Ice and a Slice (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

SJ had dreaded this moment for years. She’d imagined lots of scenarios. In her more positive moments she’d imagined that Alison had put on masses of weight and let herself go and looked a mess. She would shuffle across the room, peering out through bedraggled hair extensions, and sniff a little and say, ‘I’m so sorry, sis, about what happened. Can you forgive me?’

SJ wasn’t quite sure what she’d have said in these circumstances. Her imagination had never extended that far.

In her less positive moments, Alison had looked as gorgeous as ever and she’d smirked and raised her eyebrows and said something like, ‘Well, well …’ Her sister had always been fond of the phrase
well, well …
‘We meet again at last. I’m so glad you’ve got over this silly feud.’

The reality was completely different. Alison hadn’t put on weight, at least not as far as she could tell. She’d had her blond hair cut into a slick bob, which made her face look elfin, and she was wearing black jeans and a pale blue bodice over which her boobs spilled. SJ felt suddenly overdressed. Why had she let Tanya talk her into buying this dress?

For a very long moment they stared at each other. Alison wasn’t smirking either. She looked a little shyly between SJ and Tom and then she blinked a couple of times and came across the space between them.

“It’s good to see you, sis. I was really pleased when Mum said you were coming.”

No one else said a word. A kind of hushed expectation had settled over the kitchen.

SJ wondered what they thought was going to happen. A grand reconciliation, possibly – a big hug. Neither she nor Alison had ever been into hugging.

Aware that everyone was waiting for her to say something, she said, “It’s good to see you, too. This is Tom, by the way. Tom, meet my sister, Alison.”

It was almost an anticlimax. Why ever had she been so worried about it? Okay, so the top was a bit provocative, but apart from that, Alison didn’t look like a maneater, as she turned her attention to Tom and held out her hand. “Very pleased to meet you, Tom. I’ve heard lots about you.”

“Ditto,” Tom said gravely, and Alison had the grace to blush.

Tom didn’t seem to have noticed the drink in her hand – he’d been talking to her mother when Dad gave it to her. SJ took another surreptitious gulp.

The rustling of carrier bags heralded the arrival of Clive, Alison’s husband – he was obviously chief tonic water carrier. Perhaps he’d been waiting outside in case there was a fight – he’d always avoided confrontations.

“And this is my husband, Clive,” Alison introduced the two men.

Unlike his wife, Clive had put on weight. The buttons around his midriff were under some strain. His brown hair was thinning on top, and he looked older than Tom, even though he wasn’t.

The kitchen was getting crowded and SJ felt light-headed. She realised her glass was almost empty. She hadn’t even tasted it – what a waste. She was, however, aware of the slow feeling of intoxication spreading through her veins. That would be lack of food, no doubt – not to mention abstinence: nearly six weeks of abstinence. She’d really blown it this time, too, not just dreamt she had.

“Would you like a refill?” Alison was asking. “I’ll join you if you don’t mind? I like the occasional G&T.”

SJ held out her glass. What the hell. She was talking to her sister again for the first time in nearly five years. If that wasn’t cause for celebration, she didn’t know what was.

With the bottle of gin in one hand and a half empty bottle of tonic in the other, Alison manoeuvred her out into the garden and SJ saw a teenage girl sitting on the grass, texting rapidly into a mobile. Her blond hair was cut into a short bob – she looked exactly like Alison had done at the same age. SJ supposed it wasn’t surprising. That was genetics for you. Out of nowhere, she felt a pang for the child she might never have.

“Sophie,” Alison called, and the girl glanced up. “Come and say hello to Auntie SJ.”

“What for? She’s never been interested in me.”

I deserve that, SJ thought, feeling her heels sinking into her parents’ lawn and her heart sinking with them. “Leave it,” she murmured. “She’s right – I haven’t been much of an auntie.”

“Sophie. Where are your manners? Come here now.”

The girl rose reluctantly and came across, her beautiful face mutinous. She had deep blue eyes and high cheekbones and a mouth that SJ guessed was more attractive when her lips weren’t so tightly pursed.

