Chapter 19
FLAVIA
A fortnight later, I go home for the weekend for Vinny’s birthday.
It’s a very long time since I’ve been in England on his birthday, so when I was busy being simultaneously miserable and relieved about not seeing Dominic again before Judith and Mike’s summer wedding, I didn’t take this into account.
It’s quite possible that the two of us will see each other this weekend, and I don’t feel ready.
Vinny loves a big pub night, so that’s what he’s getting, following a dinner at home cooked by Mum. It’s his thirty-seventh birthday but Mum has still insisted on making a roast chicken with all the trimmings followed by cake, because that was his birthday meal of choice when he was a kid.
‘It’s like I’m seven, not thirty-seven,’ he grumbles good-humouredly when Mum nips from the dining room out to the kitchen to get candles and matches.
‘Are you mad?’ says Antonio through a full mouth. ‘This is the best meal ever, however old you are.’
‘He’s right.’ I look at my brothers, and their families, and feel a huge wave of love for them all.
Which will hopefully carry me through the evening ahead at the pub.
I haven’t asked Vinny whether Dominic’s going, because I don’t want to talk about him at all, but I think it’s very likely that he’ll be there.
They’ve been part of the same village football team for a good twenty years, and I think they all do their best to make each other’s drinks.
Delicious birthday cake – my mum’s speciality torta di rose – entirely demolished, we head out to the pub at seven forty-five. Vinny’s asked all his friends to arrive at eight.
I sit at a table with Mum and Vinny’s wife Amelie, and agree enthusiastically when Mum says what we could all do with is a bottle of Prosecco to share.
A little bit of Dutch courage plus my mum and sister-in-law as shields will hopefully see me through being in the same pub as Dominic this evening, should he turn up.
When eight o’clock comes and goes, my hopes rise and fall.
They fall because – I realise – I was in fact kind of pathetically keen to see Dominic.
And they rise because he’s always on time for things, so it’s looking like he won’t be here after all, and if he doesn’t come I can have a lovely, relaxed, fun evening with family and friends without any Dominic-related stress.
I’m halfway through my first glass of Prosecco, deep in conversation with Amelie about our all-time favourite cakes (she’s a recent convert to an M&S Colin the Caterpillar due to her kids and will not be swayed in her belief that Colin eclipses all other cakes including – whisper – Mum’s to-die-for Italian cakes, not to mention her very British lemon drizzle and classic Black Forest gateau), when I glance up and see Dominic standing a couple of tables away, still in his coat, apparently having just arrived, at twenty past eight.
My hand jerks and I narrowly avoid upending my drink.
Dominic does a global hello, which includes our group, so I murmur a hello in his direction, and then he sits down on the far side of the next table.
For the next hour or two, he does not glance in my direction once.
I know this because there’s a handily placed mirror behind the bar that allows me to check what he’s doing while not turning my head or my eyes towards him.
Just on the off chance that he does happen to look my way, I make extremely sure that I’m appearing very vivacious and happy and laughing very regularly.
The whole thing is very hard work and I am not having fun.
And then, just as I’ve realised that my mum’s set in for the evening and I really can’t go home before she does, Vinny stands on a table – he’s already had a fair few beers – and hollers, ‘Everyone, it’s birthday karaoke time.
With a twist. We’re doing a competition.
I’m going to put you into teams and then you’re going to take it in turns singing the same song and each round the worst team gets eliminated until we have our karaoke winners.
’ He’s roaring so loudly by the end that I’ll be surprised if he personally has any voice left to sing.
My mum raises her hand and, in a holler to rival her son’s, says, ‘Let me organise the teams.’
‘Never say no to your Italian mother,’ Vinny says. ‘Go ahead, Mum.’
Mum stands up and goes full military. No-one’s going to be disobeying her.
She divides us up into teams of six, and I find myself in a team with Dominic, Vinny, Amelie, and another couple, Bertie and Rose, uni friends of Vinny’s.
Clearly, my mum is still trying to get me and Dominic together.
Clearly, she is not going to succeed. And clearly, for my own sanity I should think about trying to find a way of telling her before I next visit home that Dominic and I will never date.
