The Saturday Supper Club

by Amy Bratley

  I bit my tongue and stopped talking. I hated that I was confiding in Ethan. I let my words trail off into silence. I didn’t even know what I wanted to say. Defending Joe to Ethan was a pointless exercise, and why did I care what Ethan thought? I waved my hand in dismissal and started to walk faster, slightly ahead of him.

  ‘Anyway, where did you go after Maggie’s dinner party?’ I asked. ‘I went to the bathroom and when I came back you were gone. Bloody good at disappearing, aren’t you?’

  Ethan let out a bark of laughter.

  ‘I couldn’t stay there any longer with you there,’ he said, exasperated. ‘I was getting drunk and wanted to be just with you, so I thought I should go, since you told us you might be marrying Joe. The thought of it makes me feel sick.’

  Ethan shouted out in frustration and I whacked his elbow to quieten him down, though secretly I was thrilled by his admission.

  ‘Shall we talk about something else?’ I said, walking even faster and pointing down the road. ‘I think he lives at number fifty-three. I reckon that Andrew will do an amuse-bouche or something for appetizer. He’ll pull out all the stops. Did you hear him talking about wine? He knows everything. I reckon he knocks it back, too. He looks like a man who has gout in his future.’

  I was talking quickly, trying to get our conversation on to a more mundane topic, away from how nervous I felt.

  ‘I know,’ Ethan said. ‘He was telling me about that wine, called Petrus, I think, which is the most expensive wine in the world. Over twelve thousand pounds a bottle. That’s some people’s annual salary.’

  I nodded, pleased for the change of subject.

  ‘There are probably a few bottles of Petrus nestled in these houses,’ he said. ‘It’s like Millionaire’s Row. One day I’ll own great swathes of Holland Park and, like Robin Hood, I will turn it over to the poor. Then we can live here.’

  Ethan puffed his chest up and laughed. Then we can live here. Everything he said was loaded with meaning. I held my breath for a moment then shook my head.

  ‘Ethan,’ I said, as we fell back into step side by side. ‘What about you? Tell me about you. Do you have a girlfriend? Wives and children in every port? Why did you come back from Rome? Are you wanted by the Mafia?’

  Ethan threw his head back and laughed. He had a laugh like a box of fireworks going off.

  ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘I was certainly drunk and disorderly a few too many times. And in answer to your second question, I came back because I thought I should stop running. Not that I have literally been running for the last three years, that would be exhausting – and now that this has happened with you—’

  ‘What?’ I said, gazing up at the enormous white Victorian houses as we walked. ‘What’s happened? Nothing’s happened, Ethan, except words and a clumsy kiss. Nothing’s happened at all.’

  Who was I trying to convince? Ethan ignored me.

  ‘Basically I want to stop pissing around,’ he said. ‘I want to make something of my life. I’ve not exactly won an Oscar for my contribution to the world of acting, but I still really want to do something. I’m burning with ambition, me. Burning.’

  He laughed at himself, but looked crestfallen. Seeing his disappointment, I immediately fell into the old routine of boosting his ego whenever it showed signs of deflating. I was Ethan’s personal set of bellows.

  ‘You’re really good,’ I said earnestly. ‘It’s not an easy profession to make a career out of, is it? Anyway, there’s nothing stopping you from being an actor now, is there? Why give up when you’ve got natural talent?’

  I didn’t even believe what I was saying. I had no idea, any more, whether Ethan was a good actor. He shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said seriously. ‘I’ve given it up for good. I’ve been trying to prove something to myself for years but I need to change direction completely. You know I’ve always wanted to open up my own place—’

  ‘I know,’ I said, turning back to face him, feeling Joe’s illustration burning a hole in my bag. ‘Well, you know I’m just in the process of . . .’

  I thought about the cafe, waiting for me to breathe life into it. I would so regret it if I failed to get it started, and I’d hardly done anything that week. I silently vowed to myself I would make it work, no matter what.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, not really listening. ‘Well, I think my folks are going to hand over the deli to me soon. They’re getting tired of working all hours, my dad’s ready to hit the golf course and I’m thinking of turning it into a rustic pizza place.’

  He was talking animatedly, gesturing with his hands, staring at me intently, just like he used to. All at once I had a sensation of dread. That intense gaze he fixed me with, that I’d imagined was unique to our relationship: did he do that to everyone? Had everyone in Rome seen that look?

