Decade

by Roberto Rabaiotti

  Thankfully, after what felt like the longest minute of his life, Rhys heard a familiar voice and saw Vicki rushing towards him. He opened his eyes wide. She looked beautiful beyond belief. She was wearing the finest of silk dresses that fell just above the knee with the thinnest shoulder straps imaginable. The dress carried a print of tiny red, yellow and pink flowers and was shaped perfectly around her waist, hips and behind. Her bronzed legs were bare and she wore oyster-white high-heeled shoes, with her rosy-red painted big toes protruding from the open fronts, matching the colour of her fingernails. A thin gold chain hung around her neck while a thick gold bangle was pushed high up one of her wrists. Her honey-blonde corkscrew hair was as luxuriant as ever and, to Rhys’s surprise, she wore the faintest hint of mascara and pale blue shadow on her eyes.

  ‘Rhys!’ Vicky virtually jumped into his arms and gave him a smacker of a kiss on his lips. The closest guests raised their eyebrows in surprise. ‘Where have you been? I thought you’d be here earlier.’

  ‘I had a bit of trouble with the car and it took me longer to get here than I thought. But anyway, here I am.’

  Vicki clutched his hand and led him into the hallway and then into the enormous living room which Rhys thought even larger than a tennis court, and for a doubles match at that. He was in awe as he surveyed the room’s splendour, magnified by the blazing sun casting thick beams of yellow-white light through the leaded panes of the striking windows. Even he had to crane his neck right back to gauge the height of the ceiling which held a glistening chandelier at its centre. His two-up, two-down back in Pontypridd would easily fit in here, he thought incredulously. All the furnishings were of the highest quality and the furniture gleamed in the sunlight. The fawn carpet was so new and plush that Rhys was afraid to walk on it, nervous as to what piece of detritus might be sticking to the bottom of his shoes from the well of the Mini. The guests matched the splendour of the living room. He felt like a tramp.

  ‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you. You didn’t tell me there’d be so many people here and you could’ve warned me about the dress code,’ Rhys whispered as Vicki asked one of the girls to fetch Rhys a glass of champagne.

  ‘Oh, you look fine. Don’t worry about it,’ Vicki replied with a dismissive flick of her hand. ‘In fact you look wonderful,’ and she squeezed his hand in affection.

  ‘You do, too, just stunning.’

  Vicki looked up at him with a smile so sunny the room lit up twice as brightly.

  ‘I must introduce you to my parents; they’ve been dying to meet you.’ She tugged at his hand and directed him to the back of the living room where her parents were talking to some other guests. Rhys realised as they approached that her father was the man who had answered the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Mum, Dad, this is Rhys,’ Vicki declared proudly. The guests her parents were talking to said they would catch up with them later and moved away.

  ‘Oh, Rhys, it’s nice to meet you at last,’ Vicki’s mother replied, in an accent so perfectly English it seemed she had slid the apostrophe into the correct place herself. She looked him up and down with a lopsided smile before extending her hand. Her tone was not the most enthusiastic and Rhys understood immediately that she was not too impressed.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Mrs Mitchell, and you, Mr Mitchell.’ Rhys’s words sounded over-rehearsed and he shook their hands rather too formally. Vicki’s father, who stood grim-faced, could barely bring himself to say hello.

  Facially, Vicki’s mother was the spitting image of her daughter, with only a couple of lines across her brow and crow’s feet around her eyes to reflect the difference in age. Figure-wise, however, there was no comparison. Her hips had clearly seen leaner days and her behind was so big, Rhys childishly thought, that she would most certainly pack one hell of a fart. On the underside of her bare arms, wrinkly flesh hung loose and wobbled about unattractively. Her large-patterned dress was rather frumpy and a size or two too small for her, accentuating a wide undulation of fat across her stomach. What was more, her feet were jammed so tightly into her black patent shoes, Rhys thought they would burst like balloons at any moment. The colour of her shoulder-length, straight hair with centre-parting matched her daughter’s but was limp and straw-like due to overuse of peroxide.

  ‘Vicki’s told us so much about you?’ Mrs Mitchell continued.

  ‘Not everything, I hope!’