“Hello.” She stared SJ out, daring her to smile, so SJ decided not to bother and finished her refill instead. There was a small silence while she struggled for something to say. “How’s school?” sounded too trite and auntie-ish. Likewise did, “Long time, no see.” She felt her face burn under her niece’s cold gaze. In the end she settled for, “Sorry I haven’t seen you for so long. We’ll have to catch up sometime.”

But not now – definitely not now. Possibly later, when she’d consumed a great deal more alcohol and was feeling less paranoid and insecure.

Her phone buzzed in her bag with the arrival of a text and, grateful for the distraction, SJ hooked it out, saw it was Dorothy, and switched it off. She’d sort out what she was going to say to Dorothy later, too.

“Where’s your brother?” Alison asked Sophie.

“The last time I saw him he was having a fag behind the greenhouse.”

SJ almost dropped her glass as she remembered last night’s dream. Perhaps it had been a premonition, after all.

“He’d better not be smoking.” Alison’s voice was sharp and she marched across the lawn. She had the gin so SJ followed her. Oh dear, she felt pretty drunk already. She’d have to watch herself.

Still, at least if Alison was with her she couldn’t be chatting up Tom, so it wasn’t all bad news.

Kevin wasn’t behind the greenhouse. If he had any sense he’d have seen his mother coming and scarpered. Not that Alison looked as though she’d be easily put off. She poked around behind the nettles that grew rife at the bottom of the garden – their mother’s boot-camp regime obviously didn’t extend this far – and SJ wondered with a growing sense of unreality if Alison seriously expected to find her errant son in their midst.

At least she and her sister hadn’t grown up in this house, hence there were no memories here of shared fights and childhood happenings. SJ wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing. She’d never liked this house much. Ex-local authority and solidly built, it was drab in both shape and design. The only thing it had going for it was the hundred foot garden, which had been an allotment when their parents had moved in.

“The little sod better not have been smoking,” Alison muttered, and SJ noticed her neck and collar bones were already a little flushed from gin. She’d only had half a glass. Or perhaps that was embarrassment at seeing her after all this time. She wondered idly whether Alison would apologise. Perhaps she felt she didn’t need to. SJ didn’t imagine she’d been beating herself up all this time over sleeping with Derek.

“So what’s been happening with you then, SJ?” Alison sat on a wrought iron bench, which had obviously been polished for the occasion, and patted the space beside her. “Let’s have a catch up before we do the socialising bit. It’s been ages.”

SJ sat beside her, but before she could open her mouth Alison was off again.

“Where shall we start? Shall I go first? Did Mum tell you about my new salon? I’ve got this great little place in Wanstead. Not big or anything, but brilliant for passing trade. Dad helped me do it up – it’s got this marble-effect floor and I had these gold taps fitted, not real gold obviously.” Alison’s laugh tinkled across the balmy air. “But you do need to project the right image, don’t you? I think it’s very important. Oh, and you’ll never guess who came in the other day.” She paused for dramatic effect, but not quite long enough for SJ to ask who. “Only Adam Macclesfield.”

Adam who?

“He’s the lead singer of
Empty Vessel
– they’re a rock band, you must have heard of them. They are soooo IN. He’s absolutely gorgeous. Shorter than he looks on stage. Aren’t they always? Mind you, everyone’s short compared to us lanky things, aren’t they?”

Her laugh tinkled again. The gin and tonic she still hadn’t finished had obviously gone straight to her head. SJ wondered if it was too soon to ask for a refill.

“He only came in to enquire about Botox – do you believe that? I wondered if those lips of his were real – he looks like a young Mick Jagger. Mind you, we’ll have to be very discreet if he wants it done. It’s not the sort of thing I want the girls to go gossiping about. If word got out that his sexy pout is nothing but Botox, then my reputation would be on the line.”

Not to mention his reputation, SJ reflected. “Mmm,” she murmured, thinking it wasn’t so bad sitting here in the early evening sun listening to her sister talk trivia. The gin had dulled her nervousness. She might even offer some personal information of her own in a minute. That’s if she could get a word in edgeways. Not that she could compete with gold taps and rock stars.

Above the marquee the sky was clear blue and beyond the surrounding rooftops it was almost lilac. SJ lit a cigarette and stretched her arms above her head – she was starting to feel very relaxed. She could fall asleep out here. Curl up on the bench and wake up when the party was all over. The party she’d been dreading all these weeks, which had turned out not to be so bad after all. Why had she been so worried?

