Ralph's Party

by Lisa Jewell

  Karl pointed at Ralph, who was watching with an open jaw at the far end of the room. Cheri had repositioned herself discreetly behind a pillar.

  ‘His?’ said Siobhan, her face contorted with confusion. ‘But … why? Who is he?’

  ‘He’s Ralph.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Ralph. Of course. The invite. But who is Ralph?’

  ‘That’s Ralph. He lives downstairs, Almanac Road. Remember?’

  Siobhan struggled to recall. ‘0h, yes, but – why? I don’t understand, Karl. What the fuck is this?’

  Karl shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’ His frame relaxed, his face softened and he smiled. ‘Jeez – who cares? Shuv, it’s so good to see you. It is so good to see you …’

  He petted her hands and grinned manically down at her.

  Smith was still standing behind him, his fists clenched, his hackles still at attention. He turned to face the rest of the room, which had already grown bored of the drama and resumed halted conversations as if nothing had ever happened. What did you have to do to entertain these people? He looked down at his fists and unfurled them slowly, rubbing at the indents his fingernails had left in the palms of his hands. He straightened his tie, ran his fingers through his hair and began walking slowly back across the room, embarrassed that his attempt at a fight, his only ever attempt at a fight, had been stalled like that in front of a room full of Ralph’s twattish friends.

  He headed straight towards Cheri, who had now emerged from behind the pillar, and put an arm protectively around her shoulder, rubbing gently at the bare skin under his hand. His heart raced. She felt exactly as he’d expected her to feel – like silk spun from the thread of the silkiest silkworm that ever lived.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked in his best sensitive and caring voice.

  Cheri nodded glumly. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but I suppose after everything I’ve done, I deserved it.’ She looked away poignantly.

  ‘What! Don’t be ridiculous. He was drunk. He had no idea what he was talking about.’ Smith was quite beside himself with indignation.

  ‘No, Smith – really. He was absolutely right about me. It’s all true.’

  ‘No!’ Smith made them all jump with the ferocity of his dissension. ‘He’s mad. Really, Cheri. Don’t you pay any attention to him.’

  Cheri sighed and Smith continued to rub the small patch of lustrous skin that lay just beneath his thumb. It was the best piece of skin he’d ever touched; he could quite happily rub it all night.

  ‘Look, Smith,’ Cheri continued, ‘I told you all this – don’t you remember? – at Oriel? All about my past, my problems with men.’

  Jem stiffened and gripped her glass in her fist as if she was armwrestling it. Smith finally stopped rubbing Cheri’s shoulder and let his hand drop to his side, aware of Jem’s existence seemingly for the first time that day. Ralph flinched and looked away. It was starting. He hooked his hand through Jem’s arm and deftly began to wheel her away from Cheri and Smith.

  ‘Jem, let me give you a personalized tour of my exhibition – a true honour for you.’ He smiled cheesily and dragged her away, just as she was beginning to open her mouth to say something. Jem didn’t resist. Oriel? What? Smith didn’t know Cheri. What the hell was happening? Why was he being so protective of her? What did he know about her? All that thumb-rubbing and concern and all those compliments about her dress and her hair. And, anyway, wasn’t Ralph supposed to be with Cheri?

  ‘Ralph,’ she asked in a small, confused voice, ‘what the fuck is going on here?’

  Ralph was beginning to feel a little guilty now, but not in a bad way – a bit like a vet giving an injured animal a painful injection. This was for Jem’s good; she might not like it at the moment, but she’d appreciate it in the long run. He put his hands on her shoulders and steered her towards the front of the gallery.

  ‘I dunno,’ he laughed, ‘it’s just one of those nights, I guess.’

