The Gin O'Clock Club

by Rosie Blake

  Teddy x

  Chapter 14

  Love is like my dishwasher: comes with no guarantee

  CYNTHIA, 79

  A man in a balaclava stood at my door and for a second my life flashed before my eyes. Before I could scream or summon help he had rolled the material up over his face. I raised a hand to my chest, waiting for my heartbeat to slow.

  ‘Is this an appropriate outfit for ice-skating?’ Grandad was on my doorstep, looking to be wearing his entire wardrobe. The green cords he only ever gardened in had been tucked inside ski socks rolled up to his knees, his face was partially obscured by tartan fabric and he was wearing about eight jumpers and tops, different coloured collars all sticking up.

  ‘You’re going . . . ice-skating?’

  He gestured with ski gloves. ‘Howard has invited along some of the female golfers. We’re going to an ice disco. Part of this being-young-and-hip thing. A sort of group date. You should be pleased.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, trying to arrange my face into an encouraging expression, ‘I am pleased. Do you want to come up before you go? I have wine.’

  Grandad pushed inside. ‘Just a quick one. Can’t get tiddly before I hit the disco. Are you alone? Do you want to come tonight?’ he asked, moving up the stairs to our flat.

  ‘Well, I really have, um, work, I could be . . . you know, maybe I . . . ’ In truth I had finished my brief and was currently watching Friends reruns on Netflix. An open bottle of white wine stood as evidence on the coffee table in front of the big screen.

  ‘Where’s Luke?’ Grandad asked, looking around the living room as if Luke might emerge from behind the other sofa.

  ‘He went to an opening of some gallery to do with Pop Art or something – I’m not sure. Not my thing.’

  ‘So, you’re free. Do come. It will be much more fun with you there.’

  Grandad was animated, a little nervous perhaps, although the perspiration could easily have been due to overheating. All the same, I felt an urge to go with him, to show him in this small way that I was here for him. I nodded.

  ‘All right then,’ I said. ‘But I haven’t ice-skated since I was about eight years old.’

  ‘I have never ice-skated. It was Howard’s idea. He thinks it’s the kind of night that young people would go to and we are trying to embrace dating like the young, so . . . ’ He shrugged. ‘It’s an improvement on his last plan – making us all join Tinder together.’

  I managed to catch most of the wine I was drinking in my hand. ‘You’ve joined Tinder.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Grandad motioned to an imaginary mobile. ‘I know how to swipe left, swipe right. My DMs are open,’ he announced with a twinkle. ‘But’ – he dropped his head – ‘no one writes to them.’

  I was too shocked to commiserate.

  ‘Actually I went to Nando’s and . . . so,’ he coughed, decidedly fidgety all of a sudden, ‘how cold is it likely to be?’

  ‘In Nando’s?’ I frowned.

  ‘No, never mind about that.’ His eyes darted away from me. ‘I meant on the ice.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure you need all eighteen jumpers,’ I said, standing up and stretching. ‘Give me five minutes.’ I went off to find some layers.

  ‘A lot of it is padding if I fall,’ Grandad called through to me as I rummaged in my cupboard. ‘The ice can be a tricky beast,’ he said, as if he had some idea.

  Moments later I was sitting in a minibus driven by Dennis from the club, squeezed between Margaret and Arjun as we pulled away from our flat. They had detoured to pick us up, sliding the door back with a cheer as we bundled out of the flat: the Michelin Man and his granddaughter. The bus was full, a couple of people I didn’t recognise but most I did, excited chatter filling the air.

  ‘Glad you’re coming,’ Arjun said as I settled in my seat.

  Margaret immediately offered me a Polo for the journey. ‘And thank you for the links to those websites and podcasts. I am now a regular listener of The Guilty Feminist and have been discussing Third Wave Feminism with Arjun here, who is also going to subscribe.’

  ‘Girl power,’ Arjun said, solemnly punching the air.

  I already felt glad I was there.

  ‘I was in one of the first UK groups as an Ice Capade when I was younger,’ I could hear Paula telling Geoffrey, who was pressed flat against the window in the front row as she leant towards him. ‘I was extremely good. I used to wear very tight leotards.’ She licked her lips. ‘I hope I can remember some of the moves . . . ’

  ‘I imagine it’s like getting back on a horse,’ Geoffrey squeaked and I stifled a giggle.

