Dinner at Mine (13 page)

‘Nearly done,’ Matt said, doling out hunks of meat on to plates.

‘What, roast lamb offends you, does it?’ Charlotte asked, leaning back and folding her arms.

‘We’re vegetarians, you see.’

‘I’d noticed.’

‘So, you know, yes, we prefer not to have dead animals in front of us.’ Justin’s tone became a little less apologetic.

‘It’s not a dead animal. It’s roast lamb,’ Charlotte said.

‘I certainly hope it’s dead,’ Matt said.

‘Looks pretty dead to me,’ Marcus agreed.

‘Yes, but it’s cooked,’ Charlotte insisted.

‘That doesn’t make it any less dead,’ Justin replied.

‘But that’s not the point, is it? That’s like saying that your paella is just a bowl of dead peppers and dried-out rice grains.’

‘That rice is not dried out,’ Matt interjected. ‘I’d say it was succulent.’

‘Yes, it looks very nice, Matt,’ Justin said.

Matt continued quickly: ‘Charlotte, could you serve out the beans?’

This seemed to be the moment to break the tension. Matt began apportioning the lamb and Charlotte seemed fully occupied adding fava beans and flatbread to the plates and sending them round the
table.

Marcus watched his own portion approach as he weighed up his options. The argument had threatened to ruin the atmosphere of the whole evening – he didn’t want to see such promise go
to waste. Clearly, if Justin and Barbara became embroiled in a bitter argument about meat-eating, they were unlikely to give the meal top marks. And for everyone else, a tense confrontation
wasn’t going to help the evening run smoothly. Rosie already looked uncomfortable, and Sarah too seemed on edge. If this carried on, she was unlikely to resist Marcus’s attempts to mark
Matt down. He would be right to do so. That was before they had even tasted the meat, which was never going to seem at its best during an argument about whether or not it was murder.

‘Please start,’ Matt said as he moved the hacked-up lamb to one side. Half the bone was now picked clean, gleaming whitely between hunks of gristle.

No one said anything as they took their first bite of lamb. It was, in fact, pretty good, Marcus thought: tender, juicy, well-infused with interesting spices. Of course it lacked a bit of
subtlety, just sitting there on the plate with beans, salad and flatbread, but for what it was, it was good. The silence continued. It wasn’t obvious how to compliment the lamb without
restarting the argument.

Marcus said: ‘Matt, Charlotte, this is really good. Tender and flavoursome.’ He nodded. ‘You vegetarians are missing out.’

‘We can smell it, actually,’ Justin said.

‘Good, isn’t it?’

‘It’s rather invasive.’

‘Oh, is it?’ Charlotte asked quietly, filling her wine glass to the top.

‘Yes.’

‘Annoying you, is it?’

‘It is a bit. Barbara, what is it that Samina calls it?’

‘Passive meat-eating,’ Barbara replied.

‘What!’ Wine slopped over the rim of Charlotte’s glass.

‘Yes, it’s when you’re given no choice about ingesting particles of meat because they’re ambient, like smoke, in the air.’

‘I’ve never heard anything so stupid in my life,’ Charlotte declared.

‘I’m sorry you don’t like it, but it’s true,’ Justin said firmly. ‘You’re making me breathe in meat.’

‘It’s tasty, though, isn’t it?’ Marcus said. ‘Are you sure you won’t have a slice, now that you’re eating it anyway?’

‘Marcus . . .’ Sarah warned.

‘Come on, it was just a joke. Tell me, is it a moral or a health issue for you?’

‘Both,’ Justin said.

Charlotte snorted.

‘Barbara, what do you think?’ Sarah asked.

It took her some time to respond. ‘I guess everybody has to make their own choices about killing animals. But I just don’t think that I could ever eat meat. It’s so heavy, and
greasy, and full of stuff that’s bad for your body.’

‘Bollocks!’ Charlotte said. ‘We’ve evolved to eat meat.’

‘You know, I think we’ve evolved to make choices. And I want to choose not to eat meat.’

‘Well said, Barbara,’ Justin commented, in a way that Marcus thought was faintly patronizing.

‘What about my choices?’ Charlotte jabbed her fork towards Barbara.

‘I’m not criticizing your choices . . .’

‘Yes, you bloody well are! You called it passive meat-eating! As if we were all sitting here with twenty Bensons each on the go, wafting them under your nose.’

‘We’re not saying it’s necessarily equivalent to smoking in the health sense,’ Justin said. ‘It’s more in moral terms, about what we want to eat or not
eat.’

