Not Funny Not Clever

by Jo Verity

  ‘Thanks. How sweet of you.’

  Elizabeth wouldn’t normally consider wearing a stranger’s ‘odds and ends’, but it would have been ill-mannered to decline Angel’s thoughtful offer. And she was right – a white shirt and pale linen trousers weren’t suitable barbecue-wear.

  She hadn’t worn red since she was a small child. She wasn’t sure why. Her mother’s determined but misguided pursuit of good taste, perhaps. When she tried them, the trousers were too short and the T-shirt on the snug side, but, on looking in the mirror, she was pleased with what she saw. For the first time since leaving home, she looked like a woman on holiday.

  ‘I always liked that T-shirt,’ Dafydd said when she joined the others in the garden.

  ‘What’s there to like, Dad?’ Mimi asked. ‘It’s plain and it’s red.’

  ‘Plain, I like. And red, I like.’ Dafydd looked Elizabeth up and down. ‘I like stripes, too.’

  ‘Shut up, Dad. You’ll embarrass her,’ Angel said.

  Two barbecues stood on the waist-high wall separating the yard from the lawn, the air above them shimmering with heat. Tongs, spatula, basting brush and skewers lay alongside on a tin tray, like instruments laid out in readiness for a surgical procedure. The table was laden with bread rolls, assorted salads, crisps, sauces, pickles and mayonnaise – the whole lot no more than five paces from a functioning kitchen.

  In Elizabeth’s opinion, barbecueing was a sure-fire way to ruin meat. After a lot of messing around, what resulted was either carcinogenic or poisonous. It left participants grease-spattered, bloated and blistered. But, as Jordan strummed the guitar and the sun sank behind the trees, is was pleasant enough, sitting on the lawn eating peanuts and sipping white wine, watching Dafydd Jones manoeuvre chicken thighs and sausages on the metal grids.

  ‘Me and Jay are going to sleep in the tent. Aren’t we, Jay?’ Mimi smiled but there was purpose in her declaration. ‘We’re going to listen to music and play Monopoly all night.’ She looked at her father. ‘That’s okay, isn’t it?’

  Dafydd cleared his throat and blew out his cheeks, letting the air out through slack lips.

  ‘You’re making a creepy face, Dad. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Well … I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.’

  ‘Why? What d’you think we’re going to do?’

  Angel snorted.

  ‘Shut up,’ Mimi snapped at her sister.

  Dafydd tried to put his arm around his younger daughter’s shoulders. ‘I don’t want to spoil your fun, love. It’s just that…’

  ‘It’s just that you don’t trust me.’ Mimi pulled away, scowling.

  Dafydd looked towards Angel as if she might be able to broker a truce but his older daughter was deeply involved with making a daisy chain.

  ‘Some day,’ he began.

  ‘Here we go again,’ Mimi said. ‘“Someday, when you have a kid of your own, you’ll understand,” blah, blah, blah. If I ever have kids – which I won’t – I won’t stop them sleeping in a tent with a mate.’

  Running into the house, she delivered what she clearly considered to be the killer blow. ‘Mum and Sam would let me.’

  Angel rolled her eyes and followed her sister.

  Dafydd prodded the chicken, Diane poured herself another glass of wine and Jordan strummed on. Elizabeth guessed that they were all (well, perhaps not Jordan) rerunning the last few minutes, marvelling at the speed with which a few sentences could sour an evening.

  Dafydd was the first to speak. ‘I loused that up, didn’t I?’

  ‘You were a tad … predictable,’ Diane said, ‘although I must admit the Monopoly story was a bit implausible.’

  The sound of sobbing drifted down from the open dormer window.

  ‘What the hell’s a responsible father to do when his daughter announces that she’s going to spend the night in a tent with some bloke?’ (Dafydd appeared to have forgotten that ‘some bloke’ was only a few yards away.)

  ‘Maybe Angel can talk her down,’ Elizabeth said.

  The wailing was replaced by an angry exchange in Welsh, the substance of which needed no translation. The tirade reached a crescendo and a door slammed.

  Angel leaned out of the bedroom window. ‘I give up. She’s such a stubborn cow.’

  ‘Thanks for trying,’ Dafydd said. ‘Are you coming down?’

  ‘In a minute. I need to make a few calls.’