  Rhys regretted saying it the second the words tumbled out of his mouth and Mrs Mitchell’s smile dissolved in front of him. Her husband looked away. Vicki gave him a nudge which only made matters worse and the ensuing silence inched into awkwardness. ‘Shall I get rid of that carrier bag for you?’ Mrs Mitchell eventually asked, stiffly, looking down at his hand.

  ‘Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind. I brought a few cans of lager with me. Sorry they’re a bit warm but they’ve been in the car all day.’

  Mrs Mitchell beckoned one of the girls to take the bag from Rhys and instructed her to put the cans in the fridge. She did not reveal that this was to keep them out of view rather than to cool them. Mr Mitchell sighed in an obvious manner and looked around the room with heavy-lidded detachment to see whom he might speak to instead of this hillbilly. He was even more determined to do so after Rhys’s next comment.

  ‘Wow, is that a colour telly over there?’ Rhys’s eyes were open wide in wonderment as he gazed at the television set in the corner. ‘I’ve never seen one before. I hear all the newsreaders and presenters are wearing multi-coloured ties these days to show off.’

  Mr Mitchell finally spoke, his tone belittling and sarcastic, though Rhys did not pick up on it. ‘Yes, it is, and we’ll put it on for you later if you can stand the excitement.’

  ‘Really! That would be great,’ Rhys replied as if he would soon experience the most incredible event of his life.

  Vicki had remained quiet during these initial exchanges but could see that her parents thought little of her boyfriend and, inwardly, she was glum, for she had so wanted them to like him. It’s early days, she tried to convince herself despondently.

  ‘So you’ve come all the way from Wales?’ Mrs Mitchell enquired, though she knew that he had.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. It took longer than I thought ’cos the Mini broke down. I keep telling my dad to change it. It’s seven years old now and done over sixty thousand miles, but, you know, money’s tight so he can’t afford it.’

  ‘And what does your father do?’

  ‘He’s a miner. Well, he was, anyway, before he did his back in. He’s on the sick now and probably won’t work again.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Mrs Mitchell replied insincerely. Her husband stood next to her, stony-faced, saying nothing.

  ‘Oh, before I forget, congratulations on your wedding anniversary and could I just say that your house is absolutely beautiful.’ Mrs Mitchell smiled and thanked him as did her husband. This example of his charm and politeness was the only reason they could fathom, so far, why their daughter liked him so much. Mrs Mitchell acknowledged grudgingly that he was quite good-looking, in an obvious sort of way, to her eye, but, deep down, she was appalled at her daughter’s choice of boyfriend. She didn’t even need to ask her husband what he thought.

  Things only got worse, however, when Rhys resumed. ‘You must be so proud of Vicki getting a first-class honours degree. I certainly am.’ He looked down at Vicki who smiled back. ‘I’m sure she’ll do really well in the job she’s starting. We found a nice flat together in Battersea the other day and we can’t wait to move in.’

  Mrs Mitchell almost spilt her drink at the news for this was the first she had heard of it, likewise her husband, who gave his daughter a murderous look that would have made Charles Manson proud. Vicki went bright red and looked down at the carpet, shifting her feet uneasily. Rhys stood there bemused. He thought Vicki had already told them.

  ‘Victoria, this is news to us. When were you planning on saying anything?’

  The tone of her mother’s voice
was calm as she did not want to create a scene in front of her guests but her husband had to take two deep breaths to stop himself from breaking out into a rage. They were aware that Vicki had found a flat to rent but knew nothing about Rhys moving in with her.

  ‘I was going to tell you later,’ Vicki replied weakly, her chin seemingly stapled to her chest and eyes still fixed firmly on the carpet.

  The silence that ensued threatened to suffocate them as Vicki’s parents tried to make sense of the news. Rhys shifted on his feet, knowing he had put one of them well and truly in his mouth. It came as a relief to them all when Mrs Mitchell eventually addressed him.

  ‘So you’ve found a job in London as well?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m really excited about it. I’m gonna be a post boy at Marks and Spencer’s head office in Baker Street. My mum’s already onto me about getting her some discount and wants me to find out why they don’t accept Green Shield Stamps,’ Rhys replied, laughing, though no one else did. ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever had to wear a suit. Vicki had me traipsing round Oxford Street all day to find one.’

  ‘A post boy? You must be pleased?’

  Once again, Rhys failed to recognise Mr Mitchell’s sarcasm.