  Jem’s head was in too much turmoil to demand a more articulate response and she let him move her around like a mannequin. What was all that business with the couple from upstairs – that Irish DJ guy and his ex-girlfriend? They were standing together now at the door, Siobhan giving Karl a little twirl to show off her new figure, Karl grinning from ear to ear, looking like he’d never been happier in his life. And what did he have to do with that Cheri girl? And how did Ralph know Cheri? And Smith? And … and … and … oh, God. Jem felt quite giddy. Up until this evening Jem had thought that Cheri was just the girl who lived on the first floor, the one she’d had that chat with ages ago, the one who used to be a dancer, the one who was getting married. Yes, that’s right, she was getting married wasn’t she? And now she was Ralph’s date, Karl’s enemy and Smith’s … Smith’s what? And she certainly didn’t seem to be getting married any more. She glanced across the room and saw that Smith had placed his hand back on Cheri’s shoulder and was whispering into her ear, his groin twisted pointedly towards her thigh, his eyes glued to her face. Cheri was smiling and laughing and looking very coy.

  ‘Jem? Jem, are you all right?’ Ralph was leaning into her face and staring into her eyes, looking concerned.

  ‘Yeah … sure … I’m fine.’ She tore her gaze from the unpleasant and unsettling little scenario; she couldn’t deal with all this right now. Besides, she had Ralph to herself for a few moments and he was about to show her his paintings, which, in all the drama, she hadn’t even glanced at yet. She took a deep breath.

  Ralph was still staring into her eyes. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, closed it and opened it again. ‘I know I’ve already said this, Jem – but I’m going to say it again anyway. You look drop-dead gorgeous. You really do. That dress is … stunning. And I love, absolutely love, all these little roses in your hair.’ He touched one gently with a fingertip. ‘You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman in this room. I’m so glad we’re friends again – so glad.’ He picked up her hand and gently kissed the back of it.

  ‘Oh, Ralph, so am I. I really missed you, you know.’ Jem blushed and giggled and kissed the back of his hand too, feeling immediately that this was an embarrassing thing to have done, clearing her throat and turning away to hide her blush. ‘So, er, are you going to show me these famous paintings of yours, then?’

  Damn Ralph, she thought, always sending me into these paroxysms of confusion.

  Ralph flushed slightly, pleased as punch with the little damp patch on the back of his hand that Jem had left there with her lovely soft lips.

  ‘OΚ.’ He placed one hand gently on her waist and pointed her towards the first painting. ‘This one’s called “Pink Lipstick and Peonies”.’

  Jem gasped and put her hand over her mouth. ‘Ralph – that’s – is that? It’s me, isn’t it?’ She spun around towards him with wide eyes.

  It was a small portrait, rich in colour and detail, a close-up of Jem’s face wearing a huge, open smile that showed all her teeth, her head surrounded by a bed of pink, purple and mauve flowers in full bloom.

  Ralph nodded and steered her towards the next painting.

  It was Jem again, head and shoulders this time, in a field of shiny red and green chillies. The next one was of Jem, and the next, and the next. There were still lifes, too, of flowers and spices and chillies. Jem suddenly felt embarrassed and self-conscious.

  ‘Ralph …’ she began.

  ‘Shhhhh’ – Ralph put a finger to her lips – ‘just look – just enjoy.’ And there she was, just as he’d envisaged, twisting her head this way and that, peering at the captions, turning towards him every now and then with a quizzical look on her face that said ‘You’re mad,’ but that was also full of affection, wonder, excitement and, he was absolutely sure of it, love.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  ‘So, is there any particular reason why you didn’t tell Jem about our little drink at Oriel at Christmas?’

  Smith looked momentarily nonplussed and scratched his chin. ‘Oh, but I did. I guess she just forgo
t,’ he sniggered, and pushed his hands deeper into his pockets.

  ‘Hmmm.’ Cheri let it pass. ‘She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she? I bumped into her once, outside the house and we had a little chat. I thought she was gorgeous.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah. I suppose so.’

  ‘It’s funny, because we spent all that time talking at Oriel and you didn’t mention her once …’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Quite gave me the impression you were single, actually.’

  ‘Yeah, well …’

  ‘Which is a shame, because I sort of hoped that you would be.’ She circled the rim of her glass with one long, brown finger. ‘We got on very well that night, didn’t we?’

  Smith’s eyebrows shot up to his forehead and he stood up straight. ‘Oh, God-I mean, Jem and me – it’s nothing serious, really.’

  ‘That’s not what she told me.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘That time I chatted to her outside the house. That’s not what she told me. She told me all about her dreams and how you and she were – how did she put it? – destined, that’s right, destined to be together.’