  ‘Guess you know what’s on the menu at mine next Saturday?’ he said.

  He looked at me expectantly, a smile breaking over his lips, eyes bright and wide.

  ‘Pizza,’ I said, with a sigh. ‘I’m guessing pizza. I’ve never really liked pizza much.’

  ‘How can you not like pizza?’ he said. ‘Pizza is the perfect food.’

  ‘It might be for you, Ethan,’ I said. ‘But it’s not for me. The mozzarella is always stringy, and if you don’t eat it immediately, the pizza base goes soggy.’

  ‘You clearly haven’t had one of my pizzas for quite a long time,’ he said. ‘Just you wait and see.’

  Pizza. Were we really talking about pizza? I sighed, and while Ethan talked about toppings, I looked up at the blue sky, and at the straight lines of the houses contrasting against the white cotton-ball clouds.

  ‘It’s not just any old pizza,’ Ethan continued. I rolled my eyes. ‘This is pizza to die for. I guarantee you’ll be oozing with compliments. Then, if I win this competition, which I think I might, I can emblazon your quotes on my promotional material. I’ve got it all planned out.’

  He tapped his nose and gave me another grin. We were walking close together, close enough for me to smell that Ethan was wearing the Dior eau de toilette I used to buy him years before.

  ‘Is that Dior you’re wearing?’ I said. ‘I hope that’s not the same bottle I bought you. I think it has a shelf life, you know? Like our relationship clearly had.’

  Ethan laughed again, a firecracker laugh, then put his arms around my waist and, before I could do anything, he lifted me up and swung me round and round in circles. A couple walking past looked up at us, smiling sweetly.

  ‘It’s so good to be with you,’ he said loudly. ‘I think about you all the time. I thought about you all the time!’

  ‘Ethan!’ I said, forced to lean my head against his chest, and for a moment I wanted to stay there. ‘Put me down! Be quiet!’

  Gently, he rested me down on the pavement. I frowned. I could never get the upper hand with Ethan. He would always do something big, outlandish, something like this, to steal the moment.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, as I smoothed down my outfit and tucked my hair behind my ears. ‘I think this is fate. I think fate is pushing us together. This is our second chance.’

  I bit my lip, wanting to tell Ethan that he was three years too late. If he’d come back straight after he’d left, perhaps I would be more open to his talk of second chances. But I couldn’t play hardball. Actually, I wanted to believe what he was saying. He stared at me, his lips slightly apart, moving closer. An unexpected bolt of desire rushed through me.

  ‘I . . . oh . . . this is so . . . Ethan, stop,’ I started, blushing all over.

  He nodded once, understanding, then pointed across the road.

  ‘Look, is that Andrew’s place?’ he said. ‘What the fuck is going on there?’

  I followed Ethan’s eyes to the opposite side of the road where, at Andrew’s address, number fifty-three, an extremely heavily pregnant woman with long ginger hair pulled back into low bunches, dressed in a billowing floral dress, was lugging a chair out of the front door, dragg
ing it into the front garden and tossing it into the flowerbed. Her bump was very low and I knew from Daisy’s pregnancy that meant it wouldn’t be long until she ‘dropped’.

  ‘What the hell’s she doing?’ I said. ‘She’s about to give birth by the look of her. Do you think that’s Alicia? Must be.’

  We waited for a car to pass before we crossed over. The driver slowed down a little, to see what was going on too.

  ‘Yes, it’s got to be,’ said Ethan, his eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘Blimey, she looks a bit fierce, doesn’t she?’

  Already in the front garden were two suitcases spilling out clothes, a standing lamp with the dark red shade knocked askew, a wicker two-seater chair, magazines and books scattered about the floor and a selection of men’s shoes chucked randomly onto the pile. Ethan grabbed my hand, but I pulled it away. We slowly approached the house, glancing at one another worriedly, the previous moment seemingly forgotten.

  ‘You stupid bastard!’ the woman – who I assumed to be Alicia – was shouting. ‘You do not understand what it feels like to be pregnant in this heat, so don’t ever say you do! Never, ever, never, ever! How can you know what it’s like to have swollen fucking ankles and acid reflux!’

