by Jane Moore
"I know, I know," she acquiesces. "But you know me, when it comes to a sad story, I'm Little Miss Sucker."
"Isn't she a porn queen?" I can't help myself.
Tab gives me a withering look. "Anyway, since then she has called me a couple of times just for a chat, and she was really quite nice. I really do think the whole Dan business has knocked the stuffing out of her a bit. So I felt a bit sorry for her and invited her along tonight."
I throw my head back in mock despair. "I've known her since school, so it's harder for me to break from her evil clutches, but you? . . . you barely know her and you've been sucked in." I make a loud slurping noise.
"Oh don't be such a drama queen," groans Tab, flicking the side of my head with a Queen's Golden Jubilee tea towel. "Don't worry, I've made sure you're at opposite ends of the table," she says, pointing to the name cards she's placed by each setting.
"Opposite ends of the country would be infinitely more preferable," I mumble, pouring myself another generous glass of wine. God knows, I really need it now.
There's a loud knocking at the front door and Tab disappears down the corridor to answer it. Reaching across to the Welsh dresser at one end of the room, I pick up a pen and start scribbling.
"Are we unfashionably first? If so, we'll walk round the block and come back again." I hear Richard's voice, moving nearer down the corridor. "Bloody hell, it's Snow White," he says, clocking the ribbon I have tied into my hair in an attempt to spruce it up a bit.
"And which dwarf are you?" I shoot back.
"Sauced already, are we?" He jerks his head towards my sprawled legs and the empty wineglass in my hand.
"Sober as a judge."
"Darling, the best six weeks of sex I ever had was with a happily married," . . . he simulates quote marks with his fingers, ". . . high court judge, and he was like a drunken sailor most of the time." He stoops down and gives me a peck on the cheek.
Lars saunters into the room behind him, a lazy smile on his face. "Hi Jessie, you good?"
"Me very good, thanks," I reply, pouring them each a glass of wine.
Richard is already moving around the table studying the name cards. When he reaches the end setting, he looks momentarily puzzled and opens his mouth to ask Tab a question. "Who's . . ."
"It's Kara," I butt in, pulling a "shut up" face at him.
"Oh, I see." He grins wickedly. "And how is the dear creature since her dreary boyfriend dumped her? Will she be drinking, or is she driving her broom here tonight?"
"She's arriving by cab," says Tab. "She's coming straight from visiting her parents."
"Ooh, evening opening hours at the asylum," says Richard. "How very flexible."
I laugh loudly, suddenly looking forward to tonight's events after all, particularly with Richard in such a devilish mood.
"Stop it, you're all rotten," chides Tab. "The poor girl is devastated." She turns to glare at me. "And you should know that better than anyone, seeing as though she confided in you."
"Hardly," I scoff. "She just sent me to try and talk Dan round, because she couldn't face doing it herself in case he knocked her back again." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
"Ooooh, really?" Richard's nostrils are flaring with the scent of gossip. "You never said."
"That's because it was supposed to be private," I mutter, silently vowing never to drink again. I take a swig of wine. Oops.
"There shouldn't be any secrets between friends," he says in a syrupy voice. "So do tell, what did Dan say?"
"Nothing really," I lie. "Just that they both needed a break for a while."
"Yeah, right," he drawls. "Oh well, I shall just have to ask Kara when she gets here."
"No, you fucking well won't!" I throw a cashew nut across the table at him.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Tab claps her hands together like a schoolteacher. "Do you two mind reeling it in a bit? It's my birthday and I want it to be an evening of sophistication and wit, not degenerate into mealtime with the Beverly Hillbillies."
"Sorry." We both snigger in unison.
There's the door again. This time, Lars ambles down the hallway to answer it and, seconds later, Madeleine and Will walk in, having both arrived at the same time.
Everyone equipped with a drink and seated in their respective chairs, Madeleine jerks her head towards the table. "So who are we waiting for?"
"Kara," I say flatly.
"Yes, we're all players in a new theater production of Waiting for Godonlyknows," quips Richard, grinding the remnant of his cigarette into the ashtray.
Tap tap tap. The wait is over.