  ‘Well, Jem’s very sweet but she can be a bit –’ He pulled an extraordinary face involving crossed eyes, a protruding tongue and an index finger circling around his temple, then snorted and shoved his hands back into his trouser pockets.

  ‘Really! Hmmm, I have to say she seemed very sane to me. But she’s absolutely mad about you, she really is.’

  Smith smiled smugly and shrugged. ‘I know,’ he said.

  ‘But I thought you said it wasn’t very serious …’

  ‘Well’ – he scratched the back of his neck – ‘it’s not –for me. D’you know what I mean? I think’ – he looked around him and lowered his voice an octave – ‘I think it’s a bit of a case of unrequited love, to be honest. I mean, I’m very fond of Jem – don’t get me wrong – really very, very fond of her. She’s a lovely girl, as you so rightly said, but … she’s not “the One”. You know what I mean, don’t you, about “the One”?’ He raised his eyebrows conspiratorially and moved his body an inch or two closer to hers.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she replied, ‘Mr Right. That sort of thing.’ She flashed him a dazzling smile. What a slimy bastard, she thought to herself, gritting her teeth. Ralph had been so right about him. She’d had her misgivings about this whole scenario – she was only here for Karl and Siobhan, after all. And now they were happily ensconced together at the other side of the room, looking terribly pleased with themselves – it looked like her plan had been a resounding success – and she could just call it a night, go home. But she was in full flow and after just five minutes with this scumbag she was keen to do whatever it took to get him out of Jem’s life. She watched Jem and Ralph move across the room, his large hands on her small shoulders, guiding her gently around the pictures he’d spent nine weeks locked in a damp, cold studio painting for her, pictures of her. She’d noticed the little frisson of discomfort that had flickered across Jem’s face when she’d walked in and seen her and Ralph together, looking like a couple. Cheri knew that look better than most. She’d been jealous. She felt more than friendship towards Ralph, it was obvious. They looked right together. Ralph had been right, she could see that now. This awful Smith character was just an obstacle.

  She looked across the room again at Siobhan and Karl, deep in conversation and laughing together, and smiled to herself. She was having so much fun being a good person! Now, if she could just get Smith out of the way tonight and clear the path for Jem and Ralph, then she really would be a fairy godmother! Cheri smiled again as a lovely feeling swam through her stomach, a big, fat, happy fish of goodness. She turned back to Smith and stunned him with another of her prize smiles.

  By eleven-thirty, most of the fake guests had left – they had to get up early the following morning to catch flights to New York and Tokyo and Sydney, for shows and shoots and castings – and Ralph’s real friends had arrived, fresh from the pub around the corner, loud and drunk and ready to party. The evening, it seemed, was only just beginning.

  Someone put Abba on the CD system and within the first three bars of Waterloo’ pretty much everyone was dancing, clutching champagne bottles in their hands and swigging from them as they moved to the music, singing along to the lyrics at the tops of their voices. Smith had Cheri by the waist and was spinning her around the room, rather heavy-handedly.

  Siobhan and Karl were sitting quietly in a corner absorbed in conversation.

  And Jem was in the toilet, crying her eyes out.

  She hadn’t spoken to Smith all night. Not one word since they’d got there. First of all he’d been so deeply involved in conversation with that Cheri girl that she hadn’t liked to interrupt, and then he’d whisked Cheri off on to the dance floor and they hadn’t stopped dancing since. And Smith didn’t even like dancing. She brought her tissue to her face as fresh tears began to cascade down her pink cheeks. She was embarrassed and she was humiliated. She wasn’t used to being treated like this. Ralph had tried to console her, tried to put her mind at rest, convince her that there was nothing to worry about, but for God’s sake, Smith was all over that girl.

