The Last Anniversary (32 page)

The Kook says, ‘Anyway, it’s this Veronika I’ve got an arrangement with, so I’ll keep trying to hunt her down.’ He crouches down so that he’s at eye-level with Rose. He has surprisingly nice brown eyes. ‘By the way, I know
exactly
what you two did.’

‘We found a baby,’ says Rose. She can hear herself sounding like a tremulous old woman. ‘That’s all we did.’

‘Yeah. Good one.’ The Kook bounces back up on his feet and disappears into the crowd.

‘Oops-a-daisy!’ cries the little girl with delight, as Rose’s elbow knocks her paint palette flying, so that pink paint and silver glitter slosh all over the little girl’s warmly clad legs.

Ron isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. What does he normally do on Anniversary Nights when Margie is around? He can’t remember. Years ago, when the kids were young, he always did the sausage sizzle. The Anniversary Nights weren’t quite this glitzy back then. It seems to him that it was more fun in the Seventies. He and Laura’s husband, Simon, used to cook up hundreds of sausages, stick them in bread rolls with a bit of tomato, lettuce and Margie’s chutney sauce. Went down a treat. They drank a lot of beer and mucked around. Margie was always in a flap, running back and forth like a headless chook trying to keep Connie happy, while Laura just lounged around smoking cigarettes, looking sultry. Ron used to tease Margie, and Simon would say to Laura, ‘Why don’t you help your poor sister?’ but Laura would just ignore him and tilt back her head and blow smoke rings. She didn’t actually seem to
like
Simon that much; Ron remembers thinking, I’m glad Margie doesn’t ignore me like that. So it was strange the way Laura reacted to Simon running off with his dental nurse. She never seemed to get over it, and every year those bitter lines of disappointment on either side of her mouth were carved deeper and deeper. Ron had missed Simon when he left and secretly felt let down by him. As if the life that was good enough for Ron wasn’t good enough for Simon.

Everything was different then. With more blokes on the island it was more balanced, more normal. He misses Margie and Laura’s dad too. Good old Nat, with his sweet, simple way of looking at things. And Jimmy, of course, who had a more complicated way of viewing the world and sometimes said something that really made you think. Ron is the last man standing. (Callum doesn’t count–he’s up there now on stage looking like a right twat plucking away at the strings of some sort of giant guitar. Ron doesn’t trust men who play instruments, except for the drums.) The island hasn’t exactly fallen apart without the men. As Ron walks aimlessly down the main street, watching the guests happily munching on gourmet pita-fucking-pockets or something or other, getting their tarot cards read, shelling out more money to have their photograph taken with the Munro Baby (Enigma smiling at the camera as if she’s royalty) it occurs to him that this is a pretty slick event and it was his wife who organised the whole damned thing. A few weeks ago, Ron had been involved with a product launch coordinated by an ‘Event Planner’, a blonde in a suit who kept snapping open and shut her mobile phone, running pointy-tipped fingers through her hair and looking harried and important. That ‘event’ had been on a much smaller scale with a lot fewer people, but it had seemed to cause a lot more problems. Yet Margie, who certainly does not have a university degree in event planning, who did a year’s worth of secretarial college when she was sixteen, had organised this whole thing, managed all the staff, organised stuff like sound equipment, without making a fuss at all. He would hear her chatting away on the phone to people, talking about their babies and their hay fever and their holidays, sounding like she wasn’t doing a thing but passing the time of day, when in fact she was
running a business
.

And Ron feels a sudden painful surge of pride. That ‘Event Planner’ could learn a thing or two from his wife.

Ron stops to watch the fire-eating performance. It’s the guy who does the gardening on the island. Bit of a blockhead. No doubt the women like him. He’s well built. Probably works out every day. Ron puts a hand to his stomach. A bit flabby. He sucks it in and squares his shoulders. Maybe he needs to go to the gym himself. He thinks about the sex this morning. It was great. It was bloody great. But who
was
that woman? She sure as hell didn’t act like his wife. Not even the Margie of years ago, when they were at it all the time. Ron was always the one who set the pace when it came to sex, but this morning…Thinking about it, Ron feels aroused and simultaneously panicked. What does it mean? What the fuck has she been doing? Her body didn’t feel the same either. It felt firmer, stronger. She’d lost more weight than he’d realised. She looked good. She looked bloody good.

