‘You’re going to be disappointed, we’re not that exciting,’ Jenna said. ‘We actually thought you’d come to dress Gigi for the photoshoot. It’s the kind of thing she’d do, bring a dresser along.’
‘I’d have done it, too,’ I laugh. ‘I wish I’d thought of it.’
Ben says to David, ‘What have you bought her for her birthday, David?’
Jenna clamps her hands playfully over her husband’s mouth. ‘Don’t ask that – it’s a secret,’ she says.
David picks up the sports bag and puts it on the table. ‘I’ve made her a wooden chopping board with her name and date of birth carved on it,’ he says.
Ben laughs. ‘David, mate!’
‘What’s so funny?’ he asks amiably.
‘You’ve made her a chopping board?’
Jenna nudges him. ‘Shut up, Ben.’
‘Sorry, buddy, but what’s Gigi going to do with a chopping board?’
‘Chop things up. Trust me, when she sees it her eyes’ll light up.’
Ben and Jenna are both looking at him expectantly as if they’re waiting for a punchline, a wink, a sign that it’s a joke.
David puts the sports bag back under his seat. ‘Okay, drinks,’ he says, rubbing his hands together, completely unfazed.
Ben goes with him and Jenna and I sit at the table.
Jenna giggles. ‘He’s such a kidder,’ she says fondly. ‘He thinks he’s kept the ring a secret.’
‘Yeah,’ I agree.
Lola kneels on the seat next to Jenna and plays with the reserved sign.
‘What does this say?’
‘It says reserved,’ Jenna replies.
‘What does reserved mean?’
‘It means no one’s allowed to sit here apart from us,’ Jenna explains.
‘And me?’
‘Yes, all of us, Mummy and Daddy and David and Gigi and Fern and Alexa and Max and Albie and Rowley.’
‘But no one else?’
‘No, just us. Very territorial, aren’t we?’ Jenna says, flashing me a look.
I smile, because actually they haven’t been that territorial; they’ve included me and I’m really enjoying myself, not just because of the fact I’m going to eat soon, but also because they’re good company, fun company. I’m in love with them all. I get like this over people as well as clothes – when I’m having fun I want to keep it going; I want it to last forever.
David and Ben come out with two trays of drinks and some laminated menus, and the three boys came racing into the garden, followed by Alexa and Max.
‘Gigi’s on her way,’ Max says, putting his phone in his pocket then untying his pink jumper from his neck and pulling it on. ‘She’s been waiting for the photographer.’
The sunny day has turned breezy and Alexa’s laughing and trying to hold her billowing dress down as she comes to sit next to me. ‘Stupid frock. Fern, didn’t people used to put weights in frocks or something once?’
I put my fingers to my throat. ‘Um, well, Chanel puts chains in the hems of jackets to make them hang better. And I think the Queen has weights in her skirts to save embarrassment, but … I don’t know. I could be wrong about that.’
‘Isn’t it wonderful to have a style expert who knows these details,’ David says wryly and I feel myself blushing.
The boys come running up, chasing a blue football, and behind them is Gigi and a bald man with two Nikons around his neck.
‘Here she comes!’
Gigi’s wearing the Ossie Clark ‘traffic light’ dress with the plunging neckline and she puts on an exaggerated catwalk stride as she walks towards us. She stands right in front of David with one hand on her hip, the breeze wrapping it tight around her legs.
‘Like it?’
‘You look amazing.’ He puts his hands on her hips and smiles up at her, a true and loving smile. ‘Come and sit here.’ He makes a space for her and hands her a glass of prosecco. ‘Happy birthday.’
‘Cheers.’
She takes the Alice band out of her pink hair and runs her fingers through it. The sun makes it sparkle like angora.
The photographer takes his lens cap off and captures the moment.
Jenna passes her the menu. ‘Who knows what they want? No, don’t tell me until I find a pen. Anyone got a pen?’
Ben has a pen in his jacket.
‘I need something to write on.’