Right now, though, I just need to get through this evening. I glug some more Prosecco while I think about how I’m going to manage, because apparently I find being around Dominic really quite hard.
Okay. It’s going to be totally, completely, absolutely fine.
I’m going to chat to Amelie and Rose, and I’m going to pretend that Dominic is someone I have no feelings whatsoever for.
Like Jed, for example, who I have not been in touch with at all since our phone call, and who I am not missing in the slightest. I’m going to pretend that Dominic is Jed.
I have no feelings for Jed and I could easily be in a karaoke team with him without caring.
I take another big glug from my glass and then practise smiling nonchalantly in Dominic’s direction, imagining that he’s Jed. Or the postman. Or the man in the café down my road who makes amazing hot chocolates.
Easy. Easy-peasy.
Mum claps her hands and we all immediately go quiet because she’s actually quite scary when she’s like this.
‘We’re going to start now,’ she informs us. ‘Vinny’s made his song list. You will each perform in order and then we will score you.’
Everyone nods and says yes a lot.
‘Flavia and Dominic,’ continues my mum, addressing us as though we are the couple that we will in fact never be, and ignoring the fact that the birthday boy Vinny and his wife are in our team, and it should be described as their team. ‘Your team’s going first.’
We all nod again and scramble towards the little stage at the back of the pub, while I work out a strategy to try to enjoy the rest of the evening.
Mum is an amazing singer.
Dad was not.
Vinny and Antonio take after Mum voice-wise.
And I take after Dad.
So my policy with all karaoke is to sing nice and quietly while really going for it with the dance moves (and then no-one notices that I’m practically just mouthing the words).
And that is broadly the policy I’m going to put into practice here.
Except I might feel annoyingly self-conscious about going for it in front of Dominic quite as big as I normally would, so I might just stand behind him so I can do my dancing thing without him seeing.
As we step onto the stage, I place myself behind him, like a backing singer.
‘No, no,’ Vinny says. ‘We need to win, and a winning team does not have its shorter members at the back and invisible.’ He nudges us all into place so that the three taller members of the group (him, Dominic and Bertie) are standing at the back and the three shorter members (me, Amelie and Rose) are in front of them.
Vinny has placed me right in front of Dominic.
It’s quite a squeeze on the stage, so when I move I keep inadvertently bumping into him, which makes me go slightly rigid with worry that I’m going to do it again and look as though I’m trying to.
Then I sense him moving backwards, away from me, which makes me go slightly rigid with shame.
I need to get over myself and just ignore him.
Mum claps her hands.
‘Vinny,’ she calls. ‘What song is first?’
‘First up is obviously ABBA,’ Vinny says. ‘Before we start, though, does anyone need a bit more lubrication?’
I decide that some more lubrication would be an excellent idea to take my mind off Dominic behind me, and take two tequila shots from the tray that Antonio’s husband, Dai, has just magicked up, and down them like I’m speed-drinking for money.
I choke slightly and then, as a warm, ‘actually I don’t care about Dominic being here as much as I thought I did’ feeling spreads through me, decide that a third would be a good idea.
‘Flavia?’ Vinny questions from my left.
‘Vinny?’ I mimic, not unlike a toddler.
‘Just… you don’t usually down shots like that?’
‘And today I do?’ I’m still sounding like a toddler, possibly a slightly petulant one.
‘Hey.’ Dominic seems to be coming to my rescue, swooping from behind me on the shots tray and taking another two, one in each hand. ‘I think it’s an evening for shots.’ He downs them both and places the glasses back on the tray.
‘Shots it is,’ says Dai gleefully. ‘Next up, baby Guinnesses all round. Back in a second.’
I only have one of those, because they’re quite creamy and my stomach is already beginning to churn. I am, though, despite my heaving tummy, feeling very ready to give the dancing my all.
‘Super Trouper’ begins to blare out of the pub karaoke machine and I am away. I’m beating Agnetha and Anni-Frid at their own game. All I need is some seventies flares and some mega platforms and you wouldn’t be able to tell me from the original. In my head, anyway.
We all – some of us more than others – boogie away for the first few bars, and then the singing starts.
I begin my mouthing of the words, while those with better voices begin to sing.
And it turns out that Dominic has a lovely voice.