  We pulled up in a car park on an industrial estate, a large cinema and TGI Fridays opposite the warehouse-style rink. Dennis slid the door back, helping everyone down. As I watched the slow progress of our group, some already complaining about lower back problems, tricky hips, I sent up a quick prayer that we would be back on the minibus later with all limbs intact.

  Teenagers in red peaked caps stood, slack-jawed, watching our huddle arrive. Taking out my phone I snapped the image of nine people in their seventies and eighties changing into ice-skating boots on wooden benches, the boy in the booth behind them still looking shell-shocked. Grandad had swapped his leather brogues for ice-skating boots. ‘Such fun. Does he shine our shoes for us while we skate in these?’ I sent the photo to Luke, knowing it was bound to make him smile.

  ‘Are you coming on the ice, Lottie?’ Margaret asked, her hair now hidden under an oversized hot pink bobble hat with a cat stitched into the front.

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said, laughing as ‘Gangnam Style’ started up on the speakers, neon lights flashing down on the ice. Everywhere we looked there were groups of children or teens racing around the ice, holding hands, wobbling unsteadily along the sides or skidding to a halt. The air smelt of hot dogs and old shoes and I was glad for the layers I had on.

  I was enjoying the mindless activity, getting into the flow of things as I moved across the ice, grinning at Geoffrey as he clung, green-faced, to the side. Grandad was making slow but steady progress, his face set in a determined line, his balaclava now rolled up on top of his head. Margaret, was popping Polos like they were speed and following a few paces behind. Arjun was in his element, gliding seamlessly in a sweeping circle, giving me a double thumbs-up as he passed before narrowly avoiding a kissing couple holding hands.

  Howard was drinking a bright blue Slush Puppie and talking to Paula, still stretching, on one of the benches on the side. He kept eyeing the ice warily, slurping on his straw.

  I came to a stop next to Margaret, who was wobbling uncertainly. ‘How are you finding it?’ I asked her.

  Her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes bright.

  ‘I’m hopeless. But it’s wonderful to be out all together like this, and doing something so different, too. Apparently this is all down to you and your charming boyfriend.’

  ‘Well, in a roundabout sort of way I suppose,’ I said.

  ‘How are you getting on with finding things to do for your challenge? I’ve had a few ideas,’ she added quickly.

  ‘Like what?’ I asked, intrigued by her eager expression.

  ‘Well, I enjoy the ballroom dancing lessons we have in the hall. I always think younger people should get involved, it’s really made for them. Some of the dances are impossible, you wish you had more flexibility and energy. The Lindy Hop is beyond me. But you’re young, you’ll have the energy, and so many are great fun too.’ She added, ‘You can really connect when you’re dancing, it’s so intimate, having to read each other’s body language, anticipate the moves . . . ’

  I screwed up my nose.

  ‘Or board games,’ she said, sensing my reticence. ‘A simple evening sitting round a table together playing something as a group. It can be an excellent way to spend time.’

  ‘That could work,’ I mused.

  ‘Oh, I’m so pleased,’ she said, her face turning almost as pink as her hat.

  ‘Do you want to hold
my hand, we might be more confident together?’ I offered her my gloved hand and she took it and we set off round the ice at a steady pace.

  ‘I’m doing it, I’m doing it,’ Margaret cried out as she started to grow in confidence. Grandad lifted a hand as we both passed and we nearly crashed trying to return it.

  ‘Your grandad is a nice man,’ Margaret said.

  ‘You should spend more time together. This group seems really friendly,’ I said.

  ‘There are lots of different things going on at the club but we don’t often come together in smaller groups like this. The men seem very close, it’s lovely to see.’ Margaret smiled as Geoffrey and Grandad were spotted in the distance, holding each other up on the ice.

  ‘That’s the golf, I think,’ I said. ‘Grandma always called herself a golf widow. It’s such a shame you don’t get to play with them too.’

  ‘Oh, the men-only tradition goes back years,’ Margaret said reverentially. ‘There was enormous panic when they gave us a half day.’

