Between You and Me (10 page)

Mr Hunter looks at me, a frown creasing his brow. ‘Charlie, I don’t eat seafood, I’m afraid. I’m sure I told Anita to let you know when she emailed me with regard to the dinner party in the first place. I’m very allergic. One prawn could be the death of me!’ He chortles, a big belly laugh at odds with his small stature, while inside I curse Anita for not passing the message on.

‘Of course – I do apologise, Mr Hunter. Anita did tell me but it must have slipped my mind.’
I am going to bloody kill her – I gave her one job, for Christ’s sake.
‘No, please rest assured that there won’t be any seafood on the menu this evening – everything will be perfect.’ I smile reassuringly at him, and he pats my arm as he turns towards the lift and presses the button for the sixth floor – top-floor offices, with stunning views over the river. These are reserved for those who make it to the top of the firm – those who make partner.

‘I’m sure it will be, Charlie. And from what I hear, you’re doing a fabulous job with the Otex buy-out. Who knows, maybe we’ll be having that partner conversation sooner rather than later. I’ll see you this evening at eight.’ Mr Hunter sweeps into the lift, leaving me open-mouthed and waiting for the next one.
Sooner rather than later. Surely this can mean only one thing? Hunter can only mean that if I pull this whole Pavlenco thing off I will be made partner when Crisp retires in three months’ time.
I resist punching the air, but his words put an extra spring in my step, and I bounce my way up the stairs to my third floor office (not in the sixth-floor league, but still not at the bottom). When I reach my office, I give Anita a small scowl as I walk past, as I haven’t forgiven her for forgetting to pass the message on to me regarding the seafood allergy. Grabbing the phone, I dial home to remind Sal that the Hunters will be coming for dinner at eight this evening.

After five or six rings Sal finally answers the phone sounding puffed and out of breath.

‘Hello?’ Sal’s voice huffs into my ear, and I feel myself start to get instantly irritated.

‘Sal? Why are you out of breath? Where have you been?’ I demand. I will be seriously pissed off if Sal’s been off gallivanting with Laura and not getting prepared for the dinner party. Especially after the beach incident – I thought I had made myself quite clear how I felt about Sal hanging around with Laura on that occasion. At least this time I am in possession of the car keys.

‘Just out in the garden. Why? What’s wrong?’ Sal takes a deep breath and I can hear Maggie burbling away in the background.

‘Just ringing to remind you that the Hunters are coming for dinner tonight. You didn’t forget, did you? They’ll be there at eight; they’re expecting a full three-course meal. This is important, Sal; it’s all part of the whole making-partner package thing. On top of working my arse off for these guys, I have to impress out of work, too.’ Sal pauses, and I know, just know, that Sal has fucked up again. It’s not just me who has totally forgotten about the dinner party – not that I’ll let Sal know that. If there’s going to be a cock-up the blame will be laid squarely at Sal’s door – I can’t be seen by
anyone
, least of all Sal, to have fucked something up this royally.

‘Charlie, you never told me about any dinner party. I would remember if you’d told me something as important as that, I swear.’

‘SAL,’ I hiss into the phone. My blood is boiling, but there’s no way I want to erupt within earshot of Anita. There’s a standard that I have to maintain at work, an impression that people have of me that I can’t dispel. ‘Are you having a fucking laugh? I told you about
this weeks ago
. Do you seriously mean to tell me that you haven’t even got any food in?’

‘Charlie, I
swear
you didn’t tell me! Of course I would have sorted out a menu if I’d known about it! You can’t actually think that I knew about it and did nothing? What good would that do? I
want
you to make partner! I want you to be a success. Jesus, Charlie, what do you think I am?’ Sal’s breath is coming faster again, and I can tell Sal is getting wound up. Well, guess what? So am I.

‘I’ll be home at six,’ I bark into the phone, as loudly as I dare without Anita hearing me. I don’t want her to know that there is potentially a problem. ‘Make sure you’ve sorted dinner out. Make sure the house is presentable and make sure you’re presentable. You are NOT going to ruin this, Sal, and if you do there’ll be hell to pay. Understand?’ I slam the phone down before Sal can respond.