I’ve got my sunglasses on, listening to the conversation, feeling the warmth on my face. Although my dress is beautiful and airy, the halterneck top is feeling a bit sticky. I feel the tickle of an insect on my neck as I flick it away and look down and notice the flower print is dotted with greenfly. Huh?
I’ve left my insect repellent at the house. I’m practical that way.
‘You’re covered in greenfly,’ David says.
I look at him over my sunglasses. ‘I know.’ I should move away from the table to brush them off. It’s not cool to sit at a table sprinkled with insects. Again, I feel the opportunity to say something witty and sparkling come and go.
‘They think you’re a wild flower meadow,’ Gigi says suddenly.
‘Romantic!’ David replies.
It’s hugely endearing, the way they laugh at everything, and it’s heightened by the excitement, the anticipation of David’s grand gesture to come.
I sip my wine and when I next look down, the greenflies have all disappeared. Maybe they’ve come to some mutual understanding that despite appearances, my dress isn’t organic.
Ben begins to write down our order. How many for fish and chips? How many for tuna ciabatta? Thai prawns? Green salads? Sides of fries?
The food isn’t the main event; we eat quickly as if it’s something that needs to be got out of the way so that we can share in that big secret that’s been so badly kept and so enjoyed.
Plates cleared, a waiter comes out with a birthday cake dotted with flowers. Following him is the barman with champagne and glasses.
The candles keep blowing out and we form a huddle around it to keep them alight and sing ‘Happy Birthday’. When we start clapping, the breeze blows the candles out again. Gigi says that Dave’s always telling her to save her breath and now she has. She divides the cake and we toast her. The photographer’s circling the table, getting candid shots, waiting for the moment, THE moment. David reaches under the table and we hear the sound of ripping Velcro and the bag unzipping.
Gigi looks at David with a lovely smile.
Gigi’s present is gift-wrapped neatly and topped with a pink bow.
He makes room on the table and puts it down in front of her. ‘Happy birthday, Gigi,’ he says softly.
Gigi frowns and tears a hole in the wrapping, like a child. In the sunlight, the oiled wood gleams through the ripped paper. She bites her lip and sits back in her chair.
‘Carry on,’ David says. ‘There’s more to see.’
He’s looking at her eagerly – waiting, I suppose, for her eyes to light up.
The camera shutter is the only sound I can hear. We’ve all fallen silent. He’s seriously miscalled it and he’s the only one who hasn’t realised it yet.
She doesn’t bother to unwrap the paper completely. She rests her chin on her fist and looks up at him. ‘What is it?’ Her voice is dull, disinterested.
David’s still smiling. ‘Open it properly! It’s a chopping board,’ he says. ‘It’s got your name on it.’
She sits back in her chair again. ‘Yeah, thanks, Dave. When I take it to meet all the other chopping boards, I’ll know which one is mine.’ She scratches her shoulder and looks across the table at us, frowning as if she’s forgotten we’re there.
‘It’s maple,’ he says. It seems to dawn on him that the gift has gone flat and it’s painful to watch.
If the engagement ring exists, I think, now is the time to bring it out. For his sake, I shut my eyes, praying for one.
‘Beautiful patina,’ Ben says encouragingly after a moment.
David glances at him, hi
s face impassive and dignified.
How could she do this? I’m embarrassed for him.
But Gigi looks humiliated, too. She pushes the gift away from her and knocks her champagne glass over. The prosecco spills onto the board and pools in the wrapping paper.
Max jumps to his feet and dabs it with his paper napkin. I’m still watching Gigi and hoping for just one word to make it right again, for Gigi to look at it properly and throw her arms around him in delight.
But she doesn’t.
David puts the wet chopping board in its dripping wrapping paper and puts it back in the sports bag.
No one says anything. It’s hard to know what to say.
Gigi gets up and goes inside the restaurant and Jenna follows her.
I’m playing with the stem of my glass.
‘She was expecting an engagement ring, buddy,’ Ben says, putting his arm around David’s shoulders.
David looks genuinely surprised. ‘Why?’