  ‘So?’ I snorted. ‘It’s wrong. You should do something about it.’ I was distracted then by a boy with ginger hair and a terrified expression bearing down on us. Margaret, who had grown thoughtful by my side, was saying, ‘Do you know, Lottie, maybe I will.’ I twisted to protect her, shouting, ‘Watch ouuuuuu—’ before the boy swept between us and we all tumbled down together.

  Margaret survived, leaving in tentative steps. Just before setting off again I called over to Howard, who turned away from Paula and stepped gingerly towards me. I couldn’t help staring at his mouth, tongue and lips, which were now entirely Slush Puppie blue, as if an inkpot had exploded inside him.

  ‘You getting on soon, Howard?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure I’m cut out to be on ice.’ He leaned closer to me, lowering his voice. ‘I’m more at ease on dry land.’

  ‘Wasn’t this your idea?’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t think anyone would actually go for it. It was a joke. I should have shut up once I’d got them all on Tinder. That’s the problem with being a natural leader.’

  ‘Come on, Howard,’ Paula said, beckoning him with a long scarlet talon, her other hand holding something grey and furry, ‘you can put your hands in my muff if you like.’

  Howard’s mouth fell open, a large, stained navy blue maw, as I exploded into giggles beside him.

  ‘Good God,’ he whispered to me as he reached to take her hand and stepped on to the ice.

  Darling Cora,

  I had a text message from the daughter of the Nando’s lady who ghosted me: it transpires she died! Which is obviously very sad, but also, terribly, a small relief. I just didn’t want to think she had seen me sitting in Nando’s and run a mile.

  That’s terrible, isn’t it? The poor woman.

  Although I am a trifle cross with myself because in a fit of paranoia I gifted the jacket and Robert Redford checked shirt to the charity shop, assuming they had had a bearing on my rejection. Maybe I could purchase them back?

  Certainly the world of modern dating is extremely eyeopening. Howard is now threatening to take us all speed dating but Geoffrey has point-blank refused and he can be stubborn when he wants to be. Instead we came up with a few alternatives – the most fun part of this ridiculous scheme has been spending more time with the boys and getting to know others from Maplelands club better.

  A few nights ago we all went to a youth roller disco on ice! Lottie came too and she and Margaret spent some time together. She’s a nice lady, Margaret, and I’m glad Lottie has someone she can talk to, woman to woman so to speak: I know she misses you terribly. It has been wonderful to catch glimpses of the old, relaxed Lottie again: I think we’re getting her back, Cora.

  The biggest surprise of the evening was Arjun, who proved to be a secret ice-skating marvel. At one point he was skating backwards talking to Paula, his legs moving in a figure of eight like a graceful, elderly cast member warming up for Strictly. I do believe Paula was a little put out (she lost her muff trying to keep up). Skating on ice is probably not going to prove to be a new hobby for me, however. Geoffrey and I were both pretty hopeless, although we were fortunate enough to fall down only twice. He did teach me all the moves to the ‘Macarena’, which he says is a popular youth dance, so the evening wasn’t completely wasted.

  All these activities seem to have put even more of a rocket up Howard and he came over last night to get me on to an ‘app’ called ‘Happn’. We discovered half the club, including Arjun, were on it too. It is done by location so now Howard wants to create a fake profile and arrange to meet up with Arjun. I have obviously vetoed such an idea unless Arjun does something that annoys me, in which case I will give Howard the green light. And you always said I wasn’t mature!

  Although I have zero interest in really meeting anyone on these ‘online platforms’, I am enjoying the japes and doing something other than moping about remembering how much I love you and the cruel fact that you are no longer here. I laugh more now and I am grateful to have friends who haven’t given up on me. I never really knew how lucky I was until now: they are a tonic.

  I love you, Cora, it will always be more fun with you by my side but I am trying, every day, to live my life and enjoy these moments while I have them.

  Teddy x

  Chapter 15

  Love is like a flower: it needs tending to for it to grow

  TERRY, 84

  It was the weekend of Amy’s hen do. We’d spent approximately 15 weeks and 783 emails finding the date that suited everyone. Shift work, childcare, weddings, other hen dos had to be navigated around. Amy’s sister, Natalie – the other bridesmaid and the biggest control freak I’d ever met – had stepped in when I’d proved useless. And now it was here. I had been in charge of bringing the novelty balloons and penis straws, which Luke had discovered and been using to drink his nightly water with that week.