  ‘Yeah. I can’t wait,’ he replied proudly.

  Mrs Mitchell was about to speak but her husband inter­rupted her and took control. ‘Victoria, we’ll talk about this later; we’ve got to go and mingle with our guests. Come on, Penny.’ He beckoned his wife to join him. ‘It’s been nice meeting you, Rhys.’ The way he said it suggested he would not be unhappy if he never saw him again.

  Vicki’s parents walked off with angry stares directed at their daughter. They didn’t even bother to look at Rhys. Vicki’s face was a picture of gloom and she sipped nervously from her glass of wine. Rhys took a larger sip from his glass of champagne. He needed it.

  ‘Sorry for putting you in it, Vick. I thought you’d told them?’

  ‘I was going to. I just wanted to find the right moment.’

  ‘Well, they know now. Don’t worry, Vick, they’ll come round to the idea. It can’t be easy knowing your kids are growing up and going their own way.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right,’ Vicki replied uncertainly. It quickly became apparent to her that Rhys had not understood that the problem was him and not necessarily her leaving home. She knew her parents would be delighted if she found a suitable boyfriend and would have no qualms about her moving in with him if she did. She bit her tongue, not wishing to upset Rhys, but she was determined to fight it out with her parents when the time came. ‘I’m sorry about my parents’ attitude, Rhys. They can be so pompous sometimes.’

  ‘There’s no need to say sorry. Like I said, I’m sure they’ll come round to the idea. Your mum and dad are really nice.’

  Vicki looked up at Rhys and smiled for she knew he meant it despite her parents’ best attempts not to be. That’s why she loved him so much. He was honest and genuine and only ever saw the good in anyone, unlike her younger sister Fiona’s boyfriend, Jeremy, whom you couldn’t trust an inch, but whom her parents adored because he was a bond trader in the City of London. Talking of the devil, Vicki saw them approach, accompanied by Sophie and Giles.

  ‘So, Vicki, this must be Rhys?’ Fiona began, her eyes dancing in fascination as she stared at him a little too long for Rhys’s comfort.

  ‘Rhys, this is my little sister, Fiona,’ Vicki advised, emphasising the word ‘little’.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Fiona,’ Rhys replied, extending his hand. ‘Hi, Sophie, Giles, hope you’re both okay?’

  ‘Nice to meet you, too,’ Fiona returned, shaking his hand and holding onto it longer than was necessary, her eyes burning into him. Vicki had told Rhys that her sister was a bit of a man-eater and already he could understand why. No doubt she had to take the initiative herself, however, for, in complete contrast to her sister, Fiona was no oil painting. She was short and dumpy with thick calves and a moon face. Her chestnut-brown, Vidal Sassoon-inspired urchin hairstyle, which she modelled on Mia Farrow, didn’t suit her at all and only accentuated the chubbiness of her cheeks. It crossed Rhys’s mind whether Mrs Mitchell had been a bit naughty with the milkman, or whether they had collected the wrong baby from the maternity ward, so little did she resemble Vicki.

  ‘I’d like to introduce you to Jeremy.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Jeremy.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, too, Taffy,’ Jeremy replied with a cheese-grater grin. He tried to sound friendly but the reference to ‘Taffy’ came out in a very condescending manner. Fiona, Sophie and Giles all laughed along, though Vicki’s and Rhys’s half-smiles were forced. Rhys took an instant dislike to him and thought he had even less of a chin than Giles. He had met Giles a few times in Exeter and couldn’t stand him. The way he belittled Sophie in front of everyone was appalling and embarrassing, and he was more right-wing than Hitler and Mussolini combined. He couldn’t understand why Sophie put up with it and knew the first time he had met her that her liberal feminism was false and an excuse to appear modern. She loved nothing better than to run around for Giles and do whatever he wanted. She had a good heart, though, and Rhys could see why Vicki liked her so much. They, too, were moving to London, as Giles was taking up a position as a trainee with the international division of Barclays Bank. Sophie never spoke about work, but, then again, Giles was loaded. His parents had bought him a penthouse flat overlooking Lord’s Cricket Ground and Rhys and Vicki suspected that Giles wanted Sophie to stay at home all day to maintain it in all its splendour, a role she appeared quite happy to play.

