Chapter 14
Reasons Not to Go to My Parents’ Ruby Wedding Anniversary Party:
Massive backlog of work
Highly contagious fatal disease, requiring isolation
House move to Scotland
Unmoveable engagement, possibly funeral
SJ chewed the end of her pen and glanced thoughtfully at the list. Did you get funerals on a Saturday night? Probably not. She sighed. She’d had more than a week to come up with something good and she’d failed spectacularly.
Perhaps she could say she was taking Tom on a surprise weekend to Amsterdam to celebrate his promotion. It was almost worth doing – he’d always fancied going to Amsterdam. But, ironically, because of his promotion, she wasn’t sure he’d be able to get away.
Or she could say she would go to the party, and be ill at the last minute again. Weak – as well as being very mean. She didn’t want to hurt her parents. But the thought of seeing her sister, Alison, again filled her with terror.
SJ glanced around for inspiration and met Ash’s eyes. The greyhound was on the sofa looking supremely comfy. ‘Oh, Ash, what am I going to say? It needs to be something really good this time, and I’m running out of options.’
He whined in solidarity, before coming across and putting his head on her knee.
She stroked his soft ears. ‘My parents will be here for dinner in less than six hours. I need a game plan. What do you do when you want to avoid something?’
‘Hide,’ Ash’s eyes seemed to say.
That’s what he did when he thought a vet visit was imminent anyway.
‘I don’t think I’m going to get away with hiding,’ she murmured.
She was no nearer to a solution when Tom came in, bearing bulging carrier bags of food.
‘Hello, Tom. I wasn’t expecting you for another couple of hours. I thought you were playing squash with Michael.’
‘We finished early. I’ve got to cook for tonight, haven’t I? I wanted to do something nice for your mum and dad. Besides, I’ve been neglecting you lately.’ He plonked the bags on the kitchen table. ‘Come and give us a hug.’
Oh, no, he must want sex again – and she was too brittle to relax.
Especially for afternoon sex when she didn’t have the rose-tinted glasses of a few gin and tonics.
She didn’t mind him neglecting her on that front at all.
Was it normal to find your husband attractive but not want to sleep with him?
Thinking about that gave her a headache.
Reluctantly, she went into his arms and was relieved to find all he seemed to want was a hug.
When they drew apart, he looked at her, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
He was getting grey hairs, she noticed. Little flecks of silver amongst the black.
He looked tired, too. Eye-tired, as though he’d been staring at a computer screen too long, and there were lines on his forehead.
She smoothed one out with a fingertip. ‘You haven’t been neglecting me.
You’ve had a lot on. I don’t mind. I’m pretty busy with work.
’ Slight exaggeration, but never mind, she didn’t want him feeling guilty.
‘The house looks lovely,’ he said, sniffing the air appreciatively.
SJ smiled. Furniture polish – one quick spray by the front door and a token sweep of the wooden floor always fooled him.
‘Thanks for being so supportive, love. I’d never have got this far if you’d been the type of clingy wife who was nagging me to be at home every five minutes.
It will be worth it in the end, I promise.
I was thinking maybe we could go away for a romantic break when I’ve got settled – what do you think? ’
‘Sounds great. They say Amsterdam’s fantastic in September.’
‘I was thinking more Paris or maybe even Venice. We could make it a long weekend.’
‘Lovely.’ It would be even lovelier if she could manoeuvre it to be on the same weekend as the party. Especially if she could get Tom to book it up now. ‘Shall we go and have a look online – see if they’ve got any cheap deals?’
‘I’m not interested in cheap – I want to spoil you. Besides, we don’t want to clash with your parents’ party. When is that, anyway?’
‘The first weekend in September, I think.’ So much for that then. She hesitated. ‘Tom, I don’t want to miss their special day either, but Alison’s going to be there.’
‘Well, I thought she probably would be.’ He glanced at her, his face softening. ‘We’re going to have to meet sooner or later. Don’t you think it would be better at a party? Then you can just introduce us and after that we can ignore her.’
‘I don’t want to introduce you.’ SJ wondered if he could hear the tremble in her voice. She coughed to disguise it. ‘There wouldn’t be any point.’ Maybe she could just trivialise the situation. ‘We’re never going to be close again – me and Alison, we just don’t have anything in common.’
‘You’re sisters – that’s quite a bit in common.’
SJ grimaced. Alison had that effect on her. Little Ali, with her angelic sweet smile and blonde hair and a pair of demon’s horns growing out of her forehead, always got exactly what she wanted – no matter that it already belonged to someone else.
‘I’m sorry,’ she added. ‘I know it sounds selfish, but I just don’t want to get involved with her again.’
