Ice and a Slice (12 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Reasons Not To Go To My Parents’ Party

Massive backlog of work

Highly contagious fatal disease, requiring isolation

House move to Scotland

Unmoveable engagement, possibly funeral

SJ chewed the end of her pen and glanced thoughtfully at the list. Did you get funerals on Saturday nights? Probably not. She sighed. She’d had more than a week to come up with something good and she’d failed spectacularly.

Perhaps she could say she was taking Tom on a surprise weekend to Amsterdam to celebrate his promotion. It was almost worth doing – he’d always fancied going to Amsterdam. But, ironically, because of his promotion, she wasn’t sure he’d be able to get away.

Or she could say she would go to the party, and be ill at the last minute again. Weak – as well as being very mean. She didn’t want to hurt her parents. But the thought of seeing Alison again filled her with terror.

SJ closed her eyes. It needed to be something really good this time and she was running out of options. Her parents were coming to dinner in less than six hours – she needed a game plan. She was no nearer to a solution when Tom came in, bearing bulging carrier bags of food.

“Hello, Tom. I thought you had an appointment. I wasn’t expecting you for another couple of hours.”

“I know, but I’ve got to cook for tonight, haven’t I? I wanted to do something nice for your mum and dad. Besides, I’ve been neglecting you lately.” He plonked the bags on the kitchen table. “Come and give us a hug.”

Oh no, he must want sex again – and she was too brittle to relax. Especially for afternoon sex when she didn’t have the rose-tinted glasses of a few gin and tonics. She didn’t mind him neglecting her on that front at all. Was it normal to find your husband attractive but not want to sleep with him? Thinking about that gave her a headache. Reluctantly, she went into his arms and was relieved to find all he seemed to want was a hug.

When they drew apart he looked at her, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He was getting grey hairs, she noticed. Little flecks of silver amongst the brown. He looked tired, too. Eye-tired, as though he’d been staring at a computer screen too long, and there were lines on his forehead. She smoothed one out with a fingertip. “You haven’t been neglecting me. You’ve had a lot on. I don’t mind. I’m pretty busy with my poetry.” Slight exaggeration, but never mind, she didn’t want him feeling guilty.

“The house looks lovely,” he said, sniffing the air appreciatively.

SJ smiled. Furniture polish – one quick spray by the front door and a token sweep of the wooden floor always fooled him.

“Thanks for being so supportive, love. I’d never have got this far if you’d been the type of clingy wife who was nagging me to be at home every five minutes. It will be worth it in the end, I promise. I was thinking maybe we could go away for a romantic break when I’ve got settled – what do you think?”

“Sounds great. They say Amsterdam’s fantastic in September.”

“I was thinking more Paris or maybe even Venice. We could make it a long weekend.”

“Lovely.” It would be even lovelier if she could manoeuvre it to be on the same weekend as the party. Especially if she could get Tom to book it up now. “Shall we go and have a look on the Internet – see if they’ve got any cheap deals?”

“I’m not interested in cheap – I want to spoil you. Besides, we don’t want to clash with your parents’ party. When is that, anyway?”

“The first weekend in September, I think.” So much for that then. She hesitated. “Tom, I don’t want to miss their special day either, but Alison’s going to be there.”

“Well, I thought she probably would.” He glanced at her, his face softening. “We’re going to have to meet sooner or later. Don’t you think it would be better at a party? Then you can just introduce us and after that we can ignore her.”

“I don’t want to introduce you.” SJ wondered if he could hear the tremble in her voice. She coughed to disguise it. “There wouldn’t be any point.” Maybe she could just trivialise the situation. “We’re never going to be close again – me and Alison, we just don’t have anything in common.”

“You’re sisters – that’s quite a bit in common.”

SJ grimaced. Alison had that effect on her. Little Ali, with her angelic sweet smile and blond hair and a pair of demon’s horns growing out of her forehead, always got exactly what she wanted – no matter that it already belonged to someone else.

“I’m sorry,” she added. “I know it sounds selfish, but I just don’t want to get involved with her again.”

“Not even for your mum and dad’s sake? It’s their special day.”

SJ looked into his eyes and wished he wasn’t so kind. Dear, sweet, comfortable Tom. He wouldn’t stand a chance against Alison. Not once she started batting her eyelash extensions and sticking her cleavage under his nose. He’d be a pushover, she knew he would. Men always fell for that routine.

“So how about we tell them we’d be delighted to go to their party? Then I can prove to you, once and for all, that I’m completely immune to Amorous Alison. How about that?”

“All right,” SJ agreed miserably, knowing it was pointless arguing with him any more. And besides, she knew he was right. She was acting like a ten year old.

She screwed up her list, aimed it at the bin and missed. It bounced off Ash’s head, who was sleeping alongside it, and woke him up.

“I’m sorry.” She knelt beside him and kissed his soft head. He gave a little grunt of adoration. SJ wished it was as easy to love people as it was to love her dog.

Her parents were due at seven, but as usual they were early. The doorbell rang at just gone half six and SJ went to let them in, wondering if they’d ever take any notice of her much repeated request that they just let themselves in, they didn’t need to stand on ceremony.

“Hi, Mum, hi, Dad.” She kissed them both and took the bottle her father was holding out. “Chardonnay – thank you, our favourite.”

“Shame about the football,” her father muttered. “Did you see it? Referee must’ve been paid off. Bloody criminal.” He pronounced it “bloodeh”. “Where’s the man of the house?”

“In the kitchen,” SJ told him, smirking. Her father, a staunch Yorkshireman even though he hadn’t lived there since he’d been married to her mother, had never got used to the term ‘New Man’ and was even less acclimatised to the idea that SJ had married one.