He didn’t really like it.

And tonight, when she was getting ready to go to this Weight Watchers party, she’d been excited, nervous, breathless–as if she were going on a
date
! She had her hair all pulled back to show off her new skinny cheekbones and she was wearing her diamond earrings and the perfume he’d got her duty-free on his last trip to Singapore. He’d asked again if he could go along and keep her company but she’d insisted that partners weren’t invited and laughed sort of
kindly
at him, and then, as she was leaving, he thought he’d heard her phone beeping again with another text message.

If some other man had been touching his wife’s body he would…he would…

‘Dad! You look like you’re having a panic attack!’

It’s Veronika, sparky and glittery and dancing around him like a boxer.

‘Veronika!’ Suddenly he is feverish for information. He grabs her arm. ‘Do you send text messages to your mother? Did you text her this morning?’

Veronika rolls her eyes. ‘No, Dad, I guess I didn’t, seeing as I don’t have a mobile phone, seeing as I don’t believe in mobile phones, seeing as I know for a fact that they cause deadly brain tumours. I’ve read all the research. It’s just like smoking and the tobacco companies. There’s a massive cover-up going on. I’ve told you all this before. You don’t listen. Anyway, Dad, I’ve got something to tell you. I want you to meet my friend Audrey. My girlfriend, Audrey.’

Ron drops Veronika’s arm and stares at her but right through her.
Margie told him a lie
. But Margie is incapable of lying. She’d tried to organise a surprise party for him once and he’d been onto it within seconds. And on her fortieth birthday, when she’d learned the truth about Alice and Jack, she had been distraught. ‘How am I going to live a lie?’ she’d asked him, after she told him the true story, which she was allowed to do apparently because they’d been married for twenty years, so it was OK according to the Law of Connie, after he’d signed a confidentiality agreement, of course.

If Margie had lied it could only mean one thing. She’s having an affair. His wife is having an affair at a Weight Watchers party right now. But wait a sec, there probably is no party! That’s what people do when they’re having affairs. They make stuff up! She’s probably in a hotel! In a
Jacuzz
i! Drinking champagne with some hairy-chested dickhead, probably in
real estate
! And champagne goes straight to her head! And she’d be impressed if he told her it was Moët, when it was probably Great fucking Western! And she could be doing anything. She could be…she could be…Ron shudders with violent revulsion.

‘Dad?’

Veronika swims back into view. ‘I know it’s a shock,’ she says kindly.

She knows about the affair! She feels sorry for her humiliated father!

Ron clutches again at her arm. ‘So you know everything? She’s told you all about it? OK. Fine. I can deal with that. Just tell me where she is.’

Veronika’s face scrunches up with irritated confusion. ‘Tell you where who is?’

‘Your mother, of course!’

‘I don’t know where Mum is, Dad. She told me she had to go to some function with her Weight Watchers friend. Oh God, this is just so
typical
. I’m trying to tell you something important. I’m trying to introduce you to my
girlfriend
, Audrey.’

The girl sticks out her hand and Ron shakes it. ‘Nice to meet you, Audrey,’ he says automatically. ‘I’m sorry, I have to call my wife right now. There’s a family crisis.’

He pulls out his mobile phone and begins to dial. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says again distractedly to Veronika, who has her hands on her hips, her mouth slightly open and that familiar expression of disgusted disappointment.

‘Oh for Pete’s
sake
!’ Veronika grabs her friend’s hand and drags her off into the crowd.

Margie’s phone begins to ring and Ron presses his mobile to his ear with a clenched sweaty fist.

Rick has finished his fire-eating performance and has come over to see Sophie. His hair is sweatily tousled, his chest very wide. Sophie wonders if Veronika has really thought this lesbian thing through.

He says, ‘You look beautiful.’

‘Well, you look extremely sexy,’ says Sophie. She has now had two glasses of deliciously good mulled wine and is feeling buoyant and slightly in love with everybody. ‘Do you have a horrible taste in your mouth from all that fire-eating? Do you want some fairy floss?’

‘No thanks. I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I came around yesterday but you weren’t there.’

