You Had Me at Hello (18 page)

My eyes are inexorably drawn to Ben's and he feels it, looking away, quickly.

‘Having high standards doesn't mean you're never pleased, it means you're rarely pleased, Benji.' Simon's voice has become slightly brittle. Now Lucy isn't the only one with a vague sense of things whizzing over her head.

I feel pressure to break the ensuing silence.

‘Here's what I don't get. A marriage where you're madly in love for as long as it lasts and then go your separate ways is a failed marriage. Yet you can be together for decades and be miserable and it's officially successful, by virtue of staying put. No one would say someone who was widowed had a failed marriage.'

‘Because marriage is supposed to be until death do you part. By definition you've failed if you're apart and both still alive,' Ben says, looking at me levelly. ‘Or one has killed the other.'

‘OK, well … the criteria still shouldn't be so crude. “Successful for a limited period” instead of failed. And maybe “enduring” would be more appropriate than successful for the ones who are together but aren't happy.'

‘Oh lord,' Simon says. ‘You're one of those people who thinks competitive sports should be banned from sports days, aren't you?'

‘I'm one of those people who thinks sports days should be banned altogether.'

‘Sure you aren't down on marriage because you're not getting married any more?' Lucy says, artlessly revealing ‘nondescript' wasn't the only information about me that got bandied.

This renders me speechless. It's far too much, even for my blood alcohol level.

‘I'm not down on marriage,' I say, in a small voice.

‘Who's for coffee?' Ben interrupts, brightly.

The next day, I have an important and considerably less nerve-shredding social occasion: I'm cooking a roast lunch for my three closest friends. Ordinarily I might regret peeling carrots when I could be getting nicely oiled in a gastropub, yet the dinner party has reminded me how glad I am to have friends who are neither a) Matt or b) Lucy.

Rupa's palace appears well equipped at first, largely due to her pristine range cooker. On investigation it turns out this flat is the equivalent of those ultra-sleek modern hotels with nailed-shut cupboards and nowhere to put your sponge bag. Even my ingredients haul from Tesco Metro on the narrow counter makes the place look like a school's harvest festival. As I sweat over the pans and flap the oven door open and shut and wish the chicken was less my skin tone and more Olivia's, I reflect on how Ben's wife floats around on a velvet cloud, rolling on castors. She didn't break a sweat serving dinner for six last night, and it was all done with such confident élan. When I cook for people, I nervously watch them start chewing, preparing to apologise. And I can't possibly accomplish it without stress. (‘Just chuck a rustic bowl of pasta in the middle of the table and invite everyone to dig in, what could be easier?' THE PUB.) I catch sight of the ghost of my hassled face in Rupa's glass splash backs and think how Olivia and I are more like different species than members of the same gender.

Confusingly, Rupa has an extravagant dinner service – white, square, edged in silver leaf – so the table setting is easy, but no utensils, and I left most of mine behind. When Caroline arrives, I have to rush back to stir the carrots with a bread knife and check the chicken's firmness with a chopstick.

‘It's fascinating to see a consummate professional at work in their natural habitat,' she says. ‘Like a Heston Blumenthal gastronomic laboratory. Look! A foam!'

I catch a pan just as it boils over.

‘Ungrateful bitch!'

‘Haha. Are we waiting to see if Ivor's wearing that ridiculous train driver hat so you have something to serve the mash in?'

She gives an evil cackle and grabs an olive from the dish on the counter, an unstoned Queen Green disappearing inside the sticky oval of her lip-glossed mouth. You know how everyone wears less constrictive trousers and a greasy ponytail on a Sunday, among their nearest and dearest? Not Caroline.

‘Cheers,' Caroline says, holding up her wine and taking a deep swig. ‘Oh, it's nice to get out of the house.'

She closes her eyes, leaning back.

‘Graeme could've come too,' I say, secretly glad he hasn't. He's always restless, off home turf. He'd be prowling around inspecting the fittings and finding fault. It's not that there's anything wrong with Graeme, as such, and obviously he's a great fit with Caroline. He's just a fit with all the parts of her that are most unlike me. We survey our mutual roles in Caroline's life with a kind of benign befuddlement as to what she sees in the other.

Caroline's eyes snap back open.

