lying on top of her recent best friend.

  ‘That’s disgusting,’ Lil uttered, wishing that it was her rather than Mandy lying next to Darren.

  Mandy looked up and smiled. ‘Jealous?’ she taunted.

  Lil turned and walked out, leaving the light on. Opposite her in the hall, his back against the wall, was Algi-whatever. The pigtailed shrieker was wrapped around him.

  He lifted a hand from his girlfriend’s upper thigh and waved. ‘Hello, Markin Spender girl.’

  ‘What are you doin’ ’ere?’

  ‘I work for Rod’s father as electrician. Why you here?’

  She didn’t bother answering. Instead, she walked on to the next room, which turned out to be the coats one. She chucked theirs onto the pile and went back downstairs.<
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  Lil’s memory of what happened next was sporadic. She remembered trying the other brightly coloured drinks and had a vague recollection of Matt grabbing her and saying ‘enough’ several times. Then there was the taxi driver kicking them out after she’d thrown up on his cab floor. And then there was Matt with glass of water, toothbrush and paste, patiently standing by when she had her head in the toilet back at his house. Then no further memories until she lifted a very heavy head and saw 11.03 in luminous green lettering on the digital clock. Funny thing, the brain. That colour brought back the memory of the drink, and she was sick again in the plastic dustbin that Matt had left at the side of the bed.

  She tipped the contents down the toilet and rinsed the dustbin. Then she cleaned her teeth and took a shower using the Lynx shower gel that had the cinema advert with near-naked women chasing after the man after he’d used it. Naked herself, she slumped back into bed.

  Matt came in. ‘Thought I heard you up and about. Here, some tea.’

  ‘Cheers, Matt. I’ve been an absolute plonker, ain’t I?’

  ‘I’d have to agree with you, Lil. Don’t know what came over you. You stormed back into the room after you dumped the coats, walked straight past me and Rod, and drank yourself silly.’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know what made me do it,’ lied Lil, thinking about semi-naked Darren and sexy Algithing. ‘Anyway, a reward for you being so nice.’ She threw back the covers, exposing the body that Jack dreamt about. It didn’t take Matt long to join her and they were on their second round of sex when Matt heard keys rattling in the front door.

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s me parents. Why are they back so early?’ Matt shot out of Lil and into his boxers and trousers. He was just putting on his T-shirt when his mother called up.

  ‘Hello, Matt, you upstairs love?’

  ‘Yeah, Mum. Coming down, I’ve just been working on something up here.’

  ‘Don’t you call me “something”,’ whispered Lil, giving him her famous gap-tooth smile.

  ‘Quick, get dressed, Lil.’

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ asked Matt’s mother as he opened his bedroom door.

  ‘Someone from college, Mum.’

  ‘Me, Mrs Noble, Lil Briggs-Collingwood,’ Lil said in her sweetest voice. By now, Mrs Noble was upstairs, looking with deep suspicion at Lil in her crumpled dress untidily hanging on her otherwise naked body. ‘We’re doing college work,’ Lil continued.

  ‘I didn’t know you were doing a construction course, Lil.’

  ‘No, she’s not,’ said Matt as the three of them walked downstairs, herded by Matt who wanted to change the sheets and open a window ahead of his mother going into his room. ‘It’s an experiment.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lil. ‘I’m doing a Fashion Diploma but they decided it would be good to have students taking completely different subjects coming together to compare approaches.’

  ‘Good idea, isn’t it, Mum, Fashion and Construction.’

  ‘I don’t see how that can help either of you.’

  ‘Well,’ Lil started, unsure what was to follow. ‘You see, building homes these days needs to take fashion into consideration. Of course, most importantly, houses need to be safe.’

  ‘Safe as houses,’ added Matt.

  ‘Yes, that, but they have to be stylish to attract the buyer. And that’s where I can help.’

  ‘But how can Construction help Fashion?’ persisted Mrs Noble.

  ‘Catwalks, Mum. They need to be securely built with easy access and good visibility.’

  By now Mr Noble had joined them in the hallway, looking as utterly disbelieving as his wife.

  ‘Well, I think we’ve gone as far as we can go for today, don’t you, Matt?’

  ‘Yeah, Lil. I can’t think of much else we have left to do. Get your stuff and I’ll walk you home.’

  As they walked back to Lil’s, hand in hand, tears of laughter rolled down their cheeks.

  ‘When you said “as far as we can go” I had to pinch meself to stop bursting out laughing. I’ll sue you for causing bruising.’

  They kissed by Lil’s front door.

  ‘See ya, Matt.’

  Carol Collingwood

  ‘Out? What d’ya mean out?’

  ‘I’ve told you, I’m goin’ to a lecture.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Jack, I never ask you why when you’re off to the pub, do I?’

  ‘At least I always have me tea before I go. What have you done about tea for me and Lil tonight?’

  ‘Lil’s out and there’s some of yesterday’s meat loaf in the fridge for you.’