“Bloodeh criminal,” he repeated, and she wasn’t sure whether this was a further reference to football or to the fact that Tom had just appeared. He was wearing a plastic chef’s apron and had a wooden spoon in his hand – he’d obviously been mid-stir.

“So what have you done to the house since we came round last?” her mother asked, unbuttoning her coat and giving it to SJ for transfer to a hanger.

“Tidied it,” SJ said hopefully, knowing this wasn’t what she meant.

“I see you haven’t got rid of these old floorboards yet.”

“They’re stripped pine, Mum, not floorboards. They’re trendy.”

“Carpet would be warmer, though, wouldn’t it, pet? Something smells nice – hello, Tom, love. Has she got you in that kitchen again?”

“I love cooking,” Tom said loyally, flicking an amused glance at SJ. “Come in, I’ll get you both a drink – glass of wine, Helen? And how about you, Jim? I’ve got some nice real ale in.” 

“Sounds grand.”

“Just a bitter lemon for me, if you’ve got one, Tom. I’m driving. Sarah-Jane, there are cobwebs on this doorframe. I’ve just got one in my hair.”

“I’ve been busy, Mum. Try ducking, that’s what I do. I’ll have a glass of that Chardonnay – a large one,” she called to Tom’s retreating back. She’d been planning to have orange juice, but no way could she survive on soft drinks if her mother was in critical mode.

Fortunately her criticism didn’t extend to dinner. Sensibly, Tom had decided not to do anything fancy, knowing her parents were both plain eaters. Mum waxed lyrical over the tenderness of the steak and the homemade pepper sauce, and even Dad waxed lyrical – well, as lyrical as he got. “Grand bit of meat, this, Tom. Is it local?”

“Local to Tesco’s,” SJ said, fortified by several more glasses of wine, three of which she’d drunk in the kitchen out of sight of her mother’s watchful eye. They’d switched to one of Tom’s special bottles of Chateauneuf du Pape for the meal. She was just topping up everyone’s glasses when the subject she’d been dreading all evening came up.

“About our little bash,” Mum began, with a one-glass-of-wine flirtatious glance at Tom. “We thought we’d have a buffet, rather than a sit-down meal. Nothing elaborate – it’s mostly family. But some of them are coming from Barnsley, so we thought we’d better do something.”

“Not elaborate, she says. Not elaborate – we’re having a bloodeh great marquee in the garden.” Dad laughed uproariously as if this was some huge joke. Although that was probably the wine on top of the real ale.

“It’s a gazebo, Jim, not a marquee. Now then, Sarah-Jane, your sister’s kindly offered to help out with the food preparation.”

“That’s nice of her. Is there anything you’d like me to do?”

“I was hoping we could rely on you to collect the wine from the off licence. We’ve ordered a couple of cases of plonk and one of bubbly – that’s for the toast.”

“Of course we’ll collect it, we’d be glad to.” Tom put his elbows on the table and his chin on the back of his linked hands and leaned forward. “And I insist you let us pay for it, too, as our present.”

“Oh, we couldn’t possibly.”

“No, son, that’s not on. Not on at all.”

“We’ll be offended if you turn us down, won’t we, SJ?”

She nodded. It was typical of Tom to make such a generous gesture. Perhaps they could drop off the wine and scarper. She wouldn’t feel so bad if they’d at least contributed to the event.

“That’s a very nice offer, son, but you’ve a big mortgage to pay.” Her father’s neck had turned red. “You can’t be going chucking money away on crates of wine. You’ll need your spare cash for the bank manager.”

“Cases, Jim – it’s beer that comes in crates. Although I quite agree. We couldn’t possibly let you.” It was funny how her mother’s accent got all posh when she was trying for a gracious refusal.

“We’re not broke.” Tom looked amused. “Didn’t SJ tell you I’ve just been promoted? I’m regional sales manager now.”

“Regional sales manager – are you? Well, I never… Sarah-Jane, why ever didn’t you tell us? We’d have bought a card…” Her mother fiddled with the stem of her wine glass, looking pleased and embarrassed at the same time. “Well, I never. How about that, Jim? Regional sales manager. What does it mean, Tom?”

“It means he has to work even harder,” SJ said, leaning across to take Tom’s hand and just missing sending her glass – which was empty again – flying. How had that happened? “Maybe we should open a bottle of champagne, Tom, to celebrate properly with Mum and Dad?”

“Well, I suppose we could.” He didn’t sound as keen on the idea as she was. But when she stared at him pointedly he got up and went into the kitchen.

SJ followed him, partly to ask if he minded about the champagne, out of earshot of her parents, but mostly so she could slip out for a sneaky fag.

“No, of course I don’t mind. It’s just I’m not sure who’s going to drink it. Your parents probably won’t want much more and I’ve had more than enough, to be honest, and…”

“Don’t say it, Tom,” she warned, leaning against the worktop to steady herself. “I’ve been cutting down all week. I’ve been a bloodeh saint.” She hoped her father wasn’t listening; he’d think she was taking the mickey. “Surely it’s okay for me to let my hair down at the weekend? And I have just agreed to go to the party. That was a very hard decissssion for me to make.” God, was she slurring her words?

Tom didn’t seem to notice. He disappeared to get the champagne and SJ persuaded Ash he fancied a stroll around the garden. It was quite light, considering it was gone ten. A full moon sailed above the trees and Ash looked like a ghost, silver and unearthly in the moonlight.

Suddenly SJ felt giddy with joy. It was fantastic that they’d moved here to this beautiful house with its glorious garden. It was fantastic that Tom had been promoted. The meal he’d cooked had been sublime. She was so proud of him, sitting there telling her parents in his modest understated way that he’d been made Regional Sales Manager – and all because he was generous enough to want to buy the drink for their special do. She was sure he’d never have mentioned it otherwise.