Chapter 7
7
Tonight I feel like I’m at a wake – but a wake where the man of the moment isn’t actually dead.
It’s Dad’s birthday, so we’re gathered at the house. Everyone is in the lounge sitting around the coffee table. Apparently Dad went out with his friends earlier, so this is a family-only function. Thank God, because I’m not sure the house could handle much more rowdiness than this. Tom has a big armchair to himself so he’s sitting with a beer in his hand, and his legs draped over the side of the chair, like he used to do when we were kids. Then, on the L-shaped sofa we have Mum, Dad, Auntie Kay and Amy, my cousin, the one who set me up with Ray. This is the first time I’ve seen her since and, unsurprisingly, I haven’t brought her a thank you gift.
And then there’s me, sitting on the floor, making the most of the underfloor heating, and watching while my dad opens his presents.
But, yeah, it definitely feels more like a wake than a celebration, and the thing that’s dead is, of course, the concept of family functions that aren’t awkward, thanks to my parents’ pre-divorce status. Even the balloons look deflated, and the ‘Happy Birthday’ banner has been hung on a wonk, which makes me wonder if Mum might have done it on purpose, as a little sneaky ‘fuck you’, because that’s about as controversial as Mum gets.
‘Here’s one from me,’ I tell him, handing him a gift bag.
‘Thanks, Amber,’ he replies, his voice strained but trying to sound cheerful.
‘You’re welcome,’ I reply.
It’s nothing exciting, just stuff Mum told me he was after a while ago.
‘Golf stuff,’ he says, holding up a golf glove and some luminous green golf balls.
Tom practically sprays the sip of beer he just took across the room.
‘Thomas,’ Mum ticks him off.
‘Sorry,’ he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I was just thinking about a golf book I read earlier. Amber didn’t give you a golf book, did she, Dad?’
I shoot Tom a look.
‘No, give over,’ Dad insists. ‘I don’t need a book to teach me how to do it.’
‘I don’t know, I learned a thing or two from this one,’ Tom replies.
‘So, come on, Amber, I’m dying to know,’ Amy chimes in, attempting to lighten the mood. ‘How did your date with Ray go?’
I pull a face.
‘Kind of awful,’ I say casually. ‘I threw my knickers at him.’
Dad winces.
‘I don’t think I need to hear this,’ he says, throwing up his hands.
‘It’s okay, you’ll want to hear this one,’ I reply. ‘Before he arrived, I found a pair of worn knickers in my trouser leg. I must have left them in there the last time I wore the trousers. Anyway, I hid them in my bag, thinking they would be safe but the date wasn’t going well so I reached into my bag, to get my purse to give him money for the bill, and I accidentally pulled them out and dropped them on the table in front of him.’
Tom bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his drink yet again.
‘That’s brilliant,’ he blurts. ‘Honestly, that might be my favourite story ever.’
Amy looks horrified but can’t help giggling.
‘So it wasn’t very good otherwise?’ she checks. ‘Honestly, I really thought the two of you would have hit it off, with you both being writers.’
I shake my head.
‘No, he was kind of hostile,’ I tell her. ‘And he made me feel like the last mouldy piece of fruit on the tree that no one wanted to pick.’
Mum, who’s been rather quiet until now, stirs like she’s about to say something.
‘I’m sure that’s not true, Amber,’ she tells me, in her best mumsy reassuring tone.
‘Oh, no, he couldn’t have been clearer about it. He described dating in your thirties as being like Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve,’ I say, still feeling the sting of his words. ‘Having to settle for what’s left.’
‘Oh, Amber, I’m so sorry,’ Amy insists. ‘Ray is a friend of the guy I’m dating. I had no idea he was like that.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say, shrugging it off. ‘I’ll put it in a book. Putting things in books is cheaper than therapy.’
It’s nice to hear everyone laugh for a moment so I figure, if my own personal mortification is getting laughs, I may as well continue to act the clown. Anything to make this evening less awkward.
‘You think that’s bad, just wait until you hear what happened at my publisher’s today,’ I continue.
‘I was wondering if you were going to tell us how it went,’ Tom says curiously.
‘Kind of shit,’ I say candidly. ‘But, before I even got back there, something strange happened. I met someone – someone you might know.’
‘Okay, this sounds more like my kind of story,’ Auntie Kay says. ‘Who did you meet? A celebrity?’
‘Yep,’ I reply. ‘But I didn’t just bump into him – if anything he bumped into me.’
‘Go on,’ Kay says. ‘I’m on the edge of my seat here. In fact, Jill, can you top my wine up, please? This sounds like it’s going to be good.’
Mum grabs the bottle of white from the table and dutifully fills Auntie Kay’s glass. Auntie Kay loves wine, you can never give her too much. She even collects ‘wine o’clock’ decorations, and proudly displays them all around her house. I think my personal favourite – and there are so many to choose from – is her ‘wine, wine, wine’ sign, in her dining room, with each word in a different font, like ‘live, laugh, love’. Hilarious.