Sophie gives him a flirtatious look through her eyelashes and is conscious of her cleavage. Her heart lifts. She doesn’t know why she’s even been worrying about this. Rick is perfect for her. Her body knows it. Her heart knows it. Her mind knows it. He is the one. She is definitely, absolutely going to sleep with him tonight and it’s going to be damned good. It will be the beginning of a whirlwind romance with sex, sex, sex, and talking till dawn and walks on the beach in chunky jumpers and frolicking in parks throwing Frisbees, and she’ll be pregnant just in time for her fortieth birthday.

‘I’m here now,’ she smiles, and gives her wand a provocative flick. ‘How can I help you? Need me to perform a spell on you?’

‘It’s a bit awkward. I just thought I should tell you that I’ve got back with my ex-girlfriend.’

OH, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!!!

Sophie lets her wand drop. She’s going to remember that wand-flicking, eyelash-batting performance and cringe for the rest of her life.

‘Oh, I see,’ she says. She pauses. ‘I suppose I could turn her into a frog.’

He grins ruefully. ‘I should have told you when we went out that I’d only recently come out of a relationship, but I didn’t want you to think I was one of those guys with all this baggage, and I really thought we were over for good. But then she sent me an email the other night and we just started being honest with each other about our feelings.’

Please excuse me while I vomit into my fairy floss.

‘I’m sorry,’ continues Rick. ‘I had a great time with you the other day. It’s just that I was with her for years and I can’t turn my back on that.’

Sophie gives him a radiant smile. ‘Of course you can’t! I understand. Absolutely. I hope things work out for you.’

‘Yeah, well, I really want to make a go of it, tie the knot, you know, all that boring stuff, settle down, be a dad. I’m ready for all that.’

He’s ready to be a dad. It’s hurting Sophie’s face to smile. ‘That’s great, Rick, really. Hey, do you think you could get me another one of those mulled wines?’

Just when he thinks it’s going to voicemail, she answers the phone.

‘Hello?’

Except it’s not Margie, it’s a man’s voice. It’s
him
. He has a deep, salesy, I’ve-got-money-and-a-big-dick voice. He is definitely in real estate. He probably wears a gold bracelet and carries a man-bag. Ron feels like his head is about to explode.

Ron says, with considerable difficulty, ‘Who is this?’

The bloke answers, ‘This is Ron. Who’s this?’

RON? ‘
This
is Ron!’ roars Ron.

The bloke chuckles. ‘Oh. Good name, mate.’

Ron speaks through grimly gritted teeth. ‘Do you want to explain why you’re answering my wife’s phone?’

‘Margie is just getting dressed. Do you want me to get her?’

Now his head does explode. ‘ARE YOU FOR FUCKING REAL?’

‘Oh, darling, you are
not
!’ says Enigma. ‘Stop being silly.’

Enigma is feeling snappy. Nobody has brought her anything to eat, except for that sandwich, which was hours ago; Margie really did go out tonight, which Enigma didn’t truly believe was going to happen right until the last minute; the baby is starting to get all tetchy and squirmy–and where is his mother for heaven’s sake, there has been no sign of Grace for ages; and now here is Veronika announcing, quite loudly, that she is one of those homosexuals. Enigma has no problems with those homosexuals in general. They seem like decent, kind people and they dress beautifully. She just doesn’t like it when they flaunt their funny ways in public, such as that awful Mardi Gras. It’s not necessary. People can do what they like in the privacy of their own homes.
However
, it is quite ridiculous to think that her granddaughter is one of them. Besides which, she thought it was only the men who were the homosexuals. Why does Veronika have to be such a tomboy?

Enigma smiles politely at the Japanese girl who seems to have given Veronika these ridiculous ideas and does her best to set her straight. ‘It’s just that we don’t do that sort of thing in our family, dear.’

‘Don’t be so rude, Grandma!’ cries Veronika.

‘Well, we
don’t
, Veronika!’ Enigma is incensed. She has just made a real effort to be polite to this Japanese girl, especially when you consider that one of Enigma’s loveliest boyfriends during the war was a POW in a Japanese concentration camp and came back all skinny and miserable and not at all lively any more!

The Japanese girl says, ‘It’s OK, Veronika. Let’s talk about this another time.’ She says to Enigma, ‘Is that your great-grandson you’ve got there?’