"I'll go," says Tab quickly, clearly anxious that none of us seem capable of a cheery welcome.
She reappears with a rigid smile bolted on her face. "Look who's here everyone, it's Kara!"
She pops her head over Tab's left shoulder and gives us all a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Her hair is scraped back into a ponytail, making her look more severe than usual, and she's dressed in her usual head-to-toe black. "Hello all." She bends down and rummages inside her handbag. "Before I forget, happy birthday!" She hands Tab a small, beautifully wrapped package.
"Oh, you shouldn't have!" beams our hostess, tearing at the paper to reveal a pretty silver bracelet with small fake diamonds embedded in it. Well, I presume they're fake.
Kara glides towards the table as if on castors, her neck ramrod straight, her expression slightly imperious as usual. "Where am I?" She hovers alarmingly by the empty space at my side, then notices that the name card reads "Tabitha."
"You're there." I point to the end of the table, where Will and Lars are already in position either side.
Picking up the name card, she reads it aloud. "Beelzebub?"
She looks for an explanation straight to Tab, who, blissfully unaware of what's going on, turns back from the sink and smiles. "Sorry?"
"It says Beelzebub on my name card." She holds it aloft.
Tab laughs. "No it doesn't, it says Kara. I wrote it myself."
I clear my throat dramatically. "Actually, I wrote it," I say, turning to glare at Richard, who deliberately avoids my gaze, even though the corners of his mouth twitch. "Just a little joke."
"As you can see, I'm clutching my sides," says Kara flatly, screwing up the card and lobbing it into the bin.
An uncomfortable silence descends for a few moments, with Tab busying herself by handing round the plates of salmon mousse and Will rearranging the wine bottles in the fridge.
Clearly unable to bear the conversational void any longer, Lars decides to fill it with a question. I really wish he hadn't.
"So, Jessie, did you go out wiv your married man or no?"
His words hang in the air, where I dearly hope they'll evaporate into nothing before Kara even notices they're there. No such luck.
"What married man?" She positively bristles with delight.
I sigh wearily, a lamb to the slaughter. "You remember my first Internet date . . . the one who did a bunk through the kitchens?"
Kara nods enthusiastically.
"Well, he got back in touch last week, asking if he could meet me to explain . . . I rang Lars to ask what he thought I should do."
"And me!" chimes Richard.
"And me," say Madeleine and Tab simultaneously.
"I see." Kara's tone is frosty.
"I tried calling you a couple of times, but you didn't answer," I mutter unconvincingly. "Anyway . . ." I look at Lars to show I'm talking to him. "Yes, I did go and meet him, and yes, it turned out he was married. With the emphasis on was. His final divorce comes through in a month's time."
"So he says," scoffs Kara.
"Oh sorry, Kara, I didn't realize you know him." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Richard and Madeleine exchange "oooer" glances. I know I shouldn't rise to Kara's bait, but everything about her tonight is like a maddening itch under the collar, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let her rain on my Simon parade.
"I don't," she says wi
th a sniff, "but you have to admit it all sounds rather implausible."
"Au contraire," I retaliate. "He offered to show me his decree nisi."
Richard places a palm against his chest and rolls his eyes. "Oh, couldn't you just die from the romance of it all!"
I glare at him. "Don't you bloody well start."
"So what happened after that?" It's Lars, clearly making an effort to try to return things to an even keel.
I finish off the last of my salmon mousse and push my plate to one side. "I agreed to go on another date, which took place this time last week."
"And?" Richard leans forward, an intense look on his face.
"And what?"
He raises his eyes heavenward. "Oh, stop being so fucking coy. Did you have sex with him?"
"Certainly not," I fib indignantly. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"
"Darling, I know what kind of girl you are, that's why I ask."
Tab, who already knows the Simon story--without the meaningless, frenzied sex bit--starts to clear away our starter plates. Madeleine, who knows the Simon story with the meaningless, frenzied sex bit, says absolutely nothing. Bless her fishnet stockings.
"So is this going to be an ongoing thing?" asks Kara, clearly hoping I'm about to admit he did a bunk through the kitchens again.