‘He's so grumpy at the moment. Work's getting on top of him. He spends all his time in the study or walking everywhere with the phone clamped to his head. I saw him at the bottom of the garden, trying to talk to someone when he was meant to be mowing the lawn. I had to get him to stop before we were sifting severed toes out of the grass cuttings.'

‘He's very, er, driven,' I nod.

‘I know. I wonder if we're ever going to slow down, sometimes. We have the big house, the cars, the holidays. All we share is
Newsnight
and Waitrose Thai-for-two dinners. I'm ready for a change.'

Caroline and Graeme have agreed to start trying for a baby next year. Like the pair of ultra-organised executives they are, they worked out a schedule.

‘Well he'll have to slow down if you get pregnant.'

Caroline makes a sceptical ‘harrumph' at this.

‘Can I ask you something, Rach? Personal?'

I throw the roast potatoes around the dish a few more times, jam them in the oven, pick up my wine and utter a decisive: ‘Yes.'

It's nice to be back among people who think they have to check before they ask something personal.

‘How was it between you and Rhys, bedroom-wise?'

‘Uhm …'

‘Don't worry, you don't have to tell me.'

‘No, no. Er. OK-ish. Bit routine. Usually Rhys after a night out with the lads, crawling into bed smelling of fags he wasn't supposed to smoke any more, whispering “Would you be adverse to a cocking?”. 'Course I'd say “The word is
averse
.”'

‘Oh, great,' Caroline rolls her eyes.

‘We've separated,' I remind her.

‘I know! That's what I was eye-rolling about. The split-up couple were doing it more than me and Gray.'

‘Caroline, Rhys and I did not split up because of sex, or the lack of it.'

‘I know.' She picks at the cuff of her floppy, fine-knit jumper. ‘Lately Gray has the sex drive of a panda.'

‘Is that a lot? Or not?'

‘Well, zoos fly in dates for them from China and it's on the news when they get one of them pregnant. Whaddayouthink?'

‘Ah. Right. Well these things ebb and flow, it'll come back.'

She nods, grabs another olive. We're interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. I welcome Mindy and Ivor and pour them a glass each, too.

‘To Rachel's new start,' Mindy toasts, and as we clink glasses I'm reminded of a similar toast to Ben and Olivia.

Since meeting Olivia, I've barely dwelt on how much I envy her. Not because I don't envy her, but if I started, I'd never stop. I'd curl in on myself like those magic fish you get as cracker gifts, or corrode like limestone in a hail of acid rain. Although it's a shame she's not got a better sense of humour, since Ben has a good sense of humour all of the time. When Lucy was wittering that her son might have ADHD, Simon said ‘Can he sell me some? Street price?' and Ben and I cracked up; Olivia only wrinkled her delightful nose. I think Ben should've held out for delightful nose
and
a
funny bone.

Although everyone has to have one more glass of wine than I intended, lunch is eventually ready, even edible, and by putting the serving dishes on the counter we all fit round Rupa's tiny Shaker table.

‘Tell us about the date, Mind,' I prompt, once all plates are full.

‘It was fun, yeah,' she says. ‘We're going to try that new restaurant on Deansgate on Thursday. Jake's doing an MA in international business so we talked shop a lot.'

‘Maybe you can give him a Saturday job?' Ivor says.

‘At least I've got a date, Ivor, whether he remembers John Major's government or not.'

Ivor grunts at this and helps himself to another potato.

‘Ooh, how did the dinner party go?' Caroline asks me.

‘Fine, yeah. I'm out of practice at all that show-and-tell malarkey, but I think I muddled my way through.'

‘So, come on, what's Ben's wife like?'

‘Beautiful …' I say.

‘Naturally,' Caroline says.

Yeah not all natural, she looks like she goes down the electric beach to catch those blue rays
, I think, before I can squash the thought.

‘… And nice. I didn't get to talk to her much, they had some friends there. They were good at doing the talking.'

I briefly relate the baby discussion, among other things.

‘Ben's wife asked you if you wanted babies?' Mindy asks.

‘Yes.'

‘That's offside.'

‘Is it?'

‘Yeah, you don't say that to someone who's split up with their fiancé, do you? Supposing you had gynae issues or something and that was behind the whole break-up?'