  ‘Would you like me to have a word?’ Diane asked. ‘See if I can pour a little oil?’

  Dafydd glanced at Elizabeth. She hoped her deadpan expression conveyed her lack of enthusiasm for the suggestion. Sending Diane Shapcott as an advocate for restraint was like deploying Attila the Hun on a peace mission.

  ‘Let’s leave it a few minutes,’ he said. ‘Can you give me a hand here, Jay?’ It was a considerate if transparent attempt to demonstrate that he blamed Jordan for none of this.

  Jordan laid the guitar on the grass. ‘Okay.’

  ‘You keep an eye on that lot,’ Dafydd pointed to the sausages and handed him the tongs, ‘and I’ll see to the chicken.’ He smiled at the boy. ‘It’s nothing personal, Jay. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jordan muttered. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t my idea.’

  After the business of the party, Jordan’s reluctance to get involved in another father-daughter clash was understandable. Nevertheless his haste to dissociate himself from Mimi’s plan seemed disloyal. Elizabeth, feeling unaccountably embarrassed by her charge’s spinelessness, wondered if his impulse for self-preservation had something to do with his being an only child, not used to looking out for anyone but himself.

  ‘No worries,’ Dafydd said. ‘Mimi gives us all a hard time. She’s got strong views on practically everything – which is great – but she’s got to learn to be a bit more…’ ‘Submissive?’ Diane suggested.

  ‘I was going to say diplomatic.’

  Dipping a tortilla chip into a tub of humous she said, ‘I need the loo. Back in a sec.’

  ‘You know what she’s up to, don’t you?’ Elizabeth said.

  Dafydd nodded. ‘But I can’t imagine how she’s going to pull it off.’

  Jordan was concentrating on the sausages, turning them over, organising them into orderly ranks. The customary beat leaked from his earphones yet he could almost certainly hear everything that was being said. Dafydd resorted to discussing the problem of maintaining the house through the coming months whilst his in-laws were in Swansea.

  ‘We can get the post redirected and so on but Dad’s not going to have the energy to keep traipsing over here to see to the garden and clean the house. I’m going to have another bash at persuading him to find someone to keep an eye on the place.’

  ‘He won’t go for that?’

  ‘He’ll see it as throwing in the towel. The thing is, I’m not sure he’s faced up to what’s happening. He was saying, only this morning, that he hoped to get back to work in a week or two “when Mum’s feeling better”. As if she were going to get over this… this thing. As if it were a dose of flu or a broken leg.’

  She recalled the workshop, tools and raw materials classified, everything neat and in its place. She wondered how they would manage for money if ‘Dad’ couldn’t work, how long they would be welcome at Auntie Peg’s, how long before the poor woman had to be hospitalised.

  ‘They’re lucky to have you,’ she said.

  It wasn’t long before Diane and Mimi rejoined them. Mimi’s eyes looked excessively bright, the lids a little puffy but, that aside, she was composed.

  ‘Food’s about ready. I hope you’re all starving.’ Dafydd doled out sausages and chicken pieces. ‘Tuck in. There’s plenty more.’

  Everyone was on their best behaviour, passing around bowls of salad and offering to top-up glasses, steering clear of anything that might spark off another outburst. Dafydd was the perfect host, treating everyone, including his daughters, like visitors, laughing too loudly and making corny jokes. Angel and Mimi smiled
indulgently and knowingly, as though grown-ups were simpletons who must be tolerated. Diane, looking smug, was putting away twice as much food (and drink) as anyone else. The quarrel, short and sharp though it was, had spoiled Elizabeth’s appetite but, ignoring the charcoal and chicken grease that was accumulating on her plate, she battled on.

  As soon as the opportunity arose, she sidled up to Diane. ‘What did you say to Mimi?’

  ‘All will be revealed. And, by the way, isn’t Jordan a vegetarian?’

  ‘Damn. I’d forgotten. Maybe there are some veggie-burgers in the deep freeze.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry.’

  She pointed towards Jordan who had retreated to the lawn and was hunched over his plate. Obviously sensing that he was being watched, he looked up, a sausage halfway to his mouth.

  Elizabeth put down her plate and climbed the steps up to the lawn. Smiling, she sauntered towards him. ‘How’s it going? Enjoying your food?’

  He shrugged, fixing his eyes on the ground and tugging at the grass.

  ‘Nice sausages?’