When I walk through the front door it’s closer to seven o’clock than the six o’clock I had told Sal; the house is spotless and Sal is nowhere to be seen. There is, however, the delicious smell of garlic and roasting meat filling the air, and when I head into the kitchen I can see through the glass patio doors that even the garden has been tidied. I check the fridge and am satisfied to see two bottles of Sauvignon Blanc chilling in the fridge and two bottles of Malbec on the kitchen side, one of which has been opened to breathe. Heading upstairs I can smell a mixture of Maggie’s bubble bath and Sal’s shower gel on the air – it seems as though Sal actually listened to me today when I gave my instructions to be ready on time.

‘Sal?’ I call out, and Maggie comes barrelling out of her bedroom, wearing a
Frozen
nightie with her still-damp hair pulled back into a messy plait. ‘I have to go to bed early,’ she pouts, arms up for me to lift her. She smells of baby powder and laundry soap; cosy, homely smells. I carry her back into the bedroom and tuck her into her bed. ‘I know, sugar, but it’s just for tonight. Maybe tomorrow you can stay up late with Mummy and Daddy? You must behave for us tonight, though, and go straight to sleep.’ Maggie nods her head sleepily, seemingly very tired for a kid who’s been at home all day. I tuck the duvet tightly around her and kiss her forehead before heading into our bedroom. Sal is fussing in front of the mirror. I take a deep breath and try not to react to the wet towels strewn around the bedroom floor. The Hunters will be here in less than an hour and I really don’t have time to reprimand Sal properly right now; it will have to wait.

‘You’re home. Did you get held up?’ Sal peers at me nervously in the mirror, presumably worried that I’m still annoyed. I want to mention the towels but don’t, seeing as it won’t be long before our guests arrive.

‘The train was a bit delayed, that’s all – did you get the dinner sorted?’ I pull off my jacket and hang it straight up in the wardrobe, where it belongs. Slipping my shoes off, I tuck them into their designated space at the bottom of the wardrobe.

‘All sorted.’ Sal fusses with one last stray curl and turns to smile at me, and I reach for Sal’s hands. Taking them in mine, I give Sal a peck on the lips. All is forgiven, for now. I don’t want there to be an atmosphere in front of the Hunters.

‘Excellent. I’m going to have a quick shower and get changed. The Hunters will be here in forty-five minutes and I need you to be downstairs ready to let them in.’

‘OK. I’m ready now anyway; the meat is in and the wine is chilling in the fridge. Everything is all ready.’ Sal smiles, apparently relieved there is no fallout from our conversation this afternoon. I nod and pick up my clean, dry towel, ready to hit the shower.

An hour later the Hunters have arrived and pre-dinner drinks have been served. Sal seems to have taken on board everything I said earlier and is behaving impeccably. Maggie has stayed in her room and Mrs Hunter has been very complimentary about the décor in the house. Mr Hunter has requested that I call him Stan. So far, so good. It’s when we get to the table that things go rapidly downhill.

We are all seated around our six-seater, scrubbed-wood dining table. Sal has gone all out and provided a linen tablecloth, a small vase of flowers acts as a centrepiece, and even the silver cutlery set has been dragged down from the loft and polished. We are sipping our wine and making small talk when Sal bustles in with the starters. The starters, which are made up of angels on horseback.
Oysters. For the guest with the seafood allergy.

Mr Hunter,
Stan
, opens his mouth to say something. I jump in quickly. ‘Sal? Did you not remember what I told you about Mr Hunter’s, sorry
Stan’s
, allergy?’ Sal looks confused and slightly hot and sweaty from leaning over the oven.

‘Sorry, Charlie, what allergy? I don’t know anything about an allergy.’ I feel a wash of hot rage sweep over me.
I don’t believe this.

‘I called you earlier, to remind you.
Remember?
’ Sal’s face flushes red, and before I can speak again Stan pipes up. ‘Charlie? It’s fine, honestly; I know Anita didn’t give you the message. I’m happy to go without; the main course smells delicious.’ I bestow a gracious smile on him and grip Sal by the elbow.

‘It’s no problem, Stan. I’m sure Sal can whip you something else up. Seafood free, of course.’ Stan gives a little chuckle and I steer Sal into the kitchen.

‘Jesus Christ, Sal, are you doing this on purpose? Just when I think you’re taking stuff on board and actually listening to what I say you pull a stunt like this.’ I keep my voice low, so as not to disturb Stan and Stella in the next room. My hands are shaking with rage and I feel like I need to take a deep breath. Sal won’t look at me, making me even more furious.

‘Honestly, Charlie, I didn’t know – but I can fix it, OK? I can make him something else, something better. Please, Charlie, please don’t be angry.’ I tug my arm away from Sal’s outstretched hand.