Ivor makes a stifled groan.

‘What?' Mindy demands. ‘I'm serious. What if Rach had said “My insides are all wrong”? “I've got an incompetent cervix”? What would they have done then?'

I nearly spit my Brussels sprout out.

‘They'd wish very much she hadn't said it, like I wish you hadn't?' Ivor says.

‘An incompetent cervix is a thing, my aunt had it! When she had my cousin Ruksheen. Had to be in bed for, like, three months. So not worth the trauma, I tell you. Ruksheen's a grotty skank.'

‘Amazing,' Ivor says.

‘What?'

‘Rachel's dinner party to a family member's fanny in one smooth move.'

‘Thanks for your concern,' I tell her, once my laughter subsides.

‘People take advantage of your sense of humour,' Mindy says, staunchly.

‘How're you?' I ask Ivor.

‘OK thanks. Katya's finally going, she's handed me her notice. Travelling in South America, off by the end of the month.'

‘Ding dong, the vegan witch is dead,' Mindy says, smoothing her peacock-blue skirt over her legs.

‘Ah, she's not that bad really,' Ivor says, rubbing an eye.

‘Oh Ivor!' Mindy wails. ‘How often have we heard Katya this, Katya that? “Katya threw my Peperamis in the bin!” “Katya nailed an African fertility symbol to my wall and made big holes in the plaster!” “Katya made me watch a PETA video about ocelot farming and I couldn't sleep for a week!”'

‘I don't think I said it was a week,' Ivor says, glancing at Caroline and myself.

‘Now she's going, it's “she's not that bad really”. You're such a wuss.'

‘All I'm saying is, she's easier to tolerate with an end in sight.'

‘That end could've come sooner if—' Mindy breaks off as Ivor mimes a sock-puppet talking movement with one hand.

‘Are you going to be seeing more of Ben and his wife then?' Caroline turns to me.

Difficult question. It's time to play the ace.

‘Maybe. I've got a date with Simon.'

‘Simon that I met?'

‘Yep. Lawyer friend of Ben,' I add, for Mindy and Ivor's benefit.

‘That's great! What brought about this change of heart?' Caroline asks, almost putting her cutlery down in surprise.

I rather fear anticipation of this reaction is what brought about my change of heart. If everyone's watching what happens with Simon, no one's scrutinising any other parts of my existence. Misdirection. For my next trick, I'll need an assistant.

‘Spirit of adventure,' I offer, vaguely.

‘This is great, Rach.'

‘What's he like?' Mindy asks.

‘Yeah, give us the vital stats, what weight can he bench press, who'd play him in his biopic?' Ivor rattles off, looking at Mindy.

‘Tall, blond, posh, confident, good at cutting remarks. Uhm, Christian Bale with a bleach job? Rupert Penry Jones for TV?'

‘A catch,' Caroline concludes, through a mouthful of roast chicken.

Do I want to catch Simon? I'm pretty sure I don't.

‘I know it's soon but you have to seize opportunities,' she adds, after swallowing.

‘Yeah, that's what I thought,' thinking, I didn't think that at all. I remember Simon grabbing my elbow as I left, murmuring: ‘Can I see you again?'
Yes
seemed the only polite answer. Also, it was hardly unflattering to have someone who gave that ‘only going for the best of the best' speech after me, even if I'm hoping most of that dastardly bastard routine was bluster.

‘When are you going on this date?'

‘Don't know. He asked, said he'd call me. I still think we're a wildly improbable pairing but no harm in confirming it, I suppose.'

‘That's the spirit.' Satisfied, Caroline sips from her glass and looks approvingly round the room. ‘You know, this place is almost worth the money. Not quite, but almost. Even if Rupa's cupboards are about as bare of essentials as our student dump.'

‘Is now the time to ask why the gravy is in a vase?' Ivor says.

The embezzling payphone in our student house wasn't the first sign our landlord was a south Manchester Fagin. Our detached des-res in Fallowfield had been advertised as a three bedroom – we were without Ivor, who was on a year out in industry.

At the end of the viewing Caroline asked ‘What's in here?', trying the handle of a door downstairs. The landlord looked as nervous as if she was a new bride trying to breach Bluebeard's tower.