  ‘That’s gross,’ I said, pointing to him as he slurped.

  He looked up, grinning at me. ‘You brought them into our lives.’

  ‘But I . . . you . . . ’

  He continued to slurp loudly.

  I gave up and walked out of the room, listening to his low chuckle.

  We were meeting at Natalie’s house, which had an openplan living room and kitchen spilling out on to a small terrace and narrow strip of grass. Natalie and I had kissed cheeks and then spun into a frenzy of activity, preparing things before Amy arrived, laying out glasses and finger food.

  I had blown up one of the large penis balloons and thought it would be funny to greet Amy at the door with it. The doorbell rang and without thinking I ran down the corridor to open it, thrusting it out towards her. ‘Haaaaappy hen dooooo,’ I squealed.

  ‘Muuuuummmmyyyyy,’ came a cry. And rather than Amy, a woman in a beige three-quarter-length coat and a sour expression stood wide-eyed, staring at my offering. A tiny person streaked past me, pounding down the corridor as I stood, erect penis balloon in hand.

  Oh God.

  Natalie, eyes boggled, standing in the kitchen doorway, scooped up the toddler, who immediately hid his face in her shoulder. I started stuttering at the unimpressed woman on the doorstep to whom I had proffered the penis balloon.

  ‘Thanks, Maureen,’ Natalie called. ‘Lottie, meet my mother-in-law, Maureen.’

  ‘Hi,’ I swallowed, offering the hand that wasn’t holding the penis balloon. Maureen didn’t take it.

  Maureen left with a pursed lip and a muttered goodbye. I cringed against the door as I closed it behind me.

  Natalie grimaced. ‘Sorry, Lottie, I should have warned you. My au pair is ill so Tom is with us today. Maureen could only take him for an hour but don’t worry, he’ll be napping soon,’ she said in a hurry.

  I was frantically trying to hide the large inflatable penis behind my back as Tom kept staring at it bobbing around above me. ‘Oh, oh right, that’s great. Hi, Tom. How, how old is he now?’ I asked, pretty sure Natalie had been pregnant the last time I saw her.
r />   ‘Tom’s just turned two, haven’t you, darling? Two. Say hello to Lottie.’

  Silence from the toddler person.

  I returned to the large kitchen, the carpet now filled once more with crayons, plastic cars, bowls of uneaten goop and stray spoons. I swear the toddler had done catastrophic damage in less time than it took me to open the door.

  ‘Balloon,’ Tom piped up as I tried to secure the large cock to the back of a chair.

  Natalie bit her lip. ‘Yes, darling, it’s a . . . it’s a . . . ’

  ‘Balloon.’ Tom confirmed as if his mother was a blind moron.

  Fortunately at that moment the doorbell went and Tom turned to launch himself back into his mother’s arms.

  ‘Sorry, he gets a bit overwhelmed when people arrive,’ Natalie said, scooping him up again and heading to the door. ‘Breaks the routine.’

  ‘Right, well I’ll unpack the rest of the things here,’ I said, realising almost everything in the two large carrier bags I had brought along were either penis-shaped or covered in pictures of penises.

  Clearing a space in the living area, I then positioned chairs in a large circle in preparation for everyone’s arrival. Hearing Amy in the corridor I looked up just as she appeared, stonyfaced, in the doorway.

  Natalie was following behind her, Tom tugging on her top saying, ‘Play with balloon. Play with balloon now,’ as she kept talking to Amy’s back.

  ‘ . . . honestly he naps for ages, you won’t notice, oh and Ems and Polly can’t make it. And maybe Char because she was meant to be getting a lift from Polly.’

  Amy’s face had turned thunderous as she looked across at me.

  ‘Hey.’ I gave her a sympathetic smile and halfhearted wave.

  ‘Sorry, why can’t they come?’ Amy said, turning to her sister.

  Natalie ticked the reasons off her list. ‘Ems: suspected chicken pox, her child not her; Polly got her dates confused and is meant to be at her boyfriend’s family get-together in Swansea, and Char, well, Char can’t drive and is worried about public transport.’