Untouchable Things (22 page)

Thank God, the damn thing was nearly over.

* * * * *

Michael watched Rebecca deliver the soliloquy, the final puncturing of King George’s pomposity.

“For years I’ve toiled with this great flag on,

Stung by jeers of “George with drag on!”

It took a second but then people got it and laughed.

“Fighting foes so Good may conquer

– And now I just feel such a plonker!”

Catherine and Charles tiptoed in with a tea tray and Rebecca sighed.

“Oh, spare the big soliloquy – I could just have a cup of tea.”

They handed Rebecca a cup, which must have had something nice in it as she downed the lot. Time for Seth to finish off, with three ponderous knocks.

“And so our brave, distinguished knight

Learns that the world’s not black nor white.

So may we bid you, sires and sisters

A grey, but very merry Christmas.”

Michael clapped with the rest and then everyone got up and made a bow to the empty chairs. Maybe they could figure out how many subplots, revelations and emotional triggers were lurking under that innocuous little farce, because he sure as hell couldn’t.

Scene 7

We’ve read the transcript of the pantomime. Clearly Mr Gardner was alluding to events in your past you’d prefer to keep hidden. In your position I think I’d be rather angry, Mr Sanchez.

I was.

Could you tell me what happened next? We have already heard the account from a couple of the others.

They were having a drink, cooling off by the open patio doors, when it happened. Three forceful knocks at Seth’s door. Conversation stalled instantly.

“Aye aye, what’s this then? Some grand finale?” Anna raised her eyebrows and they all looked at Seth.

“Perhaps the real Father Christmas, come to take an encore,” he replied, but he looked puzzled as he headed to the door. Jake grabbed a jug of cocktails and started refilling glasses, talking loudly. Seconds later they heard raised voices.

“Jake, could you spare a second?” It was Seth calling from the hall. José made to go with him but Jake put out a hand.

“Won’t be a tick.” He pushed the door to as he left, leaving the others to exchange blank looks.

“What’s going on?” José asked.

It had gone quiet from the hall so they carried on talking, until once again, voices reached them.

“I’m going to look.” Anna put her drink down to a loud bang from the front door. As she opened the drawing room door, Seth and Jake re-entered, both smiling.

Jake batted his hands. “Well, we saw those twats off.”

“What do you mean? Who were they?”

Jake shrugged. “Some local yobs. They must have taken offence at our theatrical activities. Wanted to put the frighteners up us.”

“But why would they be here? How did they get into the building?”

“I told you about the local riff-raff. Maybe you’ll believe me now.” It was the first time Seth had spoken and he looked a bit pale under his half-smile.

“Are you okay?” Both Catherine and Rebecca moved towards him.

“Never better, my pretty little worriers. I could have probably handled it by myself but I thought a bit of muscle might do the job faster. Cheers, Jakey boy.”

Jake slapped his back. “Any time, guv.”

José saw Anna watching Jake. Statue still.

* * * * *

Only you were there at the door, Mr Etheridge. Your account is crucial.

It’s just like I said. Some local meat heads wanting to dangle their cocks at us. So to speak.

How many were there?

Four or five? Five, I reckon – it was hard to tell.

Why do you think they knocked three times? Almost as if they’d been briefed to do so.

Search me. Must have been listening to us, like I said. Trying to be funny or something.

And you just told them to go away?

In so many words. They got the message soon enough. It’s no big deal.

You don’t think it could be connected with recent events?

Nah. Not that lot. Probably just ran ’ome to Mummy afterwards.

* * * * *

Jake looked preoccupied, not his usual chit-chatty self. Not the wide boy she’d just portrayed. Anna was aware of him even as she bantered with José at the table. She watched him checking his phone. What had gone on just then, at the door? Seth had been rattled, she could tell. But Jake had been all shrugs and smiles. He’d said something once about being a bouncer – a bloody good one, she suspected. Under that boyish grin was someone you wouldn’t mess with. He was watching Rebecca now, who was off her head. Who could blame her after suffocating all night under a suit of armour and weighty morals? The purple paper crown on her head tipped slightly over her eyes as she rested her head. Anna checked that José was still wearing his paper hat. He was upset that it clashed with his green shirt. Seth said that if you wanted to experience all the different shades of green that nature could provide you should spend an hour in José’s wardrobe.