  Andrew’s neighbour, an aristocratic-looking gent out in his beautifully manicured garden, pruning a bush of bright red roses, looked at us and lifted the straw boater hat off his head, holding it to his chest for a moment. He wiped his slightly sweaty forehead with his shirtsleeve.

  ‘Beautiful evening, isn’t it?’ he said, ignoring the screaming from the other side of the wrought-iron fence. ‘If it’s Andrew you’re looking for, he’s under there. In the bunker.’

  The neighbour chuckled and pointed to the table that was out in Andrew’s front garden. Sitting underneath it and hugging his knees, with his chin resting on them, was Andrew, dressed in pale suit trousers and shirt. He smiled and raised a hand to wave as we tentatively approached through the front gate and up the mosaic-tile garden path. I could feel Ethan, next to me, wanting to laugh. We walked up to Andrew and both knelt down on the grass near him. He shot his hand out from under the table to shake Ethan’s hand, then kiss mine.

  ‘Are you all right, mate?’ Ethan said.

  ‘Slight problem,’ Andrew said, pointing towards the house. ‘Alicia has thrown me – and a few of my things – out of the house. Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll see if I can get past her and get you a drink, though I’m slightly concerned she’ll murder me.’

  ‘Would you rather we just left?’ I asked, half hoping he’d say yes. But Andrew grabbed on to my ankle.

  ‘Please don’t go,’ he said. ‘I need you.’

  Ethan and I shared a look.

  ‘No problem,’ said Ethan, patting Andrew’s back. ‘We’ll stay. Eve, why don’t you sort the chairs out? There’s one there, look, on the roof of that BMW. Is that your car, Andrew? Looks like it’s left a dent. I’ll see if I can persuade Alicia into allowing us a few glasses. I’ve got some wine here.’

  ‘Thank God for the cavalry,’ said Andrew. ‘I’d suggest we go to the pub, but I’m worried she’s going to go into labour at any moment and Paul texted to say he’s on his way. Jesus Christ, I’m about to have a nervous breakdown. What red have you bought?’

  I left Andrew scrutinizing the label on the bottle of wine, picked up a couple of chairs and stood them on the front lawn, while Ethan started towards Andrew’s front door. I watched him tentatively push it open, step into the hallway and call out Alicia’s name. Andrew stuck his head out from under the table.

  ‘The food,’ Andrew called after Ethan. ‘There’s sushi in the fridge that I made for tonight. Can you try to get that, too?’

  For a few moments, everything was quiet except for the distant whine of a gardener at work with a strimmer and the gentle hum of Radio 4 in next door’s garden. Andrew smiled at me and shook his head in dismay.

  ‘The reversing cold bottom is nothing on this,’ he said drily.

  Ethan came out seconds later, carrying an armful of clinking wine glasses and a bag of crisps.

  ‘Here comes the party,’ he said. ‘Sorry, but the sushi’s gone. It seems Alicia suddenly felt starving and ate the whole lot. She said we could have these, though. Your kitchen is out of this world, Andrew. I expected Gordon Ramsay to pop out from behind the door. You should see it, Eve. Everything totally top of the range. There’s no fish slices from the 99p shop in there.’

  He looked at me, bubbling with enthusiasm, and I raised my eyebrows in acknowledgement.

  ‘Wow,’ I said lamely.

  ‘Oh, a bag of crisps, that’s generous of Alicia,’ Andrew broke in. ‘She can’t have eaten the whole lot. That’s half a kilo of raw tuna. I’m sure she’s not even allowed to eat raw tuna.’

  A window of a first-floor room flew open. Alicia stuck her head out, her cheeks boiling red.

  ‘DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT TELLING ME I’M NOT ALLOWED TO EAT RAW FISH,’ she shouted, before slamming the window shut. The old man next door chuckled.

  ‘God,’ Andrew said, his lips quivering. ‘It’s a disaster. Sorry. Perhaps you should get off to the pub and leave me here. I’ll have to call Dominique and Paul, maybe we can postpone or I can be disqualified or . . .’

  He held his head in his hands.

  ‘I’m just not cut out for dealing with women,’ he said. ‘I should have realized that years ago.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘We can just have a drink and wait for Paul, then we can go . . .’