‘Because you made such a big deal about keeping her present a secret, you berk,’ Max says, his pale eyes hard. He’s angry and I don’t know if this is how they always are with each other, whether this is the normal dynamics of their friendship or not.
‘I didn’t think we were there yet, in our relationship.’
‘She was there. She was never going to want a chopping board, was she?’ Max said. ‘For God’s sake, why do you think she got the photographer?’
David shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Because she’s Gigi. Fuck,’ he says, resting his face in his hands.
I want to be the one to put my arm around his shoulders. I want to tell him she’s an idiot and doesn’t deserve him. I want to tell him that I’d appreciate with all my soul the time, the effort, the craftsmanship, the love that he’s put into it.
I watch Ben slide the empty prosecco bottles towards himself and crowd them together like a visual statement of the amount that we’ve drunk.
I see David looking towards the restaurant.
The photographer’s still hovering. ‘Do you want me to stay?’ he asks David.
‘No. Yes. Hang on a bit will you, mate,’ he says, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll go and talk to her.’
Jenna comes back a few minutes later, fanning herself with her cap. ‘Gigi and David are heading back to the house,’ she says to no one in particular. She picks up the knife and cuts a slice of cake. ‘Anyone else want a slice? It’s a shame to waste it.’
The tension has set up a carb craving in me, too. ‘How is she?’ I ask, holding out a plate.
‘Embarrassed and humiliated,’ Jenna says, cutting me a large wedge. ‘She thought he knew her better than that. That’s what they’re like!’ she said, her voice lifting with frustration. ‘They don’t talk to each other; they both assume they know what the other wants. Like when he’d had a really stressful day at work, Gigi told him to follow his dreams, you know, the kind of thing you say to make a person feel better. And three months later, he’s handed in his notice and they’re living off peanuts.’
‘But David said …’ I start to protest and then change my mind. I could have misunderstood him when he said Gigi was very supportive. I don’t want to take sides.
The only person who seems to notice that I haven’t finished the sentence is Max; he gives me a knowing smirk that makes me feel uneasy.
When we get back, David and Gigi have made up. That’s how it looks, anyway.
They’re down on the jetty with the photographer and Gigi’s posing, only it’s not a pose, it’s completely natural – whether she’s hugging one arm, or sitting on the jetty with her feet dangling in the water, or folded up thoughtfully with her chin resting on her knees; all of it is unconsciously elegant and somehow poetic in a way that touches me. Watching her, I try to analyse it and I imagine adopting the same position, but it’s a quality peculiar to her.
David’s wearing a fresh white shirt and pale trousers that show up his tan and he puts his arm around Gigi’s waist. Against the shimmering water they would have looked like the perfect couple, like every Instagram I’ve ever envied, if only Gigi hadn’t abruptly twisted away from him.
He’s not quite forgiven, obviously.
A windsurfer tacks across the water, its sail blazing red. I can hear ducks quacking and a swan puts in an appearance in the distance.
Gigi calls me down to join them and suddenly I’m part of the picture. We take our shoes off and dangle our feet in the cold water, disturbing the fish that are hiding in the shade.
Gigi looks across the lake. ‘Fern, do you fancy a swim?’
‘You can’t swim here,’ David says. ‘There’s all sorts of junk in it, it’s an old gravel pit.’
She points across the water. ‘Look! He’s swimming.’
‘He’s not swimming, he’s that windsurfer and he’s just fallen off.’
‘Fuck off, Dave. You’re so sensible, you know that?’ she says vehemently.
‘Hey, guys!’ We look up as Jenna and Ben come outside and lean on the barrier, arms around each other, all loved-up, making happy noises of appreciation while their children run around behind them.
‘We’ll have to do something this afternoon or we’ll go stir-crazy,’ Gigi says. ‘We could hire some canoes, couldn’t we?’
‘Sure,’ David replies.
I think about telling them that I ought to go home. It’s not exactly that I feel like a gatecrasher, but there are too many undercurrents.