I perform a one-and-a-half pirouette so that I can turn round to see him better.
‘It is you.’ I poke him in the chest, remembering as I do so that I love that very solid chest. ‘You have a very nice voice.’
He grins, and takes a break from the actual words to sing, ‘Why, thank you, and you’re an excellent dancer.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ I say, shimmying all the way down to the floor and back up again and only swaying a little bit as I do so. ‘You’re really good at setting words to music too.’ I’m struck by a thought. ‘Why don’t you do it as a job? Dream job.’ I’m thinking about our jobs conversation in Cape Town.
‘Good idea,’ Dominic sings very seriously. ‘I’ll think about it.’
I smile, satisfied, and then turn back round and carry on with my dancing, putting as much effort into it as the occasion warrants (a lot).
We do a fantastic job if I say so myself, and stay in to the next round.
We reward ourselves with another baby Guinness each.
We survive through each round. I particularly throw myself into the relationship-break-up songs like ‘I Will Survive’ and ‘Flowers’, and turn round during both of those to dance at Dominic, with a lot of pokes to his chest on the more appropriate lines, during which he basically looks a little terrified.
Each time we make it through to the next round, we reward ourselves with another shot.
I say we reward ourselves. I’m not sure we all have a shot each time. But I do. I like them. They’re very nice. Why wouldn’t I keep on drinking them?
By the time we’re declared the winners, I’ve danced so much I could have done a 10K with fewer steps, and I am tired.
I’m also struggling to get my eyes to focus on things.
I do know a thing or two, though, and I suddenly realise, when we’ve all hugged each other, which has of course involved me and Dominic sharing a brief hug, just the two of us, that I have things to say to him.
‘Dominic,’ I say, with great authority. We’re still standing on the stage where we’ve just accepted our prize (a box of Maltesers each – someone’s really pushed the boat out).
‘Flavia?’
‘We need to talk.’ I pull him by the sleeve to the corner of the stage and manage to step off it very, very well. I trip but I save myself extremely cleverly by holding on to a table and the wall. I am very, very, very good at getting off stages it seems.
‘I would love to talk to you,’ Dominic says, ‘but you’re very drunk and I don’t want you to regret this conversation in the morning, so I’m thinking maybe we should have it tomorrow.’
‘Drunk?’ I exclaim. ‘You think I’m drunk?’
‘Yep,’ he confirms.
‘Oh dear.’ I’m suddenly very sad. ‘Maybe I am. Maybe I should just go to bed.’ I focus hard on him. ‘As you know, we do not go to bed together. I would be going to bed alone. I would like to make that clear. I have no expectation of going to bed with you.’
‘Absolutely.’ Dominic looks very serious. Or alarmed. I can’t really tell because he’s looking very, very blurry for some reason.
‘Good then. So.’ I stagger slightly away from him. ‘I’m going to go home and go to bed.’
‘I think you should have a very large glass of water first and maybe some toast.’
‘I do not need your dietary advice, thank you very much,’ I announce haughtily. Then I turn to everyone within hearing, which is basically everyone full stop because my voice is emerging way more loudly than I expect it to, and decide to make a further announcement.
‘Everyone,’ I shout. I’m pleased to say that they all turn round.
‘I’m going to bed. Very much alone. Very, very, very much alone.
Very much sans Dominic. And that, by the way, is French for without.
Goodnight, everyone. Goodnight, Dominic.
Off I go, to my solitary bed. By myself.
All alone. Toute seule.’ (I’ve just started going to a French evening class.)
And then I march myself out of the pub, only bumping into a few people and a couple of walls and other obstacles, like tables, on my way out.
Vinny follows me.
‘Flav,’ he says.
‘Mmm.’ I’m busy dealing with how cold the air is. It’s good actually. My head was feeling a tiny bit fuzzy in there. Now it still feels fuzzy but a bit less fuzzy. Although, also, I feel really, really sick now.
‘Are you okay?’ Vinny puts his arm round my shoulders.
The pressure does something bad and I shriek, ‘Move,’ before vomiting on the ground in front of us.
At which point, obviously, obviously, Dominic Bloody Rock pops up and says, ‘Er, goodnight.’
‘Good bloody night,’ I hiccup miserably.