Untouchable Things (26 page)

“Oh yes. They weren’t particularly careful where they did it, my parents. Not too worried about privacy, let’s say.”

He looked at her. “Rather the opposite, in fact.”

She found herself looking away as if it were her revelation.

Seth laughed. “I take it you don’t have those sorts of parents.”

“No, thank God. Mum wears sensible knee-length skirts and Dad gets undressed at night in the bathroom. Sex was never mentioned in our house.”

He nodded. “Very nice and normal. My mother was more baby doll nightie than sensible skirt.” He had started to curl the hair around his middle finger. Catherine wanted to grab it from him. They both watched as it entwined his finger like bindweed. She forced herself to look up.

“It must have been awful – seeing your parents like that. How old were you?”

“Old enough to know what was going on.”

“God, I’ve have needed trauma counselling if it were me.”

“Well, I’ve been through my fair share of therapists since.” He continued to twist the hair round and round, smiling absentmindedly. “Of course, I generally end up sleeping with them.”

She jolted again. Was he joking? Wasn’t that abuse? His face gave nothing away. Suddenly he dropped his hands to his lap and smiled at her.

“Ignore me, my sweet Catherine. I seem to be in a funny mood. And in the meantime your delicious spaghetti is going cold and I’m spoiling our dinner. Let’s eat and talk about cheery things.”

When he picked up his cutlery again the hair had gone. She would have been relieved, but for the suspicion that he had put it in his pocket.

Scene 17

“Oh my God!”

It was all anyone could say as they walked in. Rebecca watched her friends’ eyes widen with shock as they took in the balloons and streamers and were greeted by an unfolding paper trumpet blown in their ear. The same laughter, slightly anxious and high-pitched, the same question on their face: What the hell is going on? A tape of children’s songs playing jarringly from a music system with flashing lights. Seth giddy and braying with laughter, grabbing people’s hands and swinging them round. The table strewn with bowls of Smarties, Hula Hoops and mini cola bottles.

“It’s party time! Get your orange squash from Jake.”

“Go on,” urged José to Rebecca. “It’s mainly vodka. I think we’ll need it.”

They watched Seth grab a handful of Smarties and pour them down his throat. “Do you think he’s had too many E numbers?”

“Yo, Smarties!” A large, curvaceous Wonder Woman bounded over to follow suit. Anna, about to burst out of her lycra by the look of things. “What’s your favourite colour, Mikey boy?”

“Mmm?” Michael and Catherine were wide-eyed in the corner.

“Smarties – everyone had a favourite. Mine’s orange. What about you, Cazza?”

“Jesus, she’s as high as Seth,” muttered José, as Catherine said something about never really liking them.

“In my opinion,” Anna proclaimed, approaching Rebecca and José and waving her cape like a matador, “the whole blue Smartie thing was a complete gimmick. Everyone knows they don’t taste any different. It’s only the orange ones that stand out. Hey, what do you think about my decorations?” She gestured at a selection of garish paper chains. “Pretty good, Mr Interior Designer, huh?”

“Dazzling, darling. Rather like you. Who knew that it was fancy dress?”

“It’s a children’s party, isn’t it? Plus, you know I was born in Hollywood.”

Rebecca put down her drink. “What, really?”

José sighed. “A small town in Northern Ireland near Belfast. Surely you’ve heard that one before?”

Charles popped up behind them, making Rebecca jump. “I suspect that Seth and Anna have spent a pleasant afternoon drinking orange squash and taking brightly coloured pills.”

Seth turned round and grinned. “Indeed we have. I feel like I’m eight years old for the first time.”

“The first time?”

“Well, we didn’t have many parties at prep school.”

Everyone held their smiles but Rebecca suspected that, like her, they were surprised at the leak of personal information. It made her realise how seldom it happened with Seth. Only that night at his flat… but it was better not to think about that now. She took another warming sip of squash and wondered what was going to happen.

“Now, here’s the rough plan for the afternoon. First we play party games. Then we avail ourselves of the numerous activities strewn round the room.” Rebecca followed the curve of his arm and took in the space for the first time. Seth’s drawing room had been turned into a nursery. The two rugs were rolled back and chairs had been moved or pushed against the wall to make way for the activities.