  ‘So, Rhys, what happened to you socialists on Thursday? You took a right drubbing.’ Giles could not disguise his unbridled glee at the Tories being returned to power in the General Election.

  ‘I’m still in shock if you want to know. I can’t believe it. It was a real surprise and the country’ll suffer for it now, you watch. I blame the World Cup, myself, you know, England losing to West Germany last week. Everyone was miserable after that and took it out on Harold and the government.’

  ‘Never thought we’d be so grateful to the Huns,’ Jeremy chipped in with a smirk. Fiona laughed along sycophantically. ‘Wilson was absolutely useless,’ he went on, flicking away a loose thread from the lapel of his royal-blue, pinstripe seersucker jacket as if the ex-Prime Minister had been responsible for putting it there in the first place. ‘Mind you, Heath’s a bit too European for my liking, what with him wanting to join the Common Market. I say we should stay out. We are British, after all. We don’t want anything to do with those scummy foreigners.’

  ‘Here, here,’ Giles hollered.

  ‘Here, here,’ Sophie and Fiona repeated like parrots.

  Rhys and Vicki said nothing. They despaired at the arrogance and small-mindedness of these male representatives of Little England and their toadying partners.

  ‘Sophie, darling, would you mind tootling off to fetch me a glass of champers from one of the girls?’

  ‘Of course not, Giles.’ And with that, Sophie hurried off to satisfy her boyfriend’s command without batting an eyelid.

  Rhys glanced at Vicki who was furious at her friend’s pathetic submission. Her fury only intensified when she heard Giles’s next whispered comment. ‘She might have got a two-one but she knows her place.’ He guffawed throatily, as did Jeremy and Fiona, before nudging Rhys on the shoulder. ‘You keep a tight rein on Vicki now. Don’t let that first of hers go to her head. Mustn’t let these fillies rise above their stations, you know.’

  Giles, Jeremy and Fiona guffawed even louder, drawing the attention of some of the other guests. Rhys and Vicki remained stern-faced, Vicki biting her lip with all her might to stop herself from answering back angrily. Rhys was perplexed at Giles’s attitude. ‘I’m really proud of Vicki and you should be of Sophie, too. Vicki can do whatever she wants in her life and I’ll always be there to support her. I’ll never treat her like a doormat. All this women’s libbers stuff is great as far as I’m
concerned. Why shouldn’t women get on?’ Vicki stroked Rhys’s back as a sign of her love and agreement and their three companions stopped laughing. Rhys locked his stare on Giles with eyes as cold as a winter’s dawn and as hard as a dictator’s heart until the latter was forced to look away. Everyone went quiet and the atmosphere was thick enough to chew.

  ‘Jeremy pulled off a trade worth squillions the other day, didn’t you, honey?’ Fiona suddenly threw into the conversation, changing the subject and eager to show off the worth of her boyfriend. ‘He’s probably the best bond trader in the City,’ she added fawningly.

  ‘Is that right, Jeremy?’ Giles was all ears waiting for the response as nothing got him more animated than the subject of money.

  ‘Yes. A very satisfying trade it was, too,’ Jeremy replied with a whinnying laugh, as Fiona clutched his arm proudly, looking like a girl who believed the greatest man on earth was all hers. With a frown, Jeremy yanked his arm away sharply as he did not want her creasing his Pierre Cardin jacket and Herbie Frogg shirt.

  No doubt he’s spending it on his other girlfriends, Vicki thought. It was common knowledge that Jeremy was carrying on behind her sister’s back while she was away at university in Bristol. Fiona utterly refused to believe it.

  Rhys was totally flummoxed as he listened to Jeremy and Giles discuss high finance in the City. He had no idea what a bond trader was or did and, frankly, he couldn’t care less. He just wanted to extricate himself from this group of God’s chosen few and talk to someone who spoke a language he understood. Outside of Vicki, he despaired that such a person was in attendance. But then, to his heart’s delight, through the French windows that opened up onto the garden at the back of the house, he caught sight of Karen standing alone. He had forgotten Vicki telling him that she would be coming and staying over just like him and couldn’t wait to listen to the familiar lilt of a Welsh accent. ‘Excuse me everyone. I can see Karen in the garden all by herself. I’ll just go and say hello.’