“I suppose we ought to get back,” Alison was saying. “Do you want another gin to take with you? Once Auntie Edie spots the bottle we’ll have had it. Between you and me, Mum thinks she’s a right old soak. Mind you, you’re not doing badly, are you? Do you always drink so much?”

“I haven’t had a drink for well over a month,” SJ said truthfully, holding out her glass. She might as well get shot for a sheep as a lamb. She wasn’t sure that was quite the right expression – but what the hell. She got to her feet a little unsteadily, and traipsed after her sister.

She could cope now. The drink was helping, not hindering. She took another deep drag on her fag. She could cope with whatever the party chucked at her. In fact, she couldn’t wait.

Bring it on.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The marquee wasn’t as big as it looked from outside, perhaps because a lot of people were shoe-horned into it, all of them talking animatedly.

It was baking beneath the canvas, and the air smelt of mown grass and real ale – most of the marquee’s occupants were downing pints of the stuff. SJ caught the odd phrase as she and Alison weaved beneath the red and white striped heat.

“Best flights money can buy – I tell you, it’s worth the investment.”

“I couldn’t believe it when he threw that triple twenty – but you’ve gotta hand it to him. Old Charlie always comes up with the goods.”

“Bloody darts,” Alison said, close to her ear. “Dad must have invited the whole team. They’ve probably got a board set up in here somewhere. Mum wouldn’t let them put one in the house.”

SJ looked around for it and tripped over a guide rope.

“Whoops – steady,” Alison giggled, grabbing her arm and saving her from ending up flat on her face.

“It’s these heels,” SJ said, thinking it was a miracle she hadn’t spilled any of her drink. She really must get a grip. She felt as though she’d been here hours, but a quick glance at her slightly blurred watch face told her it was barely six thirty.

She and Alison elbowed their way between the beer-bellied darts players and their equally large wives until they were standing in one corner of the marquee.

“What do you think of the lights? I helped Dad set them up last night.” Alison gestured towards the red and white spotlights that were stretched on wires just beneath the canvas ceiling. They didn’t look as if they’d be up to the job of anything other than giving a muted glow when the sun went down.

“Must have taken some doing,” SJ said, wishing suddenly for the comfort of Tom. Where was he anyway? Oh, yes, in the house. She really ought to get back to him. He’d be wondering where she was.

“I think I should find Tom. He doesn’t know anyone.”

“He knows Mum and Dad. Don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine. Do you want another drink? Oh, just a sec. There’s Kevin. He’s got a bloody pint of lager in his hand, the little sod. Honestly, SJ, that child will be the death of me. Never have kids. They’re not worth it. Stay there. I’ve got to sort him out.”

“Okay,” SJ said, no longer sure what she was saying okay to: a drink; not having kids; or staying put. Possibly all three. She sank down onto a handy garden chair, lit another fag and watched Alison thread her way gracefully towards a tall figure whose face was obscured by a hood but who very definitely had a pint in one hand – and a fag in the other. SJ felt a wave of sympathy – poor Kevin had obviously thought he’d be safe amongst the beer-swilling darts players, and was blissfully unaware his mother was on his case.

Unfortunately someone had moved across her line of vision so she could no longer see what was going on. Doubtless Alison would give her all the gory details later. And at least it was someone else who was in trouble for a change instead of her.

SJ wasn’t aware how much time had passed. It was all a bit of a blur. One or two people came and talked to her, although she couldn’t remember much of the conversations. When they realised she didn’t know anything about darts they drifted away again. Although one nice man brought her a pint to be going on with – as she looked like she’d run out.

“Terrible about the guy who shot all those people in America,” he said, handing it over.

“Mmm.” She smiled benignly and after a while he went away. She watched a bee buzzing around the tap of the beer barrel. She hoped no one would get stung and kill the bee. She liked bees, with their black and yellow honey-full bodies. If anything, the volume of voices had increased since she came in. She couldn’t hear any individual conversations, just a babble of sound, which reminded her of being at a swimming pool with her head beneath the water. She was surprised the neighbours hadn’t complained. Perhaps her parents had invited them too.