‘Don’t think that I’m letting this one go; I’ll deal with you later. I suggest you sort something out for Stan to eat, and stop being such a fucking loser.’ Leaving Sal standing forlornly next to the steaming hot oven, looking
pathetic
, I storm out of the kitchen, pasting my false smile on before reaching Stan and Stella, who are talking between themselves and sipping at their wine. Please, God, don’t let them be talking about what a shit time they’re having. ‘My apologies again, Stan. I don’t know what Sal was thinking.’ I pick up the bottle of red and top them both up. Maybe if they’re a bit pissed they won’t realise what an actual fuck-up this whole dinner party is.

Sal returns ten minutes later with the starters and a baked Camembert for Stan. The rest of the dinner party goes off without a hitch – I am witty and charming, entertaining and intelligent. Stan has laughed at all my jokes and I am hopeful that Sal hasn’t ruined my chances of a promotion. In the hallway, Stan is shrugging his jacket back on while Sal retrieves Stella’s from the bedroom. He turns to me, straightening his collar as he says, ‘Charlie – about the Otex deal. It’s not too much for you, is it? I know it’s putting a lot of pressure on you.’

‘What? Goodness me, no. It’s all fine. Honestly, I am one hundred per cent certain I can pull this off without a hitch.’ Sweat prickles in my armpit – I have to be one hundred per cent confident I can pull this off. It’s imperative to me that I make partner, that I am a success. There is no room for failure when you’re Charlie Trevetti. I’ll have the perfect job, the perfect home, the perfect family – everything will slot into place.

As we close the door on the Hunters, Stella a bit pissed and waving madly from the back of the taxi, I feel Sal’s hand creep quietly into mine.

‘Really, Sal? I don’t think so.’ I snatch my hand violently away. ‘You nearly fucked this whole evening up for me entirely. Are you completely stupid? Who serves oysters to a man with a seafood allergy?’ I feel a flicker of triumph when I see Sal’s head bow. ‘You know what, Sal? You’re lucky to have me – because I can tell you this now; there’s no one else out there who would want someone as stupid as you. And if you carry on the way you are doing, even I won’t want you any more and nor will Maggie.’

Chapter Nineteen

SAL

I can hear the telephone ringing as I fumble to get my key in the front door. Maggie is tugging on the hem of my T-shirt, whinging and whining due to being hot and tired after the bus journey back from my mum’s. I know it can only be you calling me on the landline, which makes me fumble even more in my haste to get to the phone before you ring off and I have to call you back and explain myself.

‘Hello?’ I puff into the phone, trying my hardest to make it sound like I’m not out of breath. Maggie lets me go and stomps off into the living room, muttering under her breath.

‘Sal? Why are you out of breath? Where have you been?’ I can hear the sharp edge of irritation in your voice in that one sentence.
Please, Maggie, don’t shout out anything about Nonna or Aunty Anna.
I take a deep breath and try to calm my breathing.

‘Just in the garden. Why? What’s wrong?’ My heart sinks as you begin to whisper into the phone something about Mr and Mrs Hunter coming for a dinner party. Funnily enough, my first thought is that Anita must be in your office or there’s no way you would be keeping it together this much. Then realisation dawns as I take in what you’re actually telling me. Your boss, and his wife, are coming
tonight
at eight o’clock and will be expecting me to serve up a full-on, three-course dinner. In a spotless house. And your chances of making partner rest not only on completing this deal with Pav-whatever and Otex, but also on the outcome of this dinner party. Which I am sure I have never heard of before this conversation.
Shit.
Looking around while you hiss menacingly into my ear, I take in the toys Maggie has strewn around the living room, the shoes jumbled at the bottom of the stairs, and I know that I haven’t finished tidying the kitchen from breakfast this morning. I thought at the time I’d have a good few hours when I got home from visiting my parents to deal with it all.

I try to tell you that I didn’t know about the dinner party, that I am sure, one hundred per cent sure, that you never told me about it, but as you launch into another tirade about how useless I am, how you told me about it weeks ago, etcetera, I feel myself getting riled.
I know you never told me about it. I’m sure you didn’t. Did you?
Beginning to doubt myself, I hold my tongue and you bark into the phone that you’ll be home at six. That gives me just four hours to get the bus back into town, pick up the groceries, clean the house and make myself look presentable.