‘Right, so, I got into the lift at my publisher’s office, and this guy suddenly grabbed me from behind, held me close, and started trying to kiss my neck,’ I begin.
‘Again, I don’t think I want to hear this,’ Dad chimes in.
‘Well, I do,’ Auntie Kay says, as her eyes widen with excitement. ‘Oh, my goodness! Tell me more!’
‘I screamed – because of course I did, I’m not exactly used to men trying it on with me in public – and pushed him away,’ I continue. ‘But then he started freaking out too, apologising profusely, saying he thought I was his girlfriend. He said I looked exactly like her from behind.’
Tom snorts.
‘Wait, some guy mistook you for his girlfriend? In a lift? Who is this guy, and does he have a death wish?’ he jokes.
‘He doesn’t have a death wish,’ I reply, grinning. ‘He’s Caleb Carney.’
Auntie Kay practically squeals.
‘Caleb Carney? The Caleb Carney? Oh, I loved him on Welcome to Singledom ! He’s so hot!’
‘The influencer?’ Amy replies. ‘You know, I follow him, and he has like three million followers.’
Tom looks at me in playful disbelief.
‘I’m surprised someone like that is dating someone who looks like you,’ he teases.
‘Thanks, Tom,’ I say dryly. ‘Anyway, he was very apologetic once he realised I wasn’t actually his girlfriend. It turns out he’s there because he’s writing a book for my publisher – but that’s not public knowledge yet, so keep it to yourselves.’
Amy pulls out her phone, her fingers flying over the screen.
‘Caleb Carney… He’s dating Annabelle Harvey-Whitaker,’ she tells us. ‘She’s one of those posh girls from that reality TV show about rich socialites in Kensington.’
She holds up her phone and shows everyone a photo of a stunning blonde with perfect make-up and a designer wardrobe. I see Annabelle and Caleb on social media all the time and quickly scroll past them because, honestly, their perfect-couple brand is enough to make a girl sick. Looking more closely, obviously we have different faces but I guess I do look like her, in a general way, just like… you know the story of the Prince and the Pauper? I’m like her pauper equivalent.
Mum takes Amy’s phone for a moment and holds it out in front of her, squinting at the screen, looking at it in that way only mums seem to do.
‘Amber looks nothing like this Annabelle,’ she muses. ‘Although I can see why he might have thought it was her, without seeing her face.’
‘Hilarious,’ Tom adds.
‘It’s a shame he’s not single,’ Mum adds with a sigh.
Oh, yeah, right, because if he were single he definitely would have tried it on with me in a lift. Absolutely. One hundred per cent.
‘I agree,’ Amy chimes in, staring at her phone again. ‘Meeting in a lift is like the ultimate meet-cute. And you should know that, Amber, being a romcom writer.’
‘That’s a good point,’ I reply, laughing and shaking my head. ‘But sadly, real life is never like it is in romcoms. There are no perfect meet-cutes, just awkward encounters and misunderstandings, and all of them end with me single.’
‘Is this why you want to ditch the rom, and focus on the com?’ Tom asks. ‘And why you want to throw murder into the mix? Are you going to go on a spree?’
‘Don’t tempt me,’ I reply, shooting him a look.
‘I’ll get the nibbles,’ Mum says, shaking her head.
‘So, are you going to tell us what your editor said?’ Tom asks.
‘At least let me get some nibbles in me first,’ I reply. ‘And maybe some more wine.’
‘You’ll be lucky,’ Auntie Kay jokes, draining the last drop from her glass.
‘Here we go,’ Mum says, placing the tray on the coffee table. ‘Help yourselves.’
Wow, the food looks amazing. Mum has really gone all out. I’m not sure I would put so much effort into something for someone I was pre-divorcing. Then again, perhaps it’s that immature mentality that’s stopping me from meeting someone in the first place.
There are delicate smoked salmon blinis, beautifully decorated with sprigs of dill. Mini quiches, still warm, in a variety of flavours, each one so vivid in colour from the fillings. A selection of cheeses, arranged like a work of art, complete with grapes, figs and crackers – cheese is basically my dad’s lifeblood, so his eyes light up when he notices them. That weird little curved knife, it isn’t for cutting the cheese, it’s so that my dad can stab anyone who tries to take any.
There are also some wooden skewers with mozzarella balls, cherry tomatoes, and basil leaves, drizzled with rich-looking balsamic glaze, a pile of sausage rolls (Tom’s favourite), and a bowl of mixed olives.
‘Wow, Mum, you’ve outdone yourself this time,’ I say, reaching for a quiche.
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she insists modestly. ‘Just some snacky bits.’