Every so often the nagging thought that she should be somewhere else surfaced, but SJ couldn’t remember where the somewhere else may be, so she stayed put until the need to go to the loo became urgent and she realised she’d have to head back to the house.

The freshness of the evening air was a welcome relief after the muggy heat of the beer tent and the lawn felt squishy beneath her feet. For a moment SJ’s head spun and she paused to get her bearings. The lights of the house seemed miles away. She made slow progress towards them. It was like wading through quicksand. The brush of something against her calves was a shock – she didn’t remember the grass being that long.

Glancing downwards, she was amazed to see she’d wandered off the lawn and was standing in a flowerbed. Mum would kill her. Hastily, she brushed earth off her shoes, reinstated two flattened plants by leaning them against their associates and continued her journey, the urge to pee growing with every step. Hopefully no one would be in the loo; she was close to bursting.

As she drew nearer the lit kitchen window she could see her mother deep in conversation with a woman she didn’t recognise. There was no sign of Tom. Yes, of course, that’s where she should be – with Tom, because he didn’t know anyone. There was no sign of Alison either. Oh well, she’d have to sort that out in a minute.

No one was in the bathroom. Thank you, God. The relief of emptying her bursting bladder was marvellous. Her mother hadn’t spotted her going past the kitchen doorway and up the stairs either. Thank you, God, again. “Good old God, I’m sorry I called you a miserable old bugger. You know I didn’t mean it.”

SJ washed her hands and then, realising her shoes still had bits of earth clinging to the heels, rinsed them off in the sink, and dried them on a fluffy white towel. Hmm, that hadn’t been such a bright idea. The towel now looked filthy. She contemplated stuffing it in her bag and sneaking it into the washing basket downstairs, but her bag was way too small for the stuff already crammed into it, let alone a towel.

Plan B was to rearrange the towel on the rail so the dirty bits weren’t showing. Mission accomplished. You’d never know it wasn’t pristine. SJ giggled as she put her shoes back on, unlocked the bathroom door – which took several attempts for some reason – and stepped out into the hall.

She could hear voices coming from her parents’ bedroom – the soft musical notes of a woman’s voice and the deeper muffled sound of a man’s. SJ leant against the wall to catch her breath, a horrible feeling of foreboding stealing through her. What if it was Alison and Tom?

That was pretty unlikely. Tom had already told her he didn’t fancy Alison. She frowned. No, he hadn’t. She hadn’t actually seen him since they’d been introduced, so he couldn’t have done. She was getting her wires tangled. It had been Derek who said he didn’t fancy Alison. She’d believed him – and look where that had got her.

It would be best to investigate. She made her way along the landing towards her parents’ bedroom. Damn walls. She was sure they weren’t usually that close together – she kept bouncing off them.

Outside her parents’ room, she paused again. She could hear soft giggling now. It sounded like Alison. SJ felt her heart sink – all that being nice to her earlier and getting her drinks had just been a ploy. Well, no bloody way was she getting away with it this time.

With adrenalin pounding through her very soul, SJ flung open the door, tripped over a coat that was on the floor and sprawled headlong into a mirrored chest of drawers that was much closer to the door than she remembered it being and also, for some reason, not against the wall. There was an almighty crash as the chest of drawers, a bedside light on top of it, several small bottles and a box of her mother’s jewellery, tipped backwards under SJ’s weight and hit the floor.

SJ ended up on the carpet beside it, tangled up in the wire flex from the lamp, which had gone out – although she wasn’t sure it had ever been on – and with a shower of her mother’s beads around her neck and a bottle of her mother’s favourite scent by her nose. Prada – she’d have recognised its distinctive smell anywhere. In the dim light that filtered through the undrawn curtains she could make out the outline of a couple in the coat-covered bed. Neither of them was big enough to be Tom. She didn’t think either of them was Alison either. In the split second of silence that filled the room after the crash, SJ tried to refocus her eyes.

“Is that you, Auntie SJ?” came a small shocked voice from the direction of the bed.

SJ closed her eyes and groaned. No wonder it had sounded like Alison – it was Sophie. The poor girl must have slipped up here for a cuddle with her boyfriend and – judging by the pounding of numerous feet on the stairs – she’d just drawn the attention of half a dozen people to what should have been a private event.

Oh My God. She certainly wasn’t going to win any favourite auntie competitions now.