"Yep. We're going to the cinema tomorrow night."
Thankfully, with the arrival of the main course, accompanied by the prerequisite oohs and aahs, everyone seems to tire of the subject of my love life and the conversation moves on to the showbiz gossip in that day's papers. Finally, as we're all cleaning our plates, Tabitha excuses herself to go to the loo.
"Where is it?" I hiss urgently at Richard the minute she's gone.
He stands up and scuttles off into the hallway, returning with a paper shopping bag with the words "Patisserie Valerie" on the side. "Ta dah!" He strikes a game-show-hostess pose.
"Quick, Will, large plate!" I bark, ripping off the packaging to reveal a sensational white chocolate cake with "Happy Birthday Tab" scrawled on top in spidery writing. Rummaging furiously in my handbag, I ram a gold candle in the middle and click my fingers at Richard to light it.
We fall back into our chairs just as Tab walks back through the door. "Now then, who'd like cof . . ." She stops mid-sentence as we start singing "Happy Birthday" and gesturing towards the cake. "Ohmigod!" She clamps a hand to her mouth. "That's just fabulous."
"Happy birthday, dear Scabby Taaaaart!" sings Richard at the top of his voice. "Happy birthday to yoooooou!"
Tab blows out the candle and we all applaud loudly, sinking gratefully back into our chairs.
As she starts to cut hefty slices and pass them round, the sound of metal clanging against glass cuts through the chitchat. It's Kara brandishing a spoon.
"First of all, thanks to Tab for inviting us all and I think, as an extra birthday treat, we should all wash up."
Furious that Kara is hijacking the proceedings as if she were a close friend of Tab's, I mutter mutinously to Richard: "I wish she'd dry up."
But no such luck.
"Now then, I have some news," she continues, the undeniable gleam of self-satisfaction in her eyes.
"Don't tell me, they've found the bastard who did that to your hair?" quips Richard.
"Very funny." Kara's face doesn't even crack a smile. Pausing for dramatic effect, she scans the table to make sure she has the attention of every last one of us. "No, my news is that Dan and I are back together."
My mouth falls open, a small flake of chocolate dropping out and landing on the table. I can't believe what I'm hearing.
"Kara, that's fantastic news!" enthuses Tab. "I'm so pleased for you both."
"Thanks. I always knew we wouldn't be apart for long." Kara directs this remark straight at me, her beady eyes gauging my reaction.
Having managed to marginally compose myself by now, I smile benignly. "Great. So when did that happen?" An image of Dan kissing me pops into my mind and I briefly close my eyes to try to blot it out.
"A few nights ago." Her eyes are shining with victory. "He rang and said he was missing me terribly and wanted to see me."
"Really?" I don't attempt to disguise my complete surprise at this sudden turnaround by the man whose final words to me were "It's over for good."
"Yes, so I kept him waiting for a couple of days . . ." She turns towards Madeleine and Tab. ". . . well, you have to, don't you? They mustn't think you're keen . . . and then I agreed to meet him just to talk things through."
"And, voila, you just fell into each other's arms," says Richard, furtively shooting me a derisory look.
"Not quite." Kara smiles benevolently. "Obviously, I had to get a few things straight first and a guarantee that the same thing wasn't going to happen again."
"And you got that?" I ask. This just gets better and better, or is it worse and worse?
"Yep," she says triumphantly, pouring herself another generous helping of wine. "So, whilst you can never say one hundred percent, I doubt very much we'll be splitting up again." Her face takes on a dreamy look. "The making-up bit was sensational."
Richard pulls a "yuk" face. "Well . . ." He raises his glass. "A toast to Tab's birthday, to Jess's new relationship, and to Kara being rogered senseless again. Cheers!"
"Cheers!" we all chorus.
Toast over, the conversation moves on to other things, with Richard and Will discussing the merits of rugby player Jonny Wilkinson--though from different perspectives, I suspect. I can hear Richard telling Will that he would "never take part in a sport that has ambulances on standby."
On the other side of the table, Tab, Madeleine, Kara, and Lars are chatting about his new picturephone. So far, he reveals, the only image he's received is one of Richard's ass.