  He kept his eyes averted. ‘I didn’t want to make a fuss.’

  ‘That’s very altruistic.’

  There was no need to bait him. It made no difference to her whether the boy broke his own rules of not. But catching him out did feel undeniably satisfying.

  ‘So? It’s a free country.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s?’

  ‘“Not the point?”’ He smirked and thumbed the control on his iPod.

  ‘Jay? I’ve brought you some afters,’ Mimi said, holding out a bowl of strawberries and ice cream.

  ‘Thanks.’ He took it from her.

  She dropped down on the grass. ‘What are you listening to?’

  She pulled the earpiece out of his right ear and, leaning her cheek against his, jammed it in to her own, their faces bracketed together by the thin wires.

  It was Elizabeth’s cue to make herself scarce but she felt obliged to make an excuse for leaving. ‘Those strawberries look delicious. I think I’ll get some before Di scoffs the lot.’

  ‘Can anyone tell me what’s going on?’ Dafydd said.

  ‘I may be spending the night playing Monopoly,’ Diane replied. ‘Mimi’s putting it to Jordan now.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The poor girl had boxed herself into a corner. I had to offer her a get-out clause. It was all I could think of. She and Jordan get to spend the night in the tent, with me there as chaperone-cum-banker.’

  ‘I’m not sure he’ll go for that,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Mimi did, and once my daughter makes up her mind about something it’s a done deal. The lad doesn’t stand a chance.’

  Elizabeth wondered whether Diane had been completely frank with them. If a chaperone were the solution, Angel would have been the obvious candidate. The whole thing didn’t ring true. She watched Jordan and Mimi, trying to gauge Jordan’s response to Diane’s bizarre offer, not knowing whether to be pleased or concerned when he grinned and they touched knuckles.

  23

  THURSDAY: 9.50PM

  ‘Sure you don’t want a proper mattress?’ Dafydd asked. ‘It’s no trouble.’

  ‘I’ll be fine on the air bed.’ Diane was packing a small rucksack with her overnight kit. ‘Torch. Book. Phone. What else do I need?’

  ‘Your head examining?’ Elizabeth suggested.

  Having already carted sleeping bags, pillows, Diane’s air bed, the Monopoly set and the guitar to the tent, Mimi and Jordan were now rooting through the food cupboard, loading goodies in to a cardboard box.

  ‘That should be enough, I think,’ Mimi handed the box to Jordan. ‘C’mon Jay. ’Night Elizabeth. ’Night Dad.’ She gave her father a peck on the cheek.

  ‘I’ll be out in a minute,’ Diane called after them. ‘Bagsy me the top hat.’

  ‘You’re not really going to play Monopoly?’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘I promised I would, but I’m counting on them getting bored before we get to the hotel stage.’

  Diane went off to clean her teeth and Angel drifted in, phone in one hand, iPod in the other. ‘I’m going to have a bath then go to bed.’ She paused in the doorway, grinned and threw up a fist in triumph. ‘Result. I get a room to myself.’

  Dafydd went outside. Elizabeth watched as he took a bin liner and collected debris. It was a commonplace scene – the man of the house clearing up after the family barbecue – but its ordinariness invested it with intimacy and it troubled her. She was starting to think of Dafydd as her man and these people as her family.

  At the end of the garden the tent glowed blue and ghostly, a spaceship with Jordan as resident alien. She couldn’t imagine what Mimi saw in him. All she could think was that, whenever there were no adults around, he morphed into a vastly more scintillating young man. Why Mimi had agreed to Diane’s offer to act as chaperone was still a mystery. There had to be more on the negotiating table than the promise of a third Monopoly player.

  Dafydd came in and began washing plates. ‘I’ve been eavesdropping. Mimi and Jordan are planning a midnight feast. They sound like a couple of five year olds.’ He nodded then, as if talking to himself, added, ‘I expect she’s missing Tomos.’

  Tomos. Elizabeth had forgotten that Dafydd had a son but hearing his name, tossed carelessly into the conversation, threw her off balance. It was as though she’d got halfway through a maths problem then realised she’d been applying incorrect equations. Dafydd Jones + his children – his wife = 4 (not 3!) She should go back to the beginning and check her working. If Mimi were looking for a brother substitute, how did Jordan fit the bill? Tomos was ten. Ten year olds’ pockets were stuffed with football cards and gyroscopes and whoopee cushions. Jordan was fifteen. God only knew what was in his pockets.

