Chapter 18
DOMINIC
I’ve had a shit week, frankly. I’ve missed Flavia so much. I want to laugh with her, talk to her, tell her what I’ve been doing, find out what she’s been up to.
Actually, no, I don’t think I do want an update on what she’s been doing. For all I know she might now be back with Jed.
Seeing her at the station yesterday evening gave me a nasty shock: it made me think that I’m never going to stop loving her and that seeing her will always hurt.
So I don’t want to see her. Unfortunately, I am currently on my way round, with my parents, to Flavia’s mum’s house, for our South Africa trip debrief.
I feel about eight years old, as though I’m being taken by both my parents to a play date.
My mother has been periodically asking me probing questions about whether or not I had a nice time with Flavia, which I have been batting away with bland ‘yes, it was a great trip’ responses.
I get the impression that our two mothers have been discussing their matchmaking plans for us.
I wonder whether Flavia’s mum has been asking her the same questions, or whether in fact Flavia has now filled her in on a reunion with Jed.
It was almost endearing that Sofia genuinely seemed to think that giving me a lift from the station with Flavia might, what, suddenly inspire us to get married and provide her with another grandchild by the end of the year?
It would be very funny if it weren’t for the fact that – obviously – it’s quite the opposite given everything that’s happened.
‘This is going to be such a nice evening,’ my mother says as we turn up the path to Sofia’s house. She gives me a kind of fake-spy look that makes me wonder how old and how stupid she actually thinks I am. Crazy.
‘Yes.’ I fake a smile and keep on walking.
My dad fingers his pocket and I can see that he’s checking that his stash of roll papers and tobacco are in there for when he escapes at the earliest opportunity to the garden for a breather, despite the near-freezing conditions this weekend. I’d be very surprised if he’s in on our mothers’ plans.
We’re welcomed at the front door by both Sofia and Flavia. Sofia is beaming, Flavia not so much.
‘I haven’t invited anyone else, because I thought it would be nice for it just to be us,’ Sofia tells me and my parents.
‘So that we can really focus on the two of you and your trip, Flavia and Dominic.’ Her eyes move between us in laser-like fashion, and I squirm a little.
‘Vinny and Antonio are coming tomorrow for Sunday lunch to see their sister.’
‘Great,’ I say, while my mother’s beam matches Sofia’s and my father already looks a little bored.
To be fair to him, he did ask me if I enjoyed my trip, and even knew that I’d been to South Africa. I can’t remember the last time he paid one of his children that much attention.
Sofia gives us all a glass of champagne – it seems that she’s going all out this evening – and tells us that this is a belated New Year’s celebration.
We sip, and Flavia and I answer questions about Cape Town and the safari.
The conversation does not stray away from the trip.
Both Flavia and I produce a lot of chat about big five animals, ably backed up by Sofia, who evidently did a lot of research before booking the safari.
If it weren’t for the tension between Flavia and me, and the weird knowledge I have that Sofia is definitely attempting to set the two of us up, it would all be very pleasant, because Flavia and Sofia are both inherently lovely people.
After some of us (certainly both Flavia and me) have consumed our bodyweight in the delicious Italian-style nibbles Sofia has provided – from my side I’m definitely eating out of a feeling of not being entirely sure how to act around Flavia – we sit down for dinner.
Sofia has herself at the head of the table, with Flavia on her right and me on her left, so that we’re facing each other. My dad’s next to Flavia and my mum’s next to me. Exactly the way she might seat us all if Flavia and I were an actual couple.
Flavia and I both prove adept at not allowing our mothers to talk to each other – neither of us want to be left to converse just the two of us – and the five of us chat as a group about lots of cosy topics. (Or, more accurately, four of us chat while my dad just cracks on with eating.)
Our conversation is painful. The weather (no joke). Why the council are collecting Christmas trees so late this year (yep, really). My parents’ newly decorated dining room.
Eventually, however, Flavia and I both begin to relax around each other.
I’m thinking I can do this, and I’m guessing she’s feeling the same way.
It’s all perfectly pleasant and, despite everything, Flavia’s company as always makes the most mundane conversation enjoyable.
I love the way she giggles when the conversation gets too boring, but how also she really humours my parents and her mum with her full attention on topics that arguably really cannot be of interest to her.
‘How were your first couple of days back?’ I ask her when my dad – in an uncharacteristic display of actual interest – begins to grill her on her career. We talked while we were away about what the new year held for us, and I know that she’s been back at school this week.
‘You know, I actually really enjoyed them,’ she tells us.
‘I know I’ve only been there since September but the kids are amazing, I have some really nice colleagues who already feel like proper friends, and there’s a real push for positive change in the school, and generally it just all felt really good. ’
We all ask her more questions, and she has some very interesting (and also very funny) stories to tell.
As always, I feel as though I could listen to her all evening. Or for the rest of my life.
I very much want to ask about what she decided about Jed – if anything – but it’s clearly none of my business, and – even if it were – I could hardly ask her now, in front of our parents.