* * * * *

Rebecca was breathing out of every pore of her skin, or so it felt. The chainmail costume was in an ugly heap in the spare bedroom. She felt free in her limbs, light, agile, almost as if she’d traded in her old body for a new, streamlined version. Was it just the costume that had been oppressive or the persona too? She looked at Michael’s face, drawn, watchful, and felt free all over again.

A huge roast goose was curled up in a hump in the middle of the table. Dribbles of fat glistened on its pale brown back. For the first time in a decade, Rebecca felt tempted to eat meat. There was something symbolic about it, a slaughtered animal, the celebration of the end of the quest. But having starved herself all day she knew it would be stupid. Besides, Jake had made a nut roast especially for her and José.

Wine was flowing and her glass never seemed to get empty; Jake and Seth saw to that. The mood was celebratory now, as if they had all endured and conquered some great challenge. Perhaps, like the people of old, they had aired their demons and could put them away for another year. Is that what Seth had planned? She watched him, the ripple of muscles on his forearms, the flash of the carving knife as he severed the legs and wings of the goose. He was telling an anecdote but it was as if someone had switched the sound off and all she could do was follow the shapes of his mouth and the play of his eyes.

By dessert she felt as if they were all flying through the air, holding hands, looking down on the table of dismembered Christmas pudding and empty wine glasses. The panto felt an age ago, something in their past. She looked around the table, at these faces that had become so important to her, and felt something filling up inside her, something better than wine and roast potatoes and homemade rum sauce. Michael was throwing his head back and laughing with Seth, Charles and Catherine were making a toast, José and Anna were engaged in a typically smutty exchange. She sat back and allowed herself a Louis moment. It truly was a wonderful world.

* * * * *

Jake watched the delicate curve of Rebecca’s neck as she tipped her head back. Another glass of dessert wine and she would struggle to sit up again. It was strange, but he didn’t really feel pissed. He must have had at least three pints of grog in the kitchen, and the collection of empty wine bottles on the floor was now becoming scandalous. But he felt so sober that he’d have offered to drive a car. His business for the evening was done, but for some reason he couldn’t switch off. Something was making him thoughtful, playing parts of his life back to him like a home movie. Maybe the something was Christmas.

Surrounded by all these people, these friends, in this beautiful room was not a good time to rewind to Christmases gone by. Yet he sat fixed, unable to stop. There he was, as a grubby-faced child, watching his mum giggling with some boyfriend or other on the sofa. They’d ‘made an effort’, got out the crap artificial tree with lights that constantly fused, bought a Bernard Matthews turkey roll. There were even mutilated crackers on the table. There went the two adults, giggling over to the bedroom while little Jake watched telly with the sound turned up. Some years it was better, when they invited his nan. She would do a proper roast turkey and his mum would have to stay up all afternoon.

Thank God for his nan. She’d been the most stable thing in his world until she died seven years ago. At least she’d never had to visit him
there
, at least he’d still been her golden boy when she shuddered and died on Ward 9.

And those years with Lester weren’t so bad; in fact, they were pretty good times. Of course he’d known that Lester was ripping his mum off, that he was borrowing money from her to place doomed bets at the bookies – she’d caught him in the end – but he liked his attitude, his
joie de vivre
– as Seth would say. The bearded bloke from the off-licence who slipped him money was no substitute. Set against what happened later those were times of innocence. He should have appreciated them more.

He’s already messed up once since getting out and it’s cost him the job at the River. Shagging the boss’ wife wasn’t his cleverest move. Still, he’s landed on his feet. He eyed Seth, opening a bottle of vintage port that probably cost more than his monthly rent.
Stick with me, kid
. He doesn’t need to be asked twice.

