Page 25 of Wish You Were Here
We are going to an Indian restaurant in Kings Cross, and the weirdest thing is that Brian’s ex-wife Shirley is coming along, and Brian and Shirley’s daughter, Yvette, who even Mum described as ‘a bit off’, is coming too. It should be an interesting night or perhaps absolutely awful. The good thing is that I’m off work today, the weather is gorgeous, so perhaps rather than heading back to Glebe right away, I’ll spend some time outdoors. I can get another coffee, have a stroll around The Rocks before some retail therapy. It will be good for my mental health, and maybe it’s just what I need to clear my head.
The word that comes to mind when I meet Shirley and Yvette is weird. I walk up to the restaurant with Mum and Brian – thankfully, sans kilt – and there they are. Shirley is about sixty, has a shaved head of hair, a bull-nose piercing, quite a few tattoos and is wearing a large, floaty bright orange dress with thongs, and her toenails are the same orange as her dress. She’s quite startling to behold, and because she’s quite a large woman – no judgement – there is a lot of her to behold. Yvette,on the other hand, is whip thin, dressed in dark blue double-denim with long dark hair that’s been aggressively tied back in a ponytail. She’s almost as startling as Shirley, but in a very different way. Brian introduces us all before we head into the restaurant and sit down at our table. Fortunately, as soon as we sit down, Shirley and Yvette head off to the ladies, Brian heads to the men’s toilet, and I am left alone with Mum.
‘This is a bit weird, Mum. Does his ex-wife always come to his birthday?’
‘Apparently so,’ says Mum, who is looking nice in a smart black dress.
‘And you’re okay with it?’
‘I mean, it’s his birthday, love, and it’s only one day out of the year.’
‘Okay, but they both seem a little off.’
‘The night has only just started, love,’ says Mum with a smile that leaves me feeling a little unnerved. ‘You might want to get a large glass of wine.’
Everyone returns from the loo, and it soon becomes clear exactly what Mum meant. We are looking at the menu, deciding what to order, when I first hear Yvette speak. For a woman who is older than me, she sounds like a sullen teenager.
‘Don’t like the look of any of it,’ mumbles Yvette, who immediately folds up her menu and slaps it down dramatically on the table. ‘All weird shit.’
‘Come on, Vetty,’ says Brian with an encouraging smile. ‘There must be something. It’s a big menu. What about the butter chicken? It’s mild, and I know you’re not a fan of spice—’
‘Irritable bowel!’ says Shirley loudly with a screechy, high-pitched voice. ‘Doesn’t get it from me!’
‘IBS is a real problem,’ says Brian. ‘It can be quite debilitating.’
‘I don’t have IBS. God!’ moans Yvette. ‘Anyway, I’m a veggo now.’
‘Oh, right, I didn’t know,’ says Brian. ‘Well, let me see. You could have the daal, Vetty. They have a lovely daal. I even get it myself sometimes, and you know I love my meat.’
‘I hate lentils. You know I hate lentils, Brian,’ replies Yvette. I’m trying to get the waiter's attention because I definitely need a large glass of something alcoholic.
‘Yeah, sorry, love,’ says Brian, who is beginning to sweat, before he’s even had any food.
‘Never liked lentils!’ screeches Shirley. ‘Or beans, eh. Probably shouldn’t be a veggo, Vetty. I’ll eat anything. Meat, fish, spicy, not spicy, chooks, snags and once in the bush, I tried these grubs. They tasted like utter shit, but I ate them because why not, eh?’
Fortunately, before this carries on, a waiter appears, and we order our drinks. I get a large glass of white wine, and I think I might need a few to get me through the night. As soon as the waiter is gone, the conversation continues. It’s like watching a strange television show that’s supposed to be funny, but is too uncomfortable to really enjoy.
‘I’ll just have a plain naan bread. Happy?’ says Vetty.
‘She’s always like this,’ says Shirley. ‘We took her on a cruise once. Remember, Bri? They had an all you can eat buffet, and Bri and I were going at it, and Vetty was there gnawing down on a hunk of plain bread because apparently everything else gave her the shits.’
‘Maybe we should move on from Yvette’s IBS issues,’ says Mum, trying to get the night back on track, but this only seems to anger Yvette further.
‘Did you not hear what I said, Susie? It’s not fucking IBS!’
‘Right, yes, sorry,’ replies Mum, and I want to say something to defend Mum from Yvette and Shirley, but before I can, Brian steps in.
‘Vetty, I love you, but this isn’t going to be another Canberra situation, okay? You know I love you, but you can’t be rude to Susan like that. Now apologise.’
I am slightly taken aback by Brian, who is usually so mild-mannered, but it’s clear he’s willing to defend Mum against his own daughter and it makes me feel something like respect for him – although why he invited Shirley and Yvette to his birthday I have no idea because from what I can see, they’re both a fucking nightmare. For a moment Yvette sulks, but then Shirley gives her arm a nudge and says.
‘For Christ’s sake, Vetty! It’s Bri’s fucking birthday, love, show some respect to Susie!’
We all look at Yvette, and there’s a horrible tension at the table. It’s clearly going to be an awful night, and I am longing for the waiter to return with our drinks.
‘Sorry,’ mumbles Yvette finally.
‘No worries,’ says Mum with a smile. ‘Let’s just enjoy ourselves and celebrate Brian’s birthday, shall we?’
