Boys and Girls (21 page)

‘Ah Susie. How lovely. Mm – does smell good. What is it?'

‘Well it's the makings, Black, isn't it? Do you not know Chinese? Duck pancake? No? Well you see you spread the sauce on the crepe thing, yes? And then you add the strips of … shall I do it for you?'

‘That would be nice of you, Susie. Thank you. Good wine.'

‘I've noticed,' said Alan, ‘that you call her that. Susie. I've never called her that. Have I, Susan?'

‘I'll just add the duck now – see Black? And then you just roll it up and hey presto. There's also seaweed, if you want it.'

‘Have I, Susan? Never called you Susie, have I?'

‘I wouldn't know, Alan. I wouldn't know. Black's glass is empty, my sweet. Do you think you could cope?'

‘Oh well – maybe just a drop you know, Susie. Do you, um – object, my dear? To my calling you Susie? I've never thought.'

‘Not in the
slightest
, Black. No, not a bit. I like it, actually.'

‘Oh well,' said Alan. ‘In
that
case, I'll call you Susie too.'

‘Don't be ridiculous, Alan, there's a good boy. Are you happy with the white, Black? Plenty of red, if you'd like to switch.'

‘It's a fine wine,' murmured Black. ‘Perfect with this, um, thing. Red later though, no doubt. You're into wine then, are you Alan?'

‘Oh God
yes
,' agreed Alan with eagerness. ‘Into wine, all right. Alcohol generally. Fear not, though – I am not an alcoholic. Not a drunkard. I very might well be, though, now I come to think of it – a bit of a
drinkard
. Neither here nor there – but I'm glad you like this one. Cost an absolute fortune, which I wasn't meant to say. In the normal run of things, I'm happy with the more everyday – Oz, particularly the ones with the bloody stupid names, Chile, Argentina. But Susie here, our Susie, she said this was to be special, you see, so the boat has been well and truly pushed. Out. I suppose we ought to have a toast or something, should we?'

‘Oh what a perfectly lovely idea,' Susan enthused, taking her place at the centre of the table and flapping her napkin.

‘Well …' said Alan slowly. ‘It's your party, isn't it Susan? Susie? So maybe you should be the proposer …'

Susan's eyes were sparkling in the candlelight as she raised up her glass and glanced in turn to Black and Alan.

‘To … the three of us. And happiness. Cheers.'

Black obligingly bobbed his glass and sipped, but Alan for one could tell that he was puzzled, which I suppose is amusing in a twisted sort of a way, though also rather pitiable. Or is it me I pity? Certainly I am sad. I can hardly see this as a joyous celebration, or as anything at all much really – but still and all, it could hardly be said to be run-of-the-mill. Guest I've never clapped eyes on, best dishes, best cloth, fresh flowers, great wine – and just look at Susan's dress, the earrings, the hair, the make-up: my wife looks so very desirable. I am beginning to think, though – and this has honestly only just this second
occurred to me – that Black, poor chap, is not shall we say, au fait. Up with the ins and outs. He seems bewildered, yes, and also rather itchy – and plus, if the way he keeps clutching at his midriff is anything to go by, in the periodic grip of considerable pain. I'll give him more wine, is what I shall do – red, I think: beef him up a bit, poor sod. And the other factor which I can barely avoid, now we are all of us here and I am finally forced to study the man, is that he is really rather old. Well isn't he? Has to be faced. What we used to term – with the shreds of a spurious tact not at all concealing the dismissive contempt beneath – retirement age. Which I am aware ought in some way to make me feel better then, ought it? Well it doesn't. Make me see myself as not, after all, quite so broken and done? Well it doesn't. Encourage me to hope that Susan might some day – maybe even this day – come to her senses, cringe and recoil from the folly of her ways? Well no. It doesn't. Just doesn't, I'm afraid. So all right – red wine now. And then I shall probe – for the sake, I hope, of at least one of us here, though quite which I couldn't honestly at this juncture begin to even hazard. But Black now … it appears from the tremor and disturbance about his lips as if he perhaps is about to speak, maybe feeling forced to voice his uncertainties – to if not dispel them, then at least have even partially explained to him this palpable sense of discomfort, his dark and spreading unease. All just a guess, of course: could merely be indigestion – it might be that he is afflicted by some breed of facial tic to supplement the raft of other disabilities he appears to harbour (and maybe others yet not dreamed of).