  Dafydd grimaced. ‘Sorry you had to get involved in this, Di. Maybe I did overreact.’

  ‘No worries. I’m looking forward to my night under … nylon.’

  Diane had returned and was fastening her rucksack. As she opened the back door, Elizabeth held her breath, expecting to be embarrassed with If you can’t be good, be careful or something worse. But ‘Sleep tight’ was all she said as she left, a dancing pool of torchlight marking her progress up the steps and across the lawn to the tent where the door opened to swallow her up.

  Dafydd whistled as he scrubbed the greasy plates and stacked them on the draining board. Elizabeth pottered around, stretching cling film over bowls of leftovers and wiping the work surfaces. Another homely tableau.

  Angel returned, bringing with her the scent of peach and vanilla. Her cheeks were pink and her hair, hoisted up in a ponytail, was damp at the nape of her neck. She wore a T-shirt, a baggy, androgynous garment, the sort of thing Elizabeth relegated to her rag bag. But Angel would look stunning were she dressed in a bin bag. She took an apple from the fruit bowl and, as Mimi had done, planted a kiss on her father’s cheek. ‘I’m off to bed. Nos da. See you in the morning.’

  They murmured their goodnights.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ Dafydd asked.

  Elizabeth searched for an entertaining reply, something to keep the mood light, but, as so often happened when it mattered, nothing came. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘Hot drink? Nightcap? Hang on.’ He checked the cupboard. ‘The nightcap may be difficult. We finished the brandy last night.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’ve got time to sprint up to the pub.’

  ‘I’m fine. Honestly.’

  There was a self-conscious silence and then they spoke simultaneously ‘Dafydd…’ ‘Elizabeth…’ then simultaneously apologised. ‘Sorry.’ ‘Sorry.’

  After Mimi’s outburst had been resolved, the evening had been awash with bonhomie. Appetites were regained and conversation flowed easily. They had overcome an obstacle, prevailed over adversity, and this had drawn them closer together. Even Jordan seemed infected with the mellow mood, not saying much but playing the guitar, supplying the backing track to the party. As dusk gave way to darkness a
nd bats fluttered jerkily around the hawthorn tree, Elizabeth had become conscious of a delicious expectation building steadily as first Mimi and Jordan, then Diane, and finally Angel had retired to tent and bed.

  Now she and Dafydd stood on either side of the kitchen, suddenly polite and hesitant, and she felt cheated, like a child who, having been promised a trip to the circus, instead found herself taking tea with a maiden aunt.

  ‘You look tired,’ he said.

  Hardly surprising. She’d been up since dawn. In fact she’s barely slept in the past thirty-six hours.

  ‘Must be the sea air,’ she said.

  ‘There’s hot water if you’d like a bath. It’s a combi boiler so no need to wait for the tank to heat up. They’re very efficient. And economical. Dad says it cuts their bill by a third.’

  ‘Yes. We keep promising ourselves that we’ll get one installed.’

  Plumbing talk. Still, Better to travel hopefully as Lenny Butler would have it.

  She lingered in the bath, topping up the hot water, listening as the boiler fired up then cut out, delaying the moment of discovering whether this … this thing between them was going to come to anything. The deeper the water, the more perplexed she became. Why didn’t he come to check that she was all right? Didn’t he care? He should because if she stayed in the bath much longer, she was going to flood the bathroom.

  When it was clear that he wasn’t coming, she yanked the plug out, dried herself, slipped on her nightdress and cleaned her teeth. Pulling her cotton robe securely around her, she opened the bathroom door. A gentle murmur came from upstairs. Angel must be chatting on the phone. She moved silently down the hall. No light was showing beneath Dafydd’s door. Both living room and kitchen were in darkness too but, as she stood at the sink, sipping a glass of water, she noticed that the tent was still aglow.

  Smarting a little at Dafydd’s failure to wish her goodnight, she returned to her room. Diane appeared to have dumped all her possessions on the floor then scuffed through them. She couldn’t contemplate getting into a bed surrounded by such a mess (even though it wasn’t hers and would be invisible in the darkness). She folded Diane’s clothes – size eight jeans? Impossible – piling them on the chair, appalled that a grown woman could be so untidy.