‘Not even for your mum and dad’s sake? It’s their special day.’
SJ looked into his eyes and wished he wasn’t so kind and straightforward.
Dear, sweet, comfortable Tom. He wouldn’t stand a chance against Alison.
Not once she started batting her eyelash extensions and sticking her cleavage under his nose.
He’d be a pushover, she knew he would. Men always fell for that routine.
‘So how about we tell them we’d be delighted to go to their party? Then I can prove to you, once and for all, that I’m completely immune to Amorous Alison. How about that?’
‘All right,’ SJ agreed miserably, knowing it was pointless arguing with him any more. And besides, she knew he was right. She was acting like a ten-year-old.
She screwed up her list, aimed it at the bin and missed. It bounced off Ash’s head, who was back on the sofa, and woke him up.
‘I’m sorry.’ She went and kissed his soft head. He gave a little grunt of adoration. SJ wished it was as easy to love people as it was to love her dog.
* * *
Her parents were due at seven, but as usual they were early. The doorbell rang at just gone half six and SJ went to let them in, wondering if they’d ever take any notice of her much-repeated request that they just let themselves in, they didn’t need to stand on ceremony.
‘Hi, Mum, hi, Dad.’ She kissed them both and took the bottle her father was holding out. ‘Chardonnay – thank you, our favourite.’
‘Shame about the football,’ her father muttered. ‘Did you see it? Referee must’ve been paid off. Bloody criminal.’ He pronounced it ‘bloodeh’. ‘Where’s the man of the house?’
‘In the kitchen,’ SJ told him, smirking. Her father, a staunch Yorkshireman even though he hadn’t lived there since he’d been married to her mother, had never got used to the term ‘New Man’ and was even less acclimatised to the idea that SJ had married one.
‘Bloodeh criminal,’ he repeated, and she wasn’t sure whether this was a further reference to football or to the fact that Tom had just appeared. He was wearing a plastic chef’s apron and had a wooden spoon in his hand – he’d obviously been mid-stir.
‘So what have you done to the house since we came round last?’ her mother asked, unbuttoning her coat and giving it to SJ for transfer to a hanger.
‘Tidied it,’ SJ said hopefully, knowing this wasn’t what she meant.
‘I see you haven’t got rid of these old floorboards yet.’
‘They’re stripped pine, Mum, not floorboards. They’re trendy.’
‘Carpet would be warmer, though, wouldn’t it, pet? Something smells nice – hello, Tom, love. Has she got you in that kitchen again?’
‘I love cooking,’ Tom said loyally, flicking an amused glance at SJ. ‘Come in, I’ll get you both a drink – glass of wine, Helen? And how about you, Jim? I’ve got some nice real ale in.’
‘Sounds grand.’
‘Just a bitter lemon for me, if you’ve got one, Tom. I’m driving. Sarah-Jane, there are cobwebs on this doorframe. I’ve just got one in my hair.’
‘I’ve been busy, Mum. Try ducking, that’s what I do. I’ll have a glass of that Chardonnay – a large one,’ she called to Tom’s retreating back. She’d been planning to have orange juice, but no way could she survive on soft drinks if her mother was in critical mode.
Fortunately her criticism didn’t extend to dinner.
Sensibly, Tom had decided not to do anything fancy, knowing her parents were both plain eaters.
Mum waxed lyrical over the tenderness of the steak and the homemade pepper sauce, and even Dad was impressed.
‘Grand bit of meat, this, Tom. Is it local?’
‘Local to Tesco’s,’ SJ said, fortified by several more glasses of wine, three of which she’d drunk in the kitchen out of sight of her mother’s watchful eye.
They’d switched to one of Tom’s special bottles of Chateauneuf-du-Pape for the meal.
She was just topping up everyone’s glasses when the subject she’d been dreading all evening came up.
‘About our little bash,’ Mum began, with a one-glass-of-wine flirtatious glance at Tom. ‘We thought we’d have a buffet, rather than a sit-down meal. Nothing elaborate – it’s mostly family. But some of them are coming from Barnsley, so we thought we’d better do something.’
‘Not elaborate, she says. Not elaborate – we’re having a bloodeh great marquee in the garden.’ Dad laughed uproariously as if this was some huge joke. Although that was probably the wine on top of the real ale.
‘It’s a gazebo, Jim, not a marquee. Now then, Sarah-Jane, your sister’s kindly offered to help out with the food preparation.’
‘That’s nice of her. Is there anything you’d like me to do?’
‘I was hoping we could rely on you to collect the wine from the off-licence. We’ve ordered a couple of cases of plonk and one of bubbly – that’s for the toast.’