Going Home. Harriet Evans

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      ‘But how did you get a flight at such short notice, Rosalie? Aren’t they all booked up?’ Jess asked.

      ‘Weeeell,’ said Rosalie, ‘you have a very wonderful uncle.’ She clenched her hands into tiny fists and punched the air. ‘Hey! Thank you for this man!’

      I glanced covertly around me, not sure whom she was thanking. Us? The Lord? Jim’ll Fix It?

      She went on, ‘He actually had me booked on to a flight the week after we met – he was always going to get me to come over with him because he wanted me to see your beautiful home. And, I must say, it’s such an honour to be here. You truly have a really…beautiful home.’

      ‘Oh dear, where are those glasses,’ I said, and slid out of the room.

      At the kitchen table, Mum, Chin and Tom were whispering like the three witches in Macbeth. They sprang apart guiltily as I walked in, then visibly relaxed.

      ‘I was just telling them he met her at a law conference last month!’ Chin hissed across the table at me.

      ‘I know,’ I said.

      ‘And they only got married yesterday!’ Tom said, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis.

      ‘I heard that too,’ I said.

      They looked at me crossly, as if I was ruining their fun.

      ‘I can tell you that she’s just given thanks for such a wonderful man and she thinks our home is really beautiful,’ I said, with a glance over my shoulder to make sure the coast was clear.

      ‘Noooooooooo!’ they chorused.

      ‘Also that Mike booked her on the flight home a week after they met because he knew even then he wanted us to meet her.’

      ‘Noooooooooooooooo!’

      ‘Yes,’ I said, much gratified at their reaction.

      ‘Is she a money-grabbing whore?’ said Tom.

      ‘Is she even a lawyer?’ said Chin. ‘She doesn’t look like one.’

      ‘I’m sure she’s a very nice girl,’ said Mum, suddenly becoming a grown-up again.

      ‘But I bet she saw a picture of the house early on and convinced herself Mike’s, like, a duke or something,’ said Chin.

      ‘I’m sure of it,’ said Mum then she paused and collected herself. ‘Well, anyway, it’s lovely to have Mike home and I’m glad for him. She seems lovely and I’m sure they’re very happy.’

      We glared at her, disappointed. Mum picked up the glasses and another bottle of sloe gin – thank God for Jess’s nimble fingers in October. We were positively racing through the hooch that night.

      ‘Let’s have one more quick drink and then supper.’

      We glared at her again, and Tom sighed. ‘Aunt Suzy, don’t be a Goody Two Shoes.’

      ‘Hello!’ said a voice at the door. We whipped round, and there was Rosalie.

      ‘Good grief, Rosalie, you made us jump! I was just getting you a glass. Everything OK?’ said Mum, running her fingers through her hair.

      ‘Yes, of course, Susan,’ said Rosalie. She brushed invisible dust from her sleeve, smiling as if she was visualizing chapter two of a self-help book on forging relationships with strangers. ‘Hi, Ginevra, hi, Tom, hi, Lizzy. I just wanted to know if there was anything you needed help with out here.’

      ‘How kind of you, but don’t worry. You must be exhausted. Go back into the sitting room – supper’s nearly ready,’ said Mum, with a glint in her eye. I could tell she was looking for something to like in her new sister-in-law. Tom, Chin and I shifted from foot to foot: we are not nice people and didn’t want to like her.

      ‘Come and help me set the table if you want,’ I offered finally.

      Rosalie looked delighted, and so did Mum. It was almost a touching domestic scene.

      We went into the dining room next door and started with the cutlery. ‘There are ten of us, and the plates are in that cupboard. I’ll get them,’ I said.

      Rosalie painstakingly counted out ten knives and forks. Was she a lawyer? She looked like a fully-clothed member of the Baywatch cast. Who moves their lips when they count to ten? I thought, then realized that I did.

      ‘OK,’ I said. ‘The wine and water glasses are here. And the napkin rings – can you fetch that bowl from the dresser?’

      Rosalie reached behind her and put the bowl on the table. ‘Do you all have them? They’re, like, silver!’ she cried.

      ‘Er…yes, we do. They are silver. We were all given one as a christening present, but my dad has my grandfather’s – he died a few years ago. So there’s a spare for Gibbo.’

      ‘The Australian guy, right?’ She paused. ‘But, hey, since I’m a member of the family now, I suppose – shouldn’t I have it? Gibbo’s not, like, married to Ginevra, is he?’

      She asked it so artlessly, but with such cunning, that I was taken aback. It was such a tiny thing, but I saw that it could easily be the Thin End of the Wedge, plus I’d recently watched a late night American made-for-TV movie starring Tori Spelling called Mother, May I Sleep With Danger? about a woman who keeps giving in to her thankless, dim cheerleader daughter which results in the daughter nearly getting killed by her boyfriend from the wrong side of the tracks who has a penchant for bumping off his inamoratas with a wooden chopping board. It is all super-ironic because the mother knows she could have prevented the near-death by being firm with her daughter from the get-go. Anyway.

      ‘No, you can have this one,’ I said firmly, and handed her a wooden ring. I looked at her. She bowed her head, as if admitting defeat, and I felt like Maximus Decimus Meridius in Gladiator, accepting the cheers of the crowd in the after-math of a particularly bloody bout.

      Mum came in. ‘I’m going to ring the bell now,’ she said, and looked at Rosalie. ‘Or would you like to do it? First time in the house, and you’re a member of the family now, aren’t you?’

      Damn you, Mum, I thought.

      Rosalie seemed delighted, and swung the huge Swiss cowbell that my great-great-grandfather brought back from a painting trip in the Alps and which had stood on the shelf in the dining room ever since.

      The others came in, and we all sat down. Jess poured the wine and Dad stood up. ‘I’d just like to make a little speech.’

      Saints preserve us! Two in one evening. By this stage I was wondering why I’d come home for Christmas at all, and feeling that my flat – even though the only food in it was those white beans you have to soak overnight so you never get round to cooking them – would be a lovely place to spend Christmas with a bottle of wine for company.

      ‘Erm, well, here’s to Mike and Rosalie,’ Dad said, in a rush, drank and sat down. It was his shortest speech ever, but at what СКАЧАТЬ