  ‘I don’t like meat loaf.’

  ‘You were fine with it yesterday. You’re being silly. I must go else I’ll be late.’

  And she was out, her heart fluttering as she waited for the 88 bus. A few flakes of snow were hovering, reluctant to reach the ground, sparkling in headlight beams. Once seated she took out the flyer which she’d read many times.

  The Handmaid’s Tale – a dystopian vision. A public lecture by Professor James Cunliffe at the Regent Campus, University of Westminster.

  Until Monday she hadn’t known what dystopia meant. She’d never heard of the word. Come to that, until Monday she didn’t even know that there was a University of Westminster. She’d been working at Mr Singh’s, stacking the shelves with replacement Flakes and Smarties now that the school rush was over. In walked a tall man, painfully thin, rather ragged, with a curly mop of grey hair. He was wearing a navy duffel coat with giant light brown toggles. She hadn’t seen a coat like that for many years. Lil would laugh at it but they used to be all the rage for youngsters. And then there was that politician who wore one, the man with thick glasses who wanted to get rid of nuclear bombs even though the Russians had loads of the things pointing at us. Michael Foot, yes, that was his name.

  The customer peered down as she sat hunched by the lowest confectionary shelf. He acknowledged her with a nod. He had observant, kind eyes. A clever man. Funny how you can recognise that at a glance, she reflected afterwards, because that is what he turned out to be. He picked up a Guardian and made his way to the till. She got up and joined him there.

  ‘One pound, please.’

  He took out a handful of coins and juggled them in the palm of his hand. Glancing to the left he noticed the world classics bookstand.

  ‘Just a minute,’ he said, returning the coins to his trouser pocket. ‘I’m just going to have a look at your books, I can never resist a browse.’ He twirled the rotary stand, stopping at the European section to read the titles on the spines. ‘Astonishing to see a collection like this in a newsagent. War and Peace. One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. Amazing. Do you get many takers?’

  ‘No, ’fraid not, hardly anyone. Mainly me, really, the owner lets me borrow them. Then when I’ve finished one we chat about it.’

  ‘Like a mini readers’ club. Good for you.’

  ‘I love talking about books.’ Thoughts of Jack’s indifference resurfaced. ‘I don’t get much chance back home.’

  ‘Ever thought of joining a reading group? There are lots about all over the place. And there are courses, too. In fact, we run a literature course as part of our continuing education programme.’

  ‘Who’s “we”?’

  ‘My university, Westminster. I’m an English lecturer there. I am sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. James Cunliffe.’ And with that he held out his hand. Carol hesitated before grabbing hold of his and they shook hands. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he added.

  ‘I’m Carol. Carol Collingwood. Must be wonderful, reading and getting paid for it.’

  He smiled. ‘It has its good moments, though these days there’s rather too much administration and far too many meetings for my liking. But I mustn’t grumble, I do still enjoy it.’

  ‘Funnily enough, I’ve thought about it myself – studying, that is. I know I’m getting on a bit and I don’t have no exams, but I’d love to do something. Have you heard of Open Uni
versity? I found out you can do a course there even if you don’t have any school qualifications.’

  ‘We offer something similar to the Open University, an access scheme. You’re welcome to come along and see what the University of Westminster is like, our course might be just right for you.’ He returned the copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude that he had been holding into the display unit. Carol would have to shift it when he left, he didn’t realise that it had to go with the other Spanish novels.

  ‘In fact, there’s something on this week that would give you a chance to visit,’ he continued. ‘I’m giving a lecture on Wednesday evening. You’d be able to find out about a fascinating novel and it would be a perfect opportunity to get a feel for the place and pick up a prospectus.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to barge in.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be, it’s open to the general public.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘A book called The Handmaid’s Tale. It’s written by Margaret Atwood.’

  ‘I know that, I love her books. Have you read Alias Grace? I think it’s one of my all-time favourites. That poor girl, such easy picking for the police being so young and poor and uneducated. I think just being a woman went against her, don’t you? I’m convinced she didn’t kill anyone.’

  James was smiling broadly. ‘Yes, you’re quite right, there was certainly a lot stacked against her. A very clever book, it’s one of my favourites, too. And what about The Handmaid’s Tale, have you read that?’

  ‘Yes and no. I started it but didn’t reach the end, which is very unlike me. I didn’t find it an easy read at all, though I suppose some of the things in Alias Grace crop up again in that book. The way women are always being bullied and controlled by men, for a start.’

  ‘They both set out to construct a type of dystopia.’

  ‘A diss-what?’

  ‘Dystopia. It’s the opposite of utopia, which is when –’

  ‘I know what utopia means, I’m not that ignorant.’

  ‘You most certainly are not that. I apologise for being patronising.’

  Now Carol smiled. He was a sensitive soul. Penny Watkins was standing next to them. Carol hadn’t noticed her come in. She dropped an Express and multi packet of Orbit onto the counter.