‘What, so it’s only in moral terms that I’m a baby-killer?’

‘I didn’t call you a baby-killer . . .’

‘It’s what you think, though.’

‘Well, a living creature has died for your meal . . .’

‘I knew it! I knew it!’ Charlotte shouted in triumph. ‘You come into my house and call me a murderer . . . !’

‘This isn’t your house—’

‘But I’m still a murderer?’

‘Look, I’m not saying . . .’ Justin’s tone lost a little of its edge.

‘How can you condemn it without even trying it?’ Charlotte demanded.

‘I’m not saying it doesn’t taste nice . . .’

‘Because it does.’

‘I’m saying we shouldn’t kill other animals for our own pleasure. I don’t need to try it to know that. Just like you don’t need to try killing people to know
that’s wrong.’

‘You see?’ Charlotte pointed her fork at him accusingly. ‘He is calling me a murderer!’

‘Ach!’ Justin exhaled in frustration. ‘Like Barbara said, it’s about choices. We choose not to make animals suffer and die for our dinner. You choose to do so.’

Matt interrupted. ‘Maybe I choose to change the subject.’

Justin laughed politely. ‘Perhaps that’s—’

‘No,’ Charlotte insisted. ‘I haven’t finished. I’ve just thought of something. Why is it only you who gets to choose?’

‘We all get to choose.’

‘No, I mean tonight. You come over here and make me – Matt, anyway – cook you a whole other meal. It’s not even the same thing without meat in it; it’s a whole
other meal.’

‘And very nice it is too, Matt,’ Justin said. ‘Very tasty.’

‘Thanks.’

‘So why doesn’t it work the other way round?’ Charlotte continued. ‘Why can’t I come round to your house and demand that you cook me a steak? Or a nice joint of
rare roast beef?’

‘It’s not really the same thing.’ Justin’s voice was tetchy again.

‘Yes, it is. It’s exactly the same thing. You don’t want to eat meat. I do. Why do you get to have a special meal cooked for you and I don’t?’

‘You’re being ridiculous.’ Justin’s head quivered.

‘Why?’

‘You can eat vegetarian dishes. And if you just tried them, you would probably really like them, because actually there are some great recipes . . .’

‘But you know what would make them better? Meat.’ Charlotte filled up her wine glass again.

‘That’s the difference, you see?’ Justin said with clear exasperation. ‘You can eat something without meat. We can’t eat something with meat. So we have to have
something else or we would go hungry.’

‘You said it was about choices.’

‘It is.’

‘Well, I’ve made my choice. I choose sausages. When I come round to your house, I want a plate of big, juicy, pork sausages.’

‘All right, Charlotte,’ Matt murmured.

Justin laughed very deliberately. ‘No, it’s OK . . .’

‘I’m serious. Big, glistening sausages. Or a chop. There’s a choice for you. I’d settle for a grilled lamb chop with a good bit of bloody pinkness in the middle.
That’s what I want.’

‘Charlotte, come on,’ Rosie said in a soothing tone. ‘You know it doesn’t work like that.’

‘But why not? That’s my point. I think it should. Sausages or chops. Got that, Justin?’

‘Yes, I heard you.’

‘Good. So we’re agreed. You’re going to do it?’

‘No, Charlotte, I’m not going to do it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I think meat-eating is wrong and I find meat disgusting.’

‘You’re not going to get a very good mark off me if that’s your attitude.’

‘If it’s a choice between a bad mark and my deepest values, I think I’ll just have to take the risk.’

Sarcasm didn’t seem to come naturally to Justin. The intonation was all wrong. Marcus thought he must be really angry to try it. In fact, it was probably Justin’s equivalent of
overturning his chair and storming out.

Marcus, naturally, was delighted. The atmosphere was truly ruined now, and clearly Justin would make sure this evening didn’t win the competition. But the bonus was that Justin and
Barbara’s night was almost certainly out of contention as well, if Charlotte kept up her threats. There was always a chance of her apologizing, it was true, but somehow Marcus couldn’t
see that happening. At worst, she would glower scornfully and mark down whatever vegetable concoction she was made to eat. At best, the whole row would start again next time.

How was everyone else taking it? Even though it was ruining his hosting, Matt looked like he was finding it pretty amusing. Stephen looked a little bored and, interestingly, so did Barbara, even
though she was supposed to be an active participant in the argument. She was just sitting there, chin propped up on her hand, staring into the salad bowl. Marcus wondered what she was thinking. It
was so hard to tell. She seemed to have said almost nothing on both nights. Was she shy? Tired? A bit dim? Secretly contemptuous of everyone round the table?