‘So, um … Amanda not joining us after all. It is Amanda, isn't it?'

‘'Tis, yes,' Alan agreed, nodding his head with emphasis, so as to thoroughly dismiss all doubt on the matter. ‘What do you think of this red, Black? Second wine of La Lagune. Or at least that's what the man told me, anyway. What would I know? Had to justify the price of it somehow, I suppose. We always liked the name, didn't we Susie? Not La Lagune, I don't mean: Amanda. I have a vague recollection, you know, that we for a short time toyed with the possibility of Georgia …? Am I right about that, Susie?'

‘Goodness sake stop calling me
Susie
. Now then, Black – do please help yourself, won't you. Rice. Noodles – Singapore and, um – chicken, I think. Sweet and sour. Sizzling something and black bean something. Ribs.'

‘Oh I see yes of
course
 …!' said Black, rubbing at his side, clawing at his neck, doing his damnedest to defer the need for yet another headlong dash to the nearest lavatory. ‘You are Amanda's
father
 – oh of course, of course, how very stupid of me. Of course I should have realised.'

‘Well
I
think, actually, that you should have been told. By Susie, conceivably. But there – in common with the Great Detective, she has her methods, I dare say.'

‘Oh
do
shut up Alan, my sweet. No look, Black – let me just give you a selection, shall I? Assortment. Bit of everything. And then you can pick and choose.'

‘And no,' Alan continued, pouring more claret into the glass that Black was waggling expectantly. ‘She isn't coming, actually. Amanda. Were you told that she would be here, then? It was never on the cards. In fact I gather from the child's own dear lips that she was expressly barred from the occasion. Packed off for a pizza with a chum. The work of a cruel and unfeeling parent, you might assume – and yes, you might
indeed be right. That she might be better
off
with a pizza is hardly here nor there …'

‘God's sake, Alan …!'

‘No. No no. I wasn't
actually
told she'd be here, Amanda. No no. The wine is excellent, by the way. Good tannin. Very mellow. Structure. Legs. No – it's just that when Susie said it was to be just the
three
of us—'

‘Ah
yes
,' Alan rushed in. ‘Point taken. You of course
assumed
 … Well quite. You would. Completely understood. Woman proposes marriage to you one day, next morning asks you round to a perfectly preposterous little feast – well it's the daughter you'd expect to be introduced to. Isn't it? Only natural. And hence your very kind and doubtless thoughtfully chosen gift for her. But it's a no-show, I'm afraid. And the last thing you'd expect really is the husband instead. I can see how it could come as something of a shock.'

‘Sit down now, Alan. Won't you my sweet? You've had your little spell of limelight. Well done. Very good. Clap clap. Now just sit
down
, can't you? Black – just ignore him. You've barely touched any of your food. Alan – stop talking. Black can't concentrate on his food.'

‘A sideways blessing, I'd say. A boon. Still, Black – at least the wine's making up for things, hey? Or at least some of them, anyway. I've opened loads. Think we'll need them. But tell me – and this is the real point, isn't it? Why we're all here. No reason shilly-shallying is there, really? Pussyfooting around the thing.'

‘Alan – I don't want you to—!'

‘No, Susie, I'm sure you don't. But to be honest with you, my angel, I don't really feel I can be
orchestrated
any more. I've just about had it, frankly. And Black – he's quite in the
dark, you only have to look at him, poor old sod. No offence, Black.'

‘No no – none, um …'

‘Taken, right. You're a good man. I truly think you are, Black, from what I've seen of you. But here's the big question. Be quiet, Susan: I'm talking. This is the sixty-four-whatsit question, Black. Ready? OK, then: Is You Is, Or Is You Ain't? Or, to put it another way: are you going to – don't laugh –
marry
this woman? To have and to hold. For richer or for richer – oh yes, oh yes, do please make no mistake on
that
score. And is it to be from this day forward? Speak now, or forever hold your thing.'