Jake winked. “Who needs Persian rugs, eh?”

Half the room laughed. Anna translated the rhyming slang for the rest.

Er…

Yes, Miss Laurence, I’m aware of the slang. And the activity. No need to be coy.

Of course. Sorry.

Near the piano was a toy chest, two tricycles, another box with bits of lace sticking out of it, a Twister mat and large pieces of blank paper. Seth continued. “Then we have our tea party. And finally we should be ready to share our impressions of childhood.”

Anna made for a tricycle. “Well, I’m starting down here. Dodgems, anyone?”

“Not so fast.” Seth put out a hand. “We’ll save the full-on anarchy for later. Let’s do party games. Musical bumps to kick off? I’m reliably informed this is a birthday party classic.”

“Bugger.” Everyone stared at Charles, who had his hand over his mouth. “It’s your bloody birthday, isn’t it?”

There was an instant outcry. Only Catherine was quiet, looking down.

Anna slapped Seth lightly on the cheek. “So finally you tell us. Don’t think you’re keeping that quiet in future.”

He flinched. “Something tells me I might regret this.”

“Too right.” She turned to Catherine. “Did
you
know?” There was a note of aggression.

“Yes, but I…”

“Catherine knew I didn’t want a fuss made and tactfully kept mum. Besides, we’re all gathered together, it’s a party, so what am I missing? Some badly chosen presents?” Seth’s voice skimmed lightly over the tension.

Anna pouted.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, anyone who wants to can make me a present in the arts and crafts corner later. I’d like that far more than a pair of Gap socks.”

* * * * *

“I bet she made a right fuss of his birthday, without telling us.” Anna had briefly cheered up through winning musical bumps but seemed determined to hold onto her grudge. José and Rebecca were with her in the kitchen and caught each other’s eye over the bowls of nibbles.

“Let it drop, Anna. What difference would it have made?”

“I don’t know, it’s just typical of her not to share the information. She’s a bloody snake in the grass.” Anna snapped a Twiglet.

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “It does seem funny she didn’t tell us.”

José sighed. “Is it really such a big deal? We all know now.”

Anna scowled. “But now it’s too late to do anything. We could have planned a surprise.”

“And perhaps that’s what Seth was worried about. Have you thought of that?”

Anna’s scowl darkened.

“Seriously. I know birthdays are a big deal to you but that’s not how everyone sees them. You know Seth likes to control things. He’d probably hate a surprise. Anyway, the best birthday present you could give him would be cheering up and enjoying the party.”

Rebecca sucked her breath in silently but as Anna smiled sarcastically at him, she realised he knew how to handle her.

“I shall do exactly that,” she said, downing her plastic cup.

“And now I feel even more worried,” muttered José as she left. “Pass the Twiglets, Becs.”

* * * * *

Rebecca couldn’t believe how much fun she was having making her picture. There was a whole box of paints, crayons, glue, glitter, beads, sequins, flower petals and fluorescent stickers. It was helping to take her mind off what would come next, the scribbled monologue folded up in her bag that she’d written herself. Her stomach turned over.
Show us something of yourself
… a bloody strip-tease at this moment would be preferable. What if she’d pitched it wrong, taken him too much at his word?

She took a handful of petals and a couple of feathers as her mind drifted to the audition she had this week. A new play, young director, and the press would definitely come. But it was at the West Yorkshire Playhouse, followed by a long tour. She’d be away for months. For the first time she wished she had a normal life, and a normal, settled job.

Now was not the time to worry about that. As the music looped on and the teddy bears had yet another picnic she turned her attention back to licking and sticking and spilling and splodging.

It didn’t matter about the audition. She’d never get it anyway.

* * * * *

José had been roped into a game of Twister with Seth and Anna. He’d never played before and it was hard to get any real idea of how it worked because a sumo wrestling Wonder Woman kept toppling over and landing heavily and, apparently, hilariously on some part of his anatomy. Or maybe that was exactly how it was supposed to work. Seth was busy making every position as suggestive as possible, even if that meant performing ludicrous contortions to hook a leg between his or Anna’s thighs. The British were so weird, constitutionally uptight about most things, especially sex, and yet prone to a sudden, embarrassing reversal at moments like this. Maybe that’s what repression did to you.

