Page 2 of The Happiest Ever After
‘What menu have you chosen for the reception?’ askedPolly, leaning against the sink because there wasn’t a spare chair for her. The fourth one had broken months ago. She and Chris were supposed to be going to choose a new dining set but like everything else he’d promised, it hadn’t happened.
‘Italian bruschetta for starter, fillet of lamb served pink, something with goats cheese for the vegetarians, I forget what’ – Camay flapped her hand in such a way that showed her disdain for anyone awkward enough not to eat meat – ‘chocolate fudge cake or crème brûlée for dessert.’ She pronounced the ‘crème’ as if she were clearing a pint of phlegm from the back of her throat.
‘Did you really need three courses?’ asked Chris, who was the total opposite to his sister in his spending habits. His tone was as tight as if he was footing the bill himself.
‘Five. There’s cheese and coffee as well,’ said Camay. ‘One must do these things right, Christopher. If you’re going to have just a select few present, they should have a select menu to match.’
‘I love lamb,’ said Ward, spitting out biscuit crumbs as he talked. He ate very noisily always, his jaw clicking.
‘Oh god, look at you,’ said Camay, taking a handkerchief out of her bag, spitting on it and then reaching over to dab at a blob of chocolate on his shirt. He tapped her hand away and said, ‘Leave it for the housekeeper.’
‘You have a housekeeper now?’ asked Chris, eyebrows raised.
‘Well, we had to get one. I simply haven’t got the time to maintain a five-bedroomed house with three reception rooms myself. She’s live-out, of course, but she’s very good.’ Camay’s eyes dragged from one side of the kitchen to the other. ‘She’d clean this place up so much you wouldn’t recognise it.’
Polly felt a growl in the base of her throat. The house was spotless, even though Chris was untidy and could make it look like a tip five minutes after she’d bottomed it. He left all that domestic stuff to Polly because it wasn’t fair he did housework as well as all the hours he did in his garage, he’d say. In a police line-up, he couldn’t have picked out an iron in the middle of a row of mops.
Polly remembered what this house was like when she moved in. There was more fur on the skirting boards than there was on next door’s five Persian cats. Once again the idea of a tiny flat or house with just her own mess to contend with made something warm swell up inside her. Maybe she’d find the sort of little cottage that featured in her novel-in-progress, with its old stone walls and doorway framed with sweet-scented flowers. She’d be happy there, she knew she would. She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t wait for this wedding to be over; she couldn’t wait to be alone.
‘She’s made our porcelain sparkle. Our bidets look like brand new again,’ went on Camay, lifting the mug to her mouth with her little finger stuck out like a countess. As always when she was in Camay’s company, Polly reaped some killer lines that were the equivalent of gold dust for her creative writing assignments. Polly wondered if that’s what professional novelists did: harvest conversations. She’d never be a Catherine Cookson, she didn’t want to be, but she did enjoy being imaginative and it was marvellously cathartic to put the world to rights on paper. Her hobby had been a lifesaver this past year. She felt as if she were a god in her own world, a parallel universe where karma was her chief of staff; where people got full credit for what they did and all the notable knobheads got their comeuppances.
‘Waste of money, weddings, if you ask me,’ said Ward,jaw clicking as he crunched. ‘All that moolah spent on other people.’
‘Shut up, Ward,’ said Camay. ‘Don’t pretend you aren’t looking forward to it.’ There was a threat in her tone. Polly knew he wouldn’t dare look anything less than euphoric on the day, whatever he felt.
‘I like your mug,’ Camay commented then, smiling at her brother as he glugged his coffee. ‘World’s best dad. Shauna or William?’
‘Birthday present from Shauna,’ said Chris. His daughter liked all that sort of tat. There was a ‘World’s Greatest Daddy’ trophy on a shelf in the lounge and a ‘My Wonderful Dad’ teatowel in the drawer. There were no matching ‘World’s Best Step-Mum’ pieces for Polly; Shauna never even sent a card. Chris’s son Will, however, unlike his sister, never missed. He’d been thirteen when Polly came into their lives and that first Christmas he’d bought her a brooch. Chris had made a joke about it, calling it an old-lady present in front of his son, and so Polly had said, to undo the damage, that sheloveda brooch but no one ever bought them for her. It became a thing; Will had bought her a brooch every birthday and every Christmas since, and she kept them in a treasure box. And sometimes, when the occasion demanded, she took them out and wore them. It said something that all the brooches were now in her handbag, ready to take with her on Sunday.
‘How is Shauna?’ asked Ward.
‘Very well,’ replied Chris. ‘She loves her new job.’
Course she did, she worked in the DSS office, deciding who received benefits and who didn’t. Polly could imagine her in a Colosseum-shaped office, turning up and down her thumb like a female Caligula.
‘What about William?’ asked Camay.
‘He’s all right, he’s doing some admin or something,’ said Chris. He’d never shown the same interest in his son as he had his daughter, which was a crying shame because Will was a much nicer person and the only one of them Polly would miss when she left.
‘It will be good to see them at the wedding,’ said Camay, then she clicked her attention away from him and onto Polly. ‘Before I forget, the hair and make-up woman will be here at nine on Saturday.’
Polly raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘A hair and make-up woman? For me?’
‘Yes of course for you,’ chuckled Camay as if Polly were daft. ‘I’ve briefed her on what to do with you. So wash your hair, leave it damp, she’ll do the rest. The car will be picking you up at eleven thirty-five. Chris will be staying with us the night before. He and Ward are going to have a few drinkies to celebrate. A mini stag do.’
It was the first Polly had heard of it.
‘Right then, we’re all sorted.’ Camay stood. ‘Ward, are you ready?’
Ward whipped the last biscuit from the plate as he got up.
Polly and Chris saw them out. On the drive, Camay gave her brother an affectionate hug and planted a real kiss on his cheek, then turned to Polly for her usual double air kiss near her ears. Ward didn’t do kisses, Polly was grateful for that. It would have been like being slobbered over by a walrus.
Back inside, Chris went to the cupboard to get a Jaffa Cake only to discover that there were none left.
‘Did you have to put them all out, Pol? You know what bloody Jabba’s like.’
Chris’s pet name for his brother-in-law was Jabba the Hunt.