Black glanced over to Susan, whose face was in all sorts of turmoil, uncertain as to what expression she should even be striving for. The gleam of a collaborator shone from the eye she trained full upon him, while the arch of the brows was an attempt at apology and her own exasperation, while her lips were tugged up into encouragement, the allaying of fears with regard to the very nub of the thing. To Black's eyes, the cumulative impression was that of one who suffered from the colic, if not acute dyspepsia – conditions, alas, that were all too familiar to him.

‘I hardly think …' he said quite slowly. And then he drank more wine. ‘I hardly think, Alan – much as I realise that you were invited here in common with myself, and that your history with Susie is a long one … child, and everything … I still can hardly think that whether or not I intend to, ah – make Susie my wife is a question for the ex-husband to be posing.'

Alan now raised his arms way above his head and clapped together the palms of his hands. The eyes in his head were dancing, the colours splintered into a dazzle of delight.

‘Oh and at last! At last we arrive at the
point
.'

‘Alan – I warn you—!'

‘No no, Susan. No warnings. It's all out in the open now. How else could it be? What you intended, surely? What you meant to happen tonight …?'

‘Not like
this
 …!'

‘No well. This nonetheless is how it is, it would appear. Sorry, Black, sorry to natter on and backbite like an old married couple, which indeed we are – especially over the dinner table, and particularly when the veins are awash with booze, no matter how refined. But the truth of the matter is this: I was not, as you so reasonably assume,
invited
here, no no. To have prevented me would have entailed the packing of me off to have a pizza with Amanda – and I am not saying that had the alternative presented itself, I should not have embraced it with glee as a consummation devoutly to be whatever it is. Because you see, Black – I
live
here. Yes yes. And the reason I live here – wait, Susan, just wait – is because I am
still
the husband. See? Not ex. No no. But still, in name anyway, the real and living thing. Although Susan, our Susie, she might well have something to say on that score, I dare say. Ah yes – here she is now, look. Eager to speak. I know the signs. Shouting through me, for one.'

‘Look, Black – just don't listen to him. It's just Alan being bloody
Alan
, which you would know if you knew him. Always like this. Look – have some more wine, yes? Let's eat, shall we? Getting cold. Now, Black – tell me what I can get you. A few more noodles, maybe. God's sake, Alan –
must
you eat your ribs like that? It's just so
Neanderthal
. Well, Black – noodles? Yes?'

‘No thank you, Susie. I seem to be all right on the noodle front, actually. But look, um … tell me, Susie …'

Susan was slightly wild now – on her feet and noisily stacking up bowls and plates, crashing the one into the other.

‘Well all right, then – if nobody wants any more food, why don't we take our glasses next door and then we can all—'

‘Susie. Listen to me. What Alan was saying—'

Susan's throat was tight, her voice now shrill, and the words spattered out of her, rising in pitch and becoming faster and faster.

‘No? You don't want to? Take your glasses next door? Well all right then – you do what you want, the two of you. All right? Sound fair? I'm going to clear away. Wash up. Someone has to. And of course it's going to be me because I'm just the
woman
, aren't I? Yes yes of course. Well look you two – go next door, don't go next door, I really just don't care, all right? I really just don't –
care
 …!'

And when she simply dropped down into her chair and let her face fall into her hands as she started to sob, and really quite chokingly, Black's immediate reaction was to get up and go to her, but of course for an assortment of the usual awful reasons he could barely even move – and when Alan put a finger to his lips and narrowed his eyes, indicating to Black with the jerk of a thumb that now, believe him, was the time to leave her, he put everything he had into this God-help-me effort to end all bloody efforts – staggered to his feet, clutched his stomach, grabbed at the table, lurched away then, scratching at his face. Because if Alan was leaving, then Black was going too: didn't want to be left alone with her, did he? State she was in. Women, when they start all this … well, don't have to tell you. Gets messy, very.

‘Sticking with the wine, are you Black? Maybe you'd like to
sit in the easy chair there – not quite so low slung as the sofa. Forgive my asking, but um – are you in pain at all?'