‘Enough about me,’ she says too soon. ‘How was your return to work, Dominic?’
My work stories really aren’t as funny as hers but she has this lovely habit of making you feel as though you’re the most interesting person in the world when you’re talking, so I tell her a couple of anecdotes anyway.
I look up a couple of times and see Sofia regarding the two of us with a very fond smile. It’s quite obvious that if Flavia has already rekindled things with Jed she hasn’t yet told her mother about it.
‘Back to the trip for a moment,’ Sofia says into a silent moment when the rest of us all have our mouths full of her insanely good beef Wellington. ‘Both of you sum it up in a couple of sentences, with best and worst bits.’
I freeze for a moment, my eyes fixed on my plate.
Best bits: getting to know Flavia so much better and the sex.
Worst bits: getting Vinny’s text and realising that he was right and that I’d be doing Flavia no favours if we carried on once we got back to London, discovering that Jed wanted to get back with her, and then saying goodbye.
I chew very, very slowly, staring hard at the broccoli and honey-glazed carrots on my plate, hoping that Flavia will speak first.
Eventually, Flavia says, ‘That’s a very good question, Mum.’ Clearly she’s playing for time.
I glance up and meet her eyes for a second and am quite sure that her thoughts are going in the same direction as mine. I return my gaze to my vegetables and focus on them hard so that I can get my thoughts back in order.
As I switch my gaze to my pile of Dauphinoise potatoes, I hear Flavia say, ‘It’s hard to decide what the best bits were, actually. There were so many highlights.’
‘I agree,’ I say, recovering. ‘Obviously the safari was amazing. The food. The New Year’s Eve beach braai. Table Mountain. All just fantastic.’
‘How was the accommodation?’ My mother winks as she speaks. Well, she almost does. She isn’t actually very good at winking; she has to use her whole face.
I wince, as does Flavia. Sofia maintains an impressively straight face. My father remains oblivious.
Flavia fixes my mother and her own, in turn, with a gimlet eye, and then says, very sternly, like no-one is allowed to argue with me, ‘There was a mix-up with the rooms and we were forced to share, but it was absolutely fine because we were in a wonderful suite with a separate sitting room, which had a sofa bed in it, so all good. The suite was on the corner of the building and had the most out-of-this-world views over the sea and the mountains. So, yeah, we were incredibly lucky with the accommodation, actually.’
I want to applaud her.
My mother hasn’t finished, though. ‘Was your lodge room a suite, or… not?’ she asks.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ I say. I can’t leave all the heavy lifting to Flavia. ‘But fortunately there were two enormous sofas, so no-one had to sleep on the floor. And we were very tired because we’d had an early start, so we could both have slept anywhere.’
‘Oh, well, what a relief that the accommodation worked so well.’ Sofia smiles at us both, definitely looking a bit disappointed. ‘I hope you’re enjoying your beef.’
We all tell her that it’s perfect, and then Flavia starts talking about biltong, and we are very, very firmly off the subject of room-sharing.
I cannot actually believe how ridiculous both our mothers are, frankly.
You could say that they were right in thinking that Flavia and I might get on well.
But you could also say that Flavia and I are both in our mid-thirties and therefore three decades too old to have our friends chosen for us.
Flavia finishes a particularly long discourse on canapés, having segued from biltong ones to more universal ones, and I grin at her as she finally pauses for breath.
She mouths, ‘Phew,’ at me as our mothers begin to swap risotto recipes and I mouth, ‘Well done,’ in reply.
And from then on the awkwardness between the two of us seems to have dissipated, and this could almost be described as a nice evening.
I really hope that we can maintain this on the occasions we see each other in the future.
Like Judith and Mike’s wedding, for example.
(They’ve already set a date in June.) As long as Flavia doesn’t attend it with Jed.
I love what I see of her relationship with her mother.
It’s like they’re best friends while maintaining a mutual, very respectful understanding that they are mother and daughter rather than actual peers.
They know so much about each other’s daily lives, like they talk all the time, but they also very much have their own lives. It’s lovely.
When my mother looks at her watch and says, ‘Good heavens, it’s eleven thirty already; we should go,’ I feel suddenly bereft.
Because this is it. No more Flavia until Judith and Mike’s wedding.
And then after that maybe next Christmas.
Or maybe never; maybe she’ll move back to Australia soon, with Jed.
We all stand in the hall and say goodbye to each other.
When it’s our turn, Flavia and I look at each other almost guiltily and then share a brief hug. I have to force myself to release her appropriately quickly.
And that’s that.
It’s goodbye.
And, even though I feel like someone’s taken my heart out and twisted it before shoving it back in, in not quite the right place, I know that it has to be like this. I can’t interfere with her getting back together with her husband. Plus, Vinny’s right. I never want to hurt Flavia. And I would.
So, yep, it’s a final goodbye.
‘Maybe see you at Judith and Mike’s wedding,’ I say. If she isn’t already back in Australia by then.
‘Yep.’ Her smile looks a little strained. ‘Happy New Year!’
The front door closes behind us, and that is really it.
The end.