Marcus bristled at the thought. At least he was willing to say something.

‘Can I help you with the clearing up?’ Rosie asked. She and Sarah were wearing the same pained expression, which Marcus found viscerally insufferable.

‘No, leave it,’ Charlotte commanded as Rosie reached for Stephen’s plate.

‘Honestly, it’s no trouble . . .’

‘No, we’re going to have seconds,’ she said.

‘Oh, it was lovely, thank you, but . . .’

‘Matt, will you give everyone some more?’ Charlotte instructed.

‘Not for me, thanks, Charlotte,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m absolutely full.’

‘Matt, give her some more.’

Matt hesitated for a moment, then went over to the carving board. This time he didn’t put it on the table. Lukewarm helpings of meat were passed round in grim silence.

Justin and Barbara declined seconds of paella and for a while no one ate anything. Sarah tried to stifle a cough that seemed unnaturally loud against the silence. Then Stephen cut a chunk of
lamb and put it in his mouth. Was he trying to defuse the situation, or was he still hungry? Matt followed him, then, still looking pained, so did Rosie and Sarah.

The sticky sounds of meat-chewing spread round the hushed table, seeming to get louder the longer no one spoke.

Marcus tried to chew more quietly, but felt the squelching noise must be echoing round the hard surfaces of the kitchen. The meat, herby and flavourful the first time round, seemed to drain of
all taste until it became just a fatty lump of animal flesh in his mouth. Marcus forced it down. He could hear everyone else doing the same, gullets pulsing and twitching like trapped rodents.

This was brilliant. The bitter, tasteless seconds were all anyone would remember of the main course. The evening was going down in flames.

Charlotte eventually broke the silence. ‘I’ll just open another bottle of wine,’ she said.

As soon as she stood up, Rosie began clearing the plates. Charlotte looked round, disapproving, but then got distracted by the corkscrew.

Matt scraped a big pile of uneaten lamb into the bin and stacked up the dirty plates in the sink.

‘Who’s for dessert, then?’ he asked.

Stephen was grateful for the lamb; it was solid and filling after a starter that had been too insubstantial to make much of a dent in his hunger. He had needed a large meal
after a difficult day, as much for comfort as for sustenance. After his first plateful he had reached that pleasant state of repletion that he knew never lasted long before tipping over into
exhaustion.

He had wanted to use this window to throw himself into the conversation, be engaging and amusing for at least a few minutes. But that silly row about vegetarianism shut him out. He had no
interest in joining in on either side – he had always liked eating meat, but didn’t want to make a moral point out of it.

Stephen had finished well before everyone else and thought it was probably too early to ask for more. What had he had for lunch? Oh yes, a sandwich from the canteen. Crayfish and rocket. It
tasted exactly the same as the prawn cocktail salad sandwich they used to have, but was one pound more expensive.

But then, all the sandwiches in the canteen tasted similar – two slices of soggy bread moulded round a rubbery filling coated in fatty mush. Stephen ate them in rotation: Farmhouse cheese
and pickle; Wiltshire smoked ham; Coronation chicken; New York-style pastrami; Crayfish and rocket. Eating them in order saved wasting time thinking about what to have on any given day, wondering
about which he hadn’t eaten for a while, or looking fruitlessly for an alternative.

The lamb really was very good. He had felt a twinge of jealousy when Rosie had praised it so extravagantly to Matt. But tasting it had placated him, because he had to admit that it deserved the
compliments. Even cooling a bit, the soft hunks of meat were tender and full of flavour, with that unusual mix of spices and just the right amount of fattiness. Stephen paused with a few chunks
left on the plate. He wondered why no one else seemed to be enjoying it.

Charlotte brought over some more wine and Stephen picked up his glass to accept a refill. While his attention was elsewhere, Rosie quickly cleared away his lamb without asking. Perhaps she was
hungry for dessert. What were they having? Matt brought over a pot of cream. That was a good sign.

‘Do you need a hand with anything?’ Rosie asked.

‘No, thanks. It’s all under control.’ Charlotte took a large chocolate tart from the fridge and placed it at the centre of the table. ‘There we go.’

‘That looks amazing, Charlotte!’ Sarah said.

‘I wish I’d saved a bit more room,’ Stephen agreed.