He tumbled to the side and let Seth and Anna continue with their contortions. There was something brittle in Seth’s giddiness, like he was at Christmas. Brittle and impenetrable. It put José on edge.

* * * * *

Catherine had taken over from the music tape now, playing from a children’s piano book. She should be able to play this stuff by ear really, but that was more Michael’s domain. She was glad to find an excuse to retire to the outskirts. This kind of party filled her with horror as a child and seemed to have got no better after twenty years. All those clashing colours, the shrieking and squabbling like a cage of agitated parrots. And the games – everyone desperate to win. She remembered trying so hard to make sure she was in the middle so that no one would notice her; not rushing for that spare chair as hard as she might, feigning an unavoidable twitch when she looked in danger of winning musical statues. And now there was Anna giving her dead eyes, having a go at her in front of everyone just because she was organised and thoughtful. She reached the last chord of
I’m forever blowing bubbles
and paused. Maybe she shouldn’t have kept Seth’s birthday to herself. It was true she wanted to be the one to do something special for him, to have him squeeze his arm around her and call her his lovely Catherine. But it was their fault if they couldn’t be bothered to find out things like that. And Seth had loved the shirt and CD.

* * * * *

Michael sat fiddling with the Rubik’s cube. He’d spent hours with it as a child until one day, by sheer persistence rather than logic, solid blocks of colour had materialised on all six sides. He rushed downstairs clutching the cube over his head like a victorious athlete. His siblings were impressed enough but his mum muttered that now he could stop wasting his time on silly puzzles. His dad barely looked up from the telly where he was swearing at picketing miners, saying they’d bring the country to ruin. Michael stood there, letting the triumph drain away through his feet and into the thick, swirling carpet, ready to be hoovered away. He put the cube carefully back on his bedroom shelf and never really looked at it again.

* * * * *

Charles wandered over to the piano and leant over the music so he could sing along. Catherine half turned and flashed him a slight smile. She looked as if she’d been crying. She seemed out on a limb in the corner, engulfed by expanses of mahogany, and he wanted to show her some moral support. He wished he’d said something when Anna snapped at her, but Seth had stepped in so smoothly that any further comment would have made things worse. Most of the time, Anna’s directness rather thrilled him, a flash of how you could communicate if you weren’t buttoned up like him, but tonight it had felt like bullying. Dynamics between women were complicated. He spent a lot of time listening to Sarah and the things she worried about. Left to himself his lens onto the world was on a panoramic setting whereas Sarah’s was in permanent zoom mode, trying to figure out the subtext of every conversation. It seemed harder for women somehow.

Unable to articulate this to Catherine, he sang a particularly gusty rendition of ‘Nelly the Elephant’.

* * * * *

It was ironic, really, preparing the kind of birthday tea he’d always had at other people’s houses but never his own. Jake remembered the component items photographically, having wished so hard for them for himself. His mum scorned the whole party thing, claiming it was boring and clichéd, but really she couldn’t be bothered. She always gave him a present and once or twice she bought a sponge cake too, but she never let him have a party.

Cheese and pineapple on sticks, crisps called French Fries, little egg and fish paste sandwiches, sausages on sticks, even vol-au-vents as people grew more sophisticated. Then jelly and blancmange along with those chocolate marshmallow teacakes. And a big birthday cake, homemade with an iced tractor or dartboard or kitten and
Happy Birthday Bobby/ Kevin/Wayne/Janet
. Candles to blow out in one breath. The first time Jake got to do that was on his twenty-first birthday.

Seth never had that kind of party either. He was touchingly ignorant of chocolate teacakes and cheese on sticks, didn’t believe Jake at first when he said that’s what children ate. Of course Seth probably had caviar and tarte tatin instead, but you could see he’d missed out just as much.

* * * * *

Anna was rooting through the toy chest like a terrier digging in a sandpit. Then she squeaked. “Fuzzy felts! I fuckin’ loved these. I used to steal them from school.”