Page 79 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
‘UNCLE DOUG!’ Cleo screams as she runs towards him. He bundles her up and gives her a massive cuddle. It’s a bloody joy to see him so I bring him in for a hug too.
‘Gracie Grace…’
‘Dougie Doug. You made it.’
‘Of course.’
Maya wraps herself around his thigh and he pretends to fall over like he can’t quite handle their collective hugging.
‘So this place is still standing?’ he asks me, looking up in awe at the sign. We used to frequent the zoo as students in some attempt to be ironic or get through a hangover so it feels good to bring Doug back to a Bristol haunt of old. It was either this or the Lizard Lounge, a local notorious nightclub where Doug once threw up down a girl’s cleavage. I’m not sure we need to meander down such nostalgia this time round. I hand him his entry ticket.
‘It certainly is. Here, admission is on me. I’ve just let my family through. Joyce is wandering around in there too with Linh. It’s a family affair.’
He smiles to be identified as such but he was always more like a brother to Tom and certainly the most favourite of honorary uncles.
‘And Tom loved a zoo…’ I add. I think that is why I come back here, despite my reservations about them; they always make me think of that excitable, curious Tom I once knew and loved.
‘That he did. I remember I took him to Bronx Zoo,’ Doug says, crouching down to tell the girls. ‘We were with the monkeys and someone thought he was a tour guide so he spent ten minutes telling this group of tourists some amazing made-up facts about macaques.’
Cleo and Maya giggle hysterically. It’s a new story to me but one that doesn’t completely surprise. I have a feeling that’s what this weekend will be all about: tales for days about that boy but ones with monkeys are always welcome.
‘You sound slightly American?’ I ponder.
‘Well, permission to slap that out of me if needs be.’
‘Will do.’
‘You’re Doug…’ a voice says as we get through the turnstile. I turn to see Beth, who waddles over via the gift shop. She’s an indiscriminate hugger so goes in to greet him.
‘You’re a sister?’ he asks.
‘I am. Didn’t we go to a Massive Attack concert together?’ His eyes suddenly read familiarity. Doug met all the sisters briefly at the funeral but he always is very confused by the sheer number of us. I mean, we outnumber the actual wildcats in this place. I remember that concert; it was back when I was a student and Beth visited me for the Bristolian musical experience.
‘You’re here?’ I ask her. ‘Are you trying to escape?’
‘No, silly. I needed the loo… again,’ she says, resting her hands on her pregnant belly. ‘But permission to hang with you guys for a bit? Everyone’s obsessed with the aquarium and it’s a bit dull.’
I nod as Cleo and Maya excitedly lead Doug away to the leopards. I like how they’ve literally imprinted themselves onto him, keen to show him their manor. I like how Doug doesn’t really have a choice.
‘This was one of your more inspired ideas, by the way… putting wild animals between Mum and Lucy,’ Beth mutters, her eyes closed to feel the spring sun on her face. Either that or she can sleep and walk at the same time. She nestles into me. It’s a moment of quiet on one of those glorious days where the sun almost glows blue.
‘Has it got really bad in the rental then?’ I ask.
Beth’s tired face says it all. From what I hear, it’s a mixture of people stuck on devices and shouting at each other, like a scene from a stock exchange. When the stock has dropped. And the bankers haven’t slept properly for days and are climbing over each other in a frenzied mass of bodies.
‘Mum won’t let us playJust Dance. She says our dancing is all too bad, it will end in disaster when we break things.’
‘Savage.’
‘She’s also offended that I’m putting ketchup on everything.’
‘Everything?’
‘It’s a craving. There’s obviously vitamins in there that the baby needs.’
Out of all the sisters, Beth is the most neutral – she’s slap bang in the middle and connects us all – but there is also a wonderful sense of chill and warmth that radiates from her. She roots through her handbag, a jumbled assortment of receipts, hairbands, baby wipes and what looks like an adult sock. This is where the genes differ. She hands me a Fruit Pastille.
‘How long have they been in there?’ I ask.
