Chapter 5 #2
‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?’ Kamran was on his feet, tinkling his glass with a pudding spoon and appearing uncharacteristically nervous.
‘I’ve – we’ve – invited both families here this evening not only for you all to get to know each other but to celebrate the fact that my…
our’ – Kamran raised a glass in Fabian’s and then my direction – ‘dream of opening a restaurant in this lovely village of ours is well on the way to becoming a reality. The whole area might still appear something of a building site at the moment, but all services have now been installed in The White House, the kitchens will be fitted out in the next couple of weeks, and we’re meeting with the promotional teams any day now.
And, as you will appreciate from the fabulous food we’ve eaten tonight, we have, in Fabian, a chef who knows his onions, as it were… ’
‘Here, here…’
‘Fabulous food…’
‘Fabian…!’
Laughing and congratulating along with the other guests, Kamran eventually put up his hand. ‘All is going to plan, so can I ask you to take your glasses and raise a toast to The White House?’
‘The White House.’ I joined in, perhaps more loudly than those around me and, waving my glass somewhat erratically in Kamran’s direction, spilled red wine over my hand. I bent to lick the drops from my arm and was gratified to see Fabian grinning across at me, obviously amused.
‘But…!’ Kamran held up his hand once more for attention.
‘I… we… have something else to announce.’ He gazed down the table towards Mum, who was blushing furiously but was unable, it seemed, to suppress the utter joy she was obviously feeling.
‘Lisa and I have only been together a few months but… when you know… you know. I’ve already spoken to Georgia, Sophie and Sammy… ’
‘Kamran’s children.’ Shirl nudged me pointedly in the ribs.
‘I didn’t want to announce anything before I got my children’s blessing…’
‘He always does things right, does Kamran,’ Shirl whispered. ‘Just like my Imran.’
Bloody hell, I thought; he’s asked Mum to marry him.
‘…but I’ve asked Lisa to marry me and, lucky man that I am, she’s agreed.’
There was a stunned silence, probably like the metaphorical calm before the storm (I’d never been party to this particular meteorological phenomenon and, until this moment, had put the phrase down to poetic licence, but now understood more where the phrase came from) and then there was kissing and back slapping and congratulations all round.
As well as, from Dean, much winking and thumbs up across the table in my direction.
Which I ignored.
Oh blimey, what was I going to do without Mum next door?
I’d always been a homebird, too anxious to leave home at eighteen to take up my offered university place.
Preferring, instead, to get myself pregnant in order to be with Dean who, at the time, was such a catch, never quite able to believe that I’d actually caught and married him, happy to settle down next door to Mum with him.
Ignoring the sisters-in-law to my left who, for a reason known only to themselves, were looking particularly sour-faced at the news that Mum would be joining the ranks of the Sattar wives, I glanced across the table towards Robyn, desperate to know what she was thinking.
Would she approve? Was she happy at the news?
She certainly appeared to be. Locked in a clinch with Fabian, who was stroking her hair, Robyn was obviously happiness personified.
Kamran walked down the length of the table to Mum, taking her hand before pulling her to her feet and wrapping her in his arms, gazing down at her with such love, I had to look away.
Had anyone ever looked at me like Fabian, and now Kamran, were looking at my sister and my mum?
I felt something akin to loneliness take over every bit of me.
For heaven’s sake, Jess, I censured myself, offering up a ridiculously huge smile and over-the-top wave towards the happy couple.
But as they were wrapped up in each other, it went unnoticed and I put down my hand, feeling foolish, reaching instead for my glass of wine.
You’ve argued for most of your adult life that Mum should ditch Jayden.
I continued the conversation in my head.
That she should move on to someone who would love her as much as she deserves to be loved.
I needed to stand, needed to walk over to Mum and to Kamran and give them both my love, congratulations and approval, but I didn’t appear to be able to move from my seat.
Instead, I took the option of drinking more wine, vaguely aware that Beau was moving down the table, placing plates of pudding in front of each guest.
‘Roasted fig and orange cake with a fig-leaf ice cream,’ Beau was murmuring solicitously into each guest’s ear with an accompanying flourishing descent of each plate.
I heard Dean’s guffaw, as well as something about his eating enough figs that evening to make going to the lav an absolute cert in the morning, before I gave full attention to the delicious-looking pudding that Fabian and Kamran had produced between them.
Food, particularly sweet, comforting pudding, had always been my answer to the black dog that had a tendency to descend on my head from time to time, and I immediately got stuck into the fabulous dessert.
Yes, thank you, Beau, I’d love a glass of the pudding wine he was now hovering at my side with.
He poured a large glass at which I sniffed appreciatively, like some knowledgeable wine connoisseur, before sipping and then knocking back in one.
‘Steady on, love,’ Shirl admonished. ‘You’ll be on your back if you carry on like that.’
Through an alcoholic haze and now feeling rather sick, I looked across at Dean, who was still monopolising the woman who had been brought to the celebratory dinner – and then abandoned – by George, the obnoxious one.
The blonde, I suddenly remembered, had been introduced as Farrah. ‘Charlie’s Angels on the telly, years back,’ I heard myself laughingly shout across the table. ‘Farrah Fawcett Majors, that’s who you were named after, I bet. Did you know? You could use your intestivagat… ingestivigatise…’
‘Investigative?’ Robyn smiled across at me but, I realised, there was an accompanying frown to the smile on her face.
‘That’s the word,’ I said, hiccupping slightly.
‘Blimey, that’s a relief. Anyway, as I was saying…
’ I paused to pour more wine. ‘…as I was saying, Farrah Fawcett…’ I downed the wine and pointed the empty glass towards the blonde, who was now looking terrified.
‘Gosh, just realised: faucet is American for tap. Why the Americans can’t just say tap like we do is beyond me.
And fanny pack as well: that’s another one.
Bum bag is bad enough but, you know, fanny, for heaven’s sake.
Who would have thought Farrah was actually Farrah Tap-Majors?
’ I started giggling then, found myself unable to stop.
‘Anyway, Farrah, you’ll be able to use those ingestiv…
those detective skills… to work out where your date for the evening appears to have disappeared to…
’ I hiccupped once more and, pointing a finger at Dean, added, ‘As well as work out just where my husband’s hand is right this minute… ’
I paused, leaned back in some triumph on my chair at my witty handling of the situation, before the chair fell back with a crash, taking me and my decrepit trainers with it.