  ‘It’s sorted,’ Ethan said, pouring us all a glass of wine, handing Andrew his first. He gulped it down. ‘I phoned Maggie and she’s bringing a stash of fish and chips from that gourmet fish place near the Tube. You can get skate wing, squid, huss and haddock from there. Alicia said she wanted three pickled eggs. Is that normal? Oh, look, here’s Paul now. We’ll all give you a decent score, don’t worry, though I’m dubious about whether you need the prize money as much as I do.’

  I kept one eye on the house behind us, half expecting Alicia to hurl a hand grenade out of the window. Paul walked towards us, a confused expression on his face.

  ‘Is this your own house, Andrew?’ I asked. ‘It’s enormous.’

  ‘Yes,’ Andrew said, slightly guiltily. ‘My father was a wine merchant, much more successful than me. He was very well known in the trade and so I’ve tried to work only with artisan wines. I wanted to avoid the bigger names. And yes, I inherited this place when he died a few years ago. I felt ridiculous living in it alone, so when I met Alicia, I moved her in pretty quickly. Big mistake. Hello, Paul. I’m afraid things have taken a turn for the worse here. There’s nothing to photograph because my girlfriend has eaten it all. Should I phone Dominique and postpone?’

  Paul shook his head, grinned and didn’t look remotely fazed, like this kind of thing happened all the time.

  ‘Don’t worry, pal,’ he said. ‘This makes it all more interesting, to be honest. Plates of food don’t do much for me, really. I prefer reportage, and Dominique absolutely loves it if something interesting happens.’

  Ethan handed Paul a drink and they both sat down on the wicker chair, Ethan watching me, a smile tickling his lips, as we all pretended everything was normal.

  ‘Where did you meet Alica?’ I asked Andrew.

  ‘In a wine bar in Kensington,’ he said. ‘I recommended she try an oyster; she did, then was sick in the street afterwards. I offered her my bed to recover, since we were near to my house, and she slapped me round the face. Not very romantic, but I immediately loved her. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly. You should have seen the way she laid into this chap whose dog chose to crap just outside the gate there. Breathtaking.’

  Andrew shook his head at the memory, while I imagined Alicia karate-kicking a dog owner before he’d had the chance to locate his poop-a-scoop. I opened my mouth to ask Andrew what Alicia did for a living, when Maggie turned up at the garden gate, clutching a large carrier bag.

  ‘Fish and c
hips,’ she said. ‘Or, a selection of seafood, lightly battered, served with chips. I bought a bottle of tomato sauce and some pea-and-mint fritters too. So, what’s the story? What happened with Alicia? Wow, Andrew, is this your house? Are you a member of the royal family?’

  Andrew laughed self-consciously, climbing out from under the table.

  ‘Actually, my third cousin is related to the Windsors,’ he said, accepting the carrier bag stuffed with greasy paper parcels. ‘Thank you for these, but my menu was going to be a Japanese sensation. In answer to your question, yes, this is my house, if I’m ever allowed back inside. Alicia’s about to give birth, I can feel it. God, I don’t know if I’m ready to be a dad. Even after all this time, especially after all this time. I don’t think I’ll ever get my head around it.’

  Andrew cast his eyes towards his house and quickly screwed the carrier bag up into the tiniest ball, before throwing it on the ground near a heap of magazines that had been hurled outside during the row.

  ‘I wonder if anyone is ever ready?’ asked Ethan wistfully, his eyes following a flock of birds making their way across the sky. ‘I don’t think I ever will be. Not for a long time.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Andrew. ‘But women your age are hearing the tick-tock of the biological clock. If you want to wait you’re going to have to aim at least ten years younger than yourself.’

  He glanced up at Ethan, caught his eye and winked.

  ‘Not a bad idea, though, is it?’ he laughed.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ said Ethan with a laugh, deliberately not looking at me. ‘So, Andrew, are you going to dish out the chips? Why don’t you tell us what you were going to cook?’

  While Andrew reeled off an inspired menu with accompanying wines, I spoke to Maggie, who, dressed in a short floral dress and with her hair down tonight, seemed less convivial than she had been at her own dinner party.

  ‘So,’ she said, leaning in close to me. ‘How’s it going with you? Are you feeling any brighter?’

  I frowned and shook my head.

  ‘Not really,’ I said. ‘I feel really strange. Kind of like I’m burying my head in the sand about everything.’