The Party Season (3 page)
The Strokes blare out from the speakers amid much accompaniment of pan-clattering from the kitchen. Dom has probably been home for about an hour.
It was through my job that I first met Dominic. His Aunt Agnes was giving a drinks party – my first solo drinks party. About halfway into the evening, Dominic sidled up to me and told me that his Aunt Agnes was vegetarian and the canapés were decidedly not. At this point all the blood drained from my head as I looked across the room in time to see Aunt Agnes taking one of the carnivore delights. Before it reached her mouth Dominic made a heroic dash, took it off her and ate it with much lip-smacking, while I brought up the rear and whisked the waitress away before an amazed Aunt Agnes could take another. Dominic then joined me in the kitchen where I was transfixed with fear, wondering how on earth the kitchen staff could have cocked up so monumentally and whether anyone would notice if we were about two hundred canapés down. Dominic simply took every piece of Parma ham off the top of the tarts, began shovelling the ham into his mouth and then sent the waitress back out to the party with the now vegetarian-friendly snacks. And so our friendship began.
He is the most unlikely best friend I could ever hope for. We are undoubtedly the odd couple. I am tidy, Dom is not. I have a Filofax, Dom has the back of his hand and a biro. I schedule the housework, Dom thinks a coaster is something to do with surfing. But I absolutely adore him and I would like to think he feels the same way.
Dominic works in the claims department of an insurance company to supplement his career as a struggling writer (struggling in the sense that he struggles to write anything). This sort of desk job suits Dom just fine. It comes without responsibility – no vying for promotion, no working overtime, no long-term goals because at the end of the day it's just that: a day job. He turns up just after nine, walks a fine knife-edge between doing enough not to get himself fired and little enough to ensure he goes unnoticed, and pisses off home on the dot of five. He looks on every day as a huge adventure and has the amazing gift of taking every ounce of enjoyment out of whatever he's doing. His 'send me a toffee in the post by Tuesday and I'll process your claim' promises are notorious throughout the company. That's notorious in the verbal-warning sense of the word.
'Hello, gorgeous!'
'Hi.' I dump my handbag and leather attaché case on to the kitchen table. 'What are you doing?' I ask him. 'It's not your turn to do the washing up.'
Dom grins at me from behind the soap suds. On the rare occasions Dom does do the washing up he uses about half a bottle of Fairy Liquid. He's even got bubbles lodged in his hair. 'I couldn't find a clean mug. Life can be
so
cruel sometimes.' He sighs dramatically. 'How are you feeling?'
'Dreadful. How are you?'
'Absolutely fine. I was going to call you at work today,' Dom continues.
'Were you? You never call me at work.'
'That's because you never let me call you at work.'
'Dom, if I let you call me at work you'd be on the phone every half an hour. But I did think about you today.'
'Did you? Did you think ahh, Dom. I do miss him?'
'No. Gerald was asking after you.'
'Was he?'
'And Aidan, come to think of it. What's this sudden fondness my workmates have developed for you?'
'It's because I'm lovable.'
I snort derisively. 'Hardly lovable. They just like you because you get me into trouble. Gerald is still teasing me about my bout of food poisoning that you told him was a hangover.'
'It was a hangover.'
'Yes, well. You see, Dom, this is why I don't let you call me at work – we'd end up having conversations like this. Are you coming up to Aunt Winnie's with me at the weekend?' Dom has visited my Aunt Winnie with me many times – she regards him as one of the family.
'I'll come on Saturday. I've got a stag do on Friday night.'
'A stag do?' This is the first I've heard of it.
'Yep, some bloke from work.'
'Who?'
'Oh, you don't know him.'
'When's the wedding?'
'Not for ages.'
'An all-boys stag do?' I ask suspiciously.
'Is there any other kind? You've got a postcard from your folks, by the way.' He nods towards a pile of post on the table.
I let the surprise stag do go and study a night scene of Hong Kong harbour, then turn it over to see the familiar scrawl of my mother.
Just dashing off to another ghastly party full of diplomats. Honestly, darling, I simply don't know how you do it for a living all day long. Your father sends his love. Will try and call soon but can't seem to remember whether you are ahead of us or behind time-wise. Give our love to Sophie when you see her.
Love Mum.
I drop it back on to the pile and sigh. They seem so very far away from my own reality. 'Have you read it?' I ask Dom.
'Yes. I thought they were coming over to see you and Sophie soon?'
'I think something came up with Dad's work.' I shrug. They aren't the most reliable of parents.
'So what's happened to you today?' Dom asks.
I open my mouth to answer but the phone rings and I rush through to answer it, a small part of me still hoping it could be Rob. It's not even close.
'IZZY!' a familiar voice booms. Aunt Winnie has been calling almost every day since Rob finished with me, bless her. 'You're home! I was hoping to have a jolly chat with Dominic but I suppose you'll do instead.'
'Well, I am actually related to you, Aunt Winnie. Whereas Dominic isn't.'
'That tyrannical boss of yours has let you come home at last, has he? I am absolutely convinced he has Marxist tendencies, Izzy. You want to watch out for that; you could be a communist before you know it.'
'I don't think it's the sort of thing that creeps up on you, Aunt Winnie.'
'Ohhhh, don't you believe it,' she replies sagely. 'They probably slip something into the water.'
'Well, I always try to avoid drinking tap water if I can.'
'That's my girl! I brought you and your sister up well. Much better off with gin. I would ask how you are but you know I detest hearing about other people's health.'
'How's the vicar?' I ask instead. The vicar is Aunt Winnie's new hobby. She adores engaging him in earnest theological discussions. I feel terribly sorry for the man because he simply has no idea what he is dealing with. I remember similar warnings in the Jaws film and look what happened there.