He looked back at Rebecca, smudged eyelids pulled halfway over her eyes like blinds, and smiled. She would definitely need help getting home.

Scene 8

I made a bit of a fool of myself.

You got drunk?

Very.

She hadn’t drunk herself sick since – easily over three years ago. But here she was, worshipping a toilet she wouldn’t like to observe at this range in the best of circumstances, let alone with a convulsing gut. Rebecca peeked into the bowl. There was something about the translucent shimmer on the water that made her judder. She remembered Seth tempting her with a slice of goose breast. Surely she hadn’t?

She pressed the flush and ran her hands under the hot tap. At least the soured milk smell of vomit was disguising the usual eau de mildew. Only in London would you get windowless bathrooms. She splashed water on her face and groaned at her soft-focus reflection. No chance of lenses today after passing out in them last night. She leaned on the sink as her stomach lurched again. It wasn’t what she had eaten, it was the amount she’d drunk. For a second she blamed Seth and Jake for constantly filling her glass and it felt good, a pleasant rush of indignation that even she could laugh at. She peeled off her dress, grabbed her specs from the windowsill and stepped onto the scales. Eight stone twelve – that’s what a good puke did for you. Two cups of coffee and she’d be back to normal but there was still something satisfying about the needle dipping below the nine.

Back to bed. There was no chance she could make it to Milton Keynes, where Jason would be waiting. How would she get out of that one? Scenes from the evening whirled backwards and forwards in a haze. How had she got home? She had a vision of Jake driving her, which couldn’t be right – he wouldn’t have driven drunk, would he? She pulled the duvet over her legs. As it grazed the top of her thigh another image burst over her: a hand on her thigh in the car. Whose car? She hadn’t been in a car. It must be a flashback to a drink-fuelled dream.

“God.” She was talking to herself now. Who did she need to apologise to? A blurry memory of wayward dancing tapped her on the shoulder. Everyone, probably.

She needed to speak to somebody, exchange stories from the evening, find out they’d all been as drunk as her. Dare she ring Seth? Not after their last phone call. Oh God, that dancing. He’d probably been trying to get rid of her. She’d only known these people for a few months – it was like getting hammered at your first office party. How would she face them again?

On her way to fetch another glass of water the phone started ringing in the hall. She stared at it: friend or foe? Her hand grabbed at the receiver.

“Well, good morning.” Someone was chuckling at her. That ruled out Jason, at least. “You sound like a woman who’s downed several bottles of wine and danced for three hours.”

“Oh God. Don’t talk about it.” She was so glad she’d picked up. It was Seth and he didn’t sound cross. She slumped to the floor leaning her ear on the receiver.

“I’m really sorry.”

“Sorry? The video of you dancing has sorted out my Christmas shopping overnight.”

“Video?”

“Joke, darling. But it did make rather fetching viewing.”

“Oh no. I’m embarrassed to ask, but when did I leave? And how did I get home?”

“Ah, well, I was actually ringing to check that Jake had behaved honourably in the taxi and delivered you home safely. On the second point, I am assured but the first – it looks like we shall never know the answer.”

“Taxi?” Rebecca screwed up her face. Was that the car in her flashback? “Oh. I know it’s weird but I thought I remembered him driving me.”

“Driving? I doubt he’d risk it with his track record. You both left together and he said he knew where to pick up a cab.”

“Well, that’s probably right then. What do I know?” But the memory continued to tickle her like an irritating fly and she pushed it away. What track record? “Anyway, it was a great night and great panto – really clever. Did you enjoy it?”

“Especially with a pro taking the central role. Hope there weren’t too many theatre gags.”

“No, we actors know how to rise above these things.” A lurch of her belly warned her she wouldn’t be able to sustain the banter for much longer.

“Now, I was also ringing to let you know your cardy is safe – it had got mixed up with the Cinderella costume.”

“My cardy – oh, okay.”