Auntie Kay immediately grabs a blini, pops it in her mouth, and then proceeds to pour herself another glass of wine.
‘These are divine, Jill,’ she says to Mum. ‘You always put on such a lovely spread. And the wine – ten out of ten. Johnny, you’re a lu…’
Kay’s voice trails off. I think she was about to tell my dad that he was a lucky man, before remembering that they’re getting divorced, or pre-divorced, or whatever .
I’m yet to talk to my mum, one on one, about her and Dad’s big announcement. Honestly, I’m hoping that she’s just going to tell us that she doesn’t mean it, that it’s not really happening. But that’s not happened yet so I guess I’ll have to ask about it sooner or later, it’s just difficult.
‘Thanks,’ Mum says simply, smiling.
Right, time for me to play the clown again, because we’re in desperate need of a subject change. Anyway, I need to tell them about my trip to France, so they don’t wonder why I’m disappearing between now and Christmas.
‘Okay, so, my meeting with my editor,’ I chime in. ‘It didn’t go great. Not only is she not willing to let me explore other genres but she’s insisting I finish my first draft before Christmas, and not only that, but she’s shipping me off to France to write it.’
‘You’re going to France?’ Mum says, shocked.
‘Yep,’ I reply.
‘But… but what about Christmas? It won’t be right if you’re not here,’ she says, her voice wobbling.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back for Christmas,’ I insist.
‘Yeah, we wouldn’t want to make things weird at Christmas,’ Tom quips.
‘It’s just there is a space on this writers’ retreat, and I can have it for free, so I’m going to the Alps for a week,’ I tell her. ‘But it will be fine, I’ll write my book, and then I can have Christmas off. It will be great.’
‘You sound like you’re protesting a little too much,’ Dad says.
I turn to look at him, to see him eating an entire wedge of brie, like it’s a slice of pizza.
‘I mean, I’d rather not go,’ I tell him. ‘I’d rather stay home and write a murder mystery, but what can you do?’
‘You’ve got a good job, don’t blow it,’ Dad insists through a mouthful of cheese. ‘Mark McDonald’s son is desperate to be published. He wrote a book, about these shagging aliens, and self-published it. Mark gave us all a copy. It was bloody awful.’
‘See, even Mark McDonald’s son is writing sexy stuff,’ Tom jokes.
‘Amber writes stories that make people smile,’ Mum says proudly.
‘It sounds like she wants to write stories that make them scared for their life,’ Auntie Kay adds with a laugh.
‘I still want to write comedy, and romance, just, you know, a romantic comedy with a murder here and there,’ I tell them.
‘Murder mysteries are all the rage at my book club,’ Amy adds.
‘Can you go to my publisher and tell my editor that, please?’ I reply.
‘I will, if I get touched up by Caleb Carney on the way in,’ Auntie Kay adds.
Everyone needs a randy, wine-loving auntie. It sure does make the family parties more entertaining.
‘That wine bottle is empty,’ Kay points out, right on cue.
‘I’ll grab another,’ Mum says.
‘I’ll help you,’ I reply, pulling myself to my feet.
I follow Mum into the kitchen where she grabs me and gives me a big squeeze.
‘Oh, Amber, thanks for coming tonight,’ she says. ‘Things are so uncomfortable here. You and your brother have really lightened the mood.’
‘Hey, what do people have kids for?’ I joke. ‘Mum, are you okay? This news, it’s a big shock, and it’s not like you.’
‘Let’s not talk about it now,’ she says, fighting back the tears. ‘All I know is that something needs to change and this is all I can think of. But tonight is about celebrating your dad’s birthday, so let’s not ruin it.’
I smile and give her another squeeze. You can tell she still loves him but, if she isn’t happy, I can’t force them to stay together, can I? Can I ?
‘Okay then, let’s get back out there,’ I tell her. ‘Auntie Kay will start rioting, if she doesn’t get her Pinot Grigio.’
‘Honestly, if she drinks any more I’m going to have to open an eighteen-year-old bottle of Lambrini your dad found in his shed,’ she replies.
‘She’ll love it,’ I joke. ‘Especially if time has made it more potent.’
‘Come on, let’s join the others,’ she says. ‘Hurry home, won’t you, darling? I just want us to spend Christmas together, and be happy, one last time.’
‘Mum, we’ll have plenty of Christmases together in the future, no matter what our circumstances are, so don’t worry,’ I reassure her. ‘But I will hurry back – mostly because I don’t really want to be there.’
‘Well, I’m proud of you for going,’ she tells me. ‘And it really is a shame that Caleb isn’t single. I saw him on Amy’s phone – phwoar.’
I don’t think I’ve ever heard my mum say phwoar before.
I hook my arm with my mum’s as we head back to the lounge.
I just need to get to France, get my book finished, and get back here to my family.
Well, whatever is left of it.