You can’t tart up a relationship with nice clothes and hope that it’ll look fine. It’s what’s underneath that counts. I don’t know if that was just something that Max said to mess up my mind, but it hit a nerve. I know I like David too much for comfort and I can’t bear to see him get hurt. I’m losing control of my emotions.
A terrible thought hits me: You don’t just like him; you love him.
I have an urgent need to get away and think about things clearly, in my own time.
I take my phone out of the pocket of my shorts and look at it intently, as if I’ve suddenly felt it vibrate. ‘Excuse me,’ I say, and I leave the jetty and go up the steps past Jenna and Ben. I go to my room, pack my things and make up my bed.
I scribble a thank-you message on the back of one of my postcards, put my stuff in the boot and go back out to find Gigi.
She’s alone, lying on a lounger. She smiles and shades her eyes with her hand to look at me as I invent a fairly plausible story about Lucy phoning me about a visit from the loss adjusters. ‘But it’s been great,’ I add.
I had the idea of sloping off surreptitiously, but Gigi gets up and announces to everyone that I’m leaving, and they commiserate that I’ve been called away at such short notice.
They all come out with me, all bar David, which is both a disappointment and a relief, and they each find a farewell stone to stand on in the gravel border. The children, too, stand on the rocks in the gravel in the garden among the wild grasses and ferns. Before jumping back onto hers, Gigi runs over and gives me a hug through the car window, and they keep waving as I drive away.
KIM
Time’s a great healer. Both Mercia and Betty have told me that, and to begin with I was eager to believe it. And over these many days I’ve held onto that thought and waited patiently for my pain to scab over, but it’s not happening. It’s not happening yet. It’s the opposite. As the days stretch on, I miss Enid more, and the hole in my life that started off small just gets bigger and bigger.
I’ve always loved Enid; she was my wife. But I liked her, too. If she were here, she’d have something sensible to say to me and then I’d know how to cope. That was one of her strengths, I could rely on her to do things right. She’d never, for instance, have told me that time’s a great healer, I’m certain of that.
I feel abandoned.
Enid didn’t choose to go, I know that. She hung on longer than anyone has a right to who hasn’t drunk or eaten in five days, and she did it for me – she stayed with me as long as she wilfully could.
And then she left, torn from me, that’s how it felt; she gasped with the speed of it.
And now I’m lonely. Loneliness isn’t something that fills you up. It empties you.
Her absence has stopped feeling like an adventure, the adventure of a boy alone in his house. To begin with the kingdom is all his, he has biscuits to open, his mother’s shoes to try on, Coty talcum powder to dust down his trousers. The time passes, and he looks through the window and sees the day is growing dark. He begins to wonder … when will she be back? And the boy goes to the door and looks out into the empty street in the empty night, standing so long that his bones creak and grind as he tries to conjure her up from the dark.
The boy’s question is: who’s going to look after me?
‘Enid?’ I say sharply.
Silence.
I don’t know what I’m expecting. I’m not expecting her to reply, that’s for sure, and if she did, I’d know I had finally lost my mind. But I’d like something, some sign from her to let me know she’s okay and that she’s thinking about me; that I haven’t been left on my own.
‘I wondered if you were here, that’s all,’ I conclude apologetically. She wouldn’t like me hectoring her.
The phone rings – ring ring ring – making me jump, and I hurry over and stare at it as if I’ve never seen it before, this black rectangle with the blue glow and all the buttons, most of which we don’t use. And the noise is like a crying, crying, crying baby, demanding attention, and I’m scared to answer, because when I answer, it won’t be her. But if I don’t answer it and it stops ringing, I can pretend it was; that she rang, rang, rang, rang, rang me up with advice.
I pick it up. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s me!’
It’s not Enid. ‘Hello, Dinah.’
‘Listen! I’m managing the stall for Fern and its crazy busy here. Kim? I can’t hear you! Can you hear me?’
‘I can hear you,’ I shout back.
‘You have to come and help me, because I’m on my own!’
It sounds like: You hef to komm and hilp me!
‘I’m on my own, too,’ I tell her.
A Random Act of Kindness Page 19