I sit facing them, my body language and expression suggesting I'm engrossed in their conversation, but really I'm in a world of my own, thinking about Olivia. And Kara. I'm still baffled by Dan's change of heart so soon after our conversation.
As for my sister, we have spoken on the phone since she returned home from her mastectomy, and she was trying hard to sound upbeat and positive. But tomorrow I will physically see her for the first time.
I will do my utmost to mirror her positive outlook, but inside I'm dreading it.
Twenty Nine
Michael opens the door still in his dressing gown. "Blimey!" He looks at his watch. "I don't think I've ever clapped eyes on you at this time in the morning before."
"I woke up at seven and couldn't get back to sleep," I say with a sheepish smile. "Things are on my mind."
"Yes, I know what you mean." He stands aside to let me pass. "Olivia is still in bed, so go up if you like."
I dwell in the hallway, waiting whilst he closes the front door. "How is she?" I deliberately keep my voice low.
He gestures for me to follow him through to the kitchen, minimizing the chances of her hearing us talk.
"Coffee?" He waves the kettle at me and I nod. "In answer to your question, she's as well as can be expected." He wrinkles his nose. "God, that sounds like a real doctor-ish thing to say, doesn't it?"
I smile warmly. "Yes, it does. A husband-ish answer, please."
He lets out a long sigh and I notice how gaunt his face looks, illuminated by the early morning light pouring in through the window. "She's very up and down, to be honest. When she first came back from hospital, she was quite up, hyper almost, gabbling on excitedly about how well she felt and that she was convinced everything was going to be all right. And of course she becomes extremely bright and cheerful whenever she thinks about the children coming back tomorrow. She's missing them terribly." He pauses for a moment and stares out of the window.
"Then?" I say gently.
"Then yesterday, literally just as she'd put down the phone from an upbeat chat with Matthew and Emily, she just went downhill, crying uncontrollably and saying she couldn't bear the thought of dying."
Tears well up in his eyes and he
hastily brushes them away, clearly embarrassed by someone other than Olivia seeing him so vulnerable.
"Michael, it's OK." I move forward and put a reassuring arm around his shoulders. "Believe me, I have cried about it until I'm utterly exhausted. I just try to be strong around Olivia, but it's bloody hard."
"Me too." He smiles wearily. "I'm like a robot around her sometimes, because it's the only way I can stop myself from falling apart. I've taken this week off, so I haven't even got work to hold me together."
I pour boiling water into our cups and hand him one. "Michael . . ." I pause, unsure whether I should ask the question, but I have to know. "Is there still a chance she could die?"
He nods his head miserably. "Yes, I suppose there is, although I have to say that it's only a very small one. The operation went very well and once they've blasted it with chemo, well . . . we just have to keep our fingers crossed that it doesn't come back." He stops and closes his eyes for a few moments, his face wracked with pain. "I'm still trying to get a grip on all of it."
"You're doing just fine." I smile reassuringly. "Olivia's very lucky to have you around . . . you're very lucky to have each other."
"Believe me, I know." He sighs. "Sometimes, I wonder if all this is somehow our punishment for having had such a happy marriage up to now . . . you know, our payback time." He stares up at the ceiling.
"Nonsense," I chide gently. "It's just one of those things. But if anyone can beat it, Liv can." I take my coffee and turn to head upstairs. "I plan to stay here for several hours, so if you want to go out and get some fresh air or whatever, don't worry. I'll be here."
"Thanks," he says gratefully. "I might just do that."
Climbing the stairs to Olivia and Michael's bedroom, I feel the nagging thud of fear in the pit of my stomach. I'm not sure what--or who--I'll find. The door is half open, the room beyond shadowy, its curtains closed to block out the light. I tap gently.
"Come in." Her voice sounds sleepy.
"Hi, it's me," I whisper, stepping into the gloom and peering in the direction of the bed.
She's sitting upright, propped up by pillows, her head lolling back against the brown leather headboard. Her eyes are open but she looks groggy, her hair smooth one side but ruffled the other, where she's been sleeping.