  And then there was Ralph. It looked like all that love stuff was going to come to the surface again any minute. Jesus – a whole room full of peonies and paintings of her and all their favourite food and compliments and hand-kissing and tingles up and down her spine and the way … the way he’d put out his finger to touch one of her little satin roses … it was all so intimate, so exciting, so gorgeous and so fucking wrong. It was all so fucking wrong. Smith was her boyfriend – although you wouldn’t think it judging by his behaviour tonight – and Ralph was her friend, and now her feelings were every bit as confused as they’d been before Ralph had gone away. No, they were more confused, much more confused …

  Jem marched out of the cubicle, splashed her face with water from the sink, mopped it off with a paper towel, adjusted her dress, poked at her hair and squared her shoulders. She needed reassurance. She needed to know that Smith loved her. For the first time ever, she needed to hear him say it. She was going to walk out there and grab him away from that horrible girl and make him tell her then and there, so she could hear it, so she could get her mind straight and stop all this Ralph nonsense once and for all.

  She gave herself one last stern look in the mirror, turned on her heel and strode out into the gallery.

  Siobhan had been trying to tell Karl, all night, about her and Rick. She’d taken a dozen deep breaths at appropriate moments, steeled her nerves, and then lost it. How could she? He looked so happy, his face was aglow with joy. He was so thrilled to see her and was trying so hard to make a good impression, to say all the right things. He’d asked her how things were going at her mother’s; that would have been the perfect opportunity to have said something, but she just couldn’t. He’d be so hurt, so angry. She’d said something inconsequential in reply and changed the subject. She’d suggested that they get up and dance, to avoid conversation, but he’d said no – I just want to sit here and talk; I’ve missed you so much; I want to talk all night. So they sat and talked and now they were talking about Karl’s radio show, the infamous one, and Siobhan knew that any moment now the conversation was going to get serious – very serious indeed.

  Smith was absolutely plastered. Completely, totally and utterly hammered. It was only because Cheri was such a good dancer and was so strong that he hadn’t fallen over yet. His thick hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, his shirt was damp and crumpled, and he had a ridiculous expression on his face which he probably thought was a suave smile but which looked more like the village idiot’s on a bad day. He was hopelessly out of rhythm and kept singing the wrong lyrics to the songs, without noticing.

  Cheri had had enough of dancing with this cretin – he was making her look bad – and she encouraged him off the dance floor with the suggestion of getting a drink. He followed her like a pissed puppy.

  �
�Cheri,’ he slurred, leaning awkwardly against the wall, clasping a glass of champagne, quite obviously trying to look cool and failing miserably, yet again, ‘you and me. We should get together, y’know – some time.’ He raised his eyebrows lazily, in a ‘How about it?’ sort of way.

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ Cheri replied wearily. She was tired of this now.

  ‘Yeah,’ leered Smith. ‘You and me – we’re good together, aren’t we – we’ve got something – special. Can’t you feel it?’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

  ‘That night at Oriel, that was great, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘And tonight. Shit – it’s been brilliant. We’ve talked all night and danced and everything …’

  Cheri was looking frantically around the room, for Ralph or Jem or anyone to come and rescue her. She was bored stiff.

  ‘ … and I really think that you and I – well, I think it’s destiny … d’you agree?’

  Cheri wasn’t even listening any more. ‘Yeah,’ she murmured. ‘Yeah, sure.’

  Smith had failed to notice that Cheri was stifling a yawn and looking at her watch. He’d decided that enough was enough. He’d waited long enough and now, this instant, this very moment, was the right moment. This was it!

  He slammed his drink down on the bar, threw himself to his knees and grasped Cheri’s hands in his. ‘Oh, God, Cheri! I love you. I’ve always loved you!’ His voice rang out around the room; he didn’t care who heard! Ralph looked away from the conversation he was having with his mate John’s girlfriend and watched with horror. He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. Smith was up to his old tricks. ‘I’ve loved you for five years and … I want us to be together for ever.’ Smith slavered wet kisses on to the backs of Cheri’s hands. Ralph’s eye was caught by someone emerging from the toilet at the back of the room. It was Jem, looking red-eyed and walking forcefully towards Smith and Cheri with a determined look on her face. He saw her jaw drop when she noticed Smith’s lips on Cheri’s hands and he watched her stop in her tracks when she heard Smith, at the top of his voice, with all the abandon of a man in love who has had too much to drink and is no longer in control of his senses, shout out for the world to hear, ‘Cheri, I love you. Will you marry me?’