'In the middle of a row over the church flowers. Mrs Harrison did an arrangement last week involving lots of aubergines. I suppose she thought she was being trendy but it turned out quite spectacularly indecent. Lots of phallic bulging purple coupled with some rather unfortunate poppy heads. I thought the vicar was going to have a coronary on the spot. I haven't laughed
so
hard since one of the Sunday school kids stapled his cassock to the bell rope.'
I giggle. 'Aunt Winnie, you are terrible.'
'Actually, I'm glad I caught you. I didn't want to have to leave a message with Dom as he would probably get the story completely tits-up. Guess who I met today!'
'I couldn't.'
'Go on! Guess!'
'Er, George Clooney?' I say hopefully, praying she would have him at home right now with a large padlock on the door.
'George who?'
'Clooney.'
'Loony?'
'CLOONEY. He's a film … never mind. Tell me who you met.'
'Mrs Charlesty!' This really isn't along the same lines as George Clooney.
'No!'
'Yes!'
'Not really?'
'Yes, I was … You're being sarcastic, aren't you? Actually, I haven't told you why it's such a big deal so I'll forgive you. I was in the butcher's at Bury St Edmunds. You know, they've had to close the butcher's here in the village for a few days because all the family have gone down with flu. But you needn't concern yourself because I have had my flu jab.'
'Thank goodness.' I remark dryly, wondering if we are ever going to get to the point.
'So I had to go into Bury and I bumped into her there. I was telling her
all
about you and your job. She was absolutely fascinated.'
'Is that it? Why would she be fascinated by me?' I query.
'Of course she was fascinated! You have a very interesting job and I am proud of my gals. Now, have you stopped moping about yet?'
'Well, Dominic has been spared his duties of sitting on the sofa with me and producing tissues from a box like some bored magician, if that's what you mean.'
Aunt Winnie obviously sees this as enormous progress. 'Good, good!' she booms. 'Dom's not having a difficult time at work, is he?'
It is regrettable that I met Rob Gillingham through Dom. The insurance company Dom works for is owned by the Gillingham family and Rob is being groomed to take over from his father in a few years' time. Rob and I met at a large black-tie bash the company threw to celebrate its 150
th
anniversary. I was there as Dom's guest rather than in the hired help capacity. Rob's not traditionally good-looking but where you might doubt his looks there is no doubting his charm. I fell for it hook, line and definitely sinker.
'I don't think so, he never mentions him.'
'I should think not!' snorts Aunt Winnie. 'Now, chin up and if you feel yourself wanting to phone him just call me instead!'
Dom has finished washing up and is making a pot of tea. 'Who was that?' he asks.
'Aunt Winnie.' I sit down at the table.
He slops the tea into two newly washed mugs. 'What did she want?'
'Just a chat.' I glance down at my stomach, remember the incident on the Tube and sharply draw it in while wincing to myself. 'I really need to go on a diet.'
Dom follows my gaze down. 'Yes, you do a bit,' he says with candour.
'I'm not sure I can face it tonight, I have had an appalling day.'
'Lady Boswell?' asks Dom sympathetically.
'Lady Boswell,' I confirm. 'Or Tosswell as Stephanie calls her.'
'Well then, I think we could declare a state of emergency just for tonight. But tomorrow evening I will personally throw away all the Cornettos and then we can go to Sainsbury's and buy some celery. Or whatever you women eat on these diet things.'
Oh goody. He walks over to the vastly depleted wine rack and pulls out a bottle. 'Join a gym with me too?' I beg.
'A gym?' he questions as the cork comes out of the bottle with a comforting POP. 'Is that really necessary? Oh all right,' he relents in answer to my pleading look. 'I suppose I could do with getting fitter. Although I'm not running any marathons.'
'My body is a temple. That will be our new mantra!'
'More like my body is a shed. Chuck everything in and have a good clear out once a year.' He clinks his glass against mine. 'Cheers! Here's to new beginnings and old endings!'
We sip in silence, then I suddenly say, 'Dom, something happened to me on the Tube today.'
'What?'
'Now, promise you won't laugh …'
C h a p t e r 3
T
he next morning, feeling more than a little worse for wear, I ram a pair of sunglasses on to my nose and start the walk from South Ken Tube to my office. At least the weather isn't in keeping with my mood. We are supposedly at the start of summer but this is the first day I have actually seen proof of it. The sun is desperately trying to warm up the tepid air as though making up for lost time and the light throws long shadows on to the bustling, waking streets. The world seems to come into sharp focus which makes me feel more washed-out than ever. I sneak furtive looks at myself in shop windows as I pass. My shoulder-length brunette hair could really do with some highlights and … my eyes travel down to my stomach and I pull it in. Yes, it probably is in need of some attention.
At the office, I lean on the buzzer urgently as though I have in actual fact been waiting here quite some time. Stephanie buzzes me in.
'You're late,' she greets me as I reach the top of the stairs.
'I know. Gerald in yet?'
'About half an hour ago. Watch out for him this morning.'
'Why? Is he in a funny mood?'
She shrugs dismissively, 'I don't think his drinks party went too well last night. You look awful, by the way.'
I am just creeping past Gerald's door, hoping to get to my desk, spread a few things out and generally behave as though I have been here for hours, when it flies open and Gerald himself stands before me. I straighten up and try to arrange my features into an enquiring yet intelligent look. This doesn't come out too well as it is painful to move anything too quickly. It is the facial equivalent of flinging myself across the room.
'Gerald!' I say weakly, trying desperately to add a smile. God, the pain.
'Isabel. How nice of you to come to work.'
