Page 17 of Great Sexpectations
My dad winces, Ruby’s parents sit there waiting for the story. Hell, I like how I’m taking one for the team so we can swerve all those other topics, like my parents being in porn and who’s paying for the wedding.
‘I went out with someone for a while, his name was Mike,’ I offer vaguely.
‘They went out for eighteen months,’ my mum says, because the extra detail is necessary.
‘He wasn’t very kind to me so I decided to be single for a while, focus on my career and myself,’ I explain, trying to draw a line under the topic.
‘More like he was a thieving pissflap,’ Nan says. I smile at Nan and her wonderful lexicon of swear words. ‘I’m a nice person, Anne. I wouldn’t hurt a fly, but if I saw that man again…’ Nan continues, gripping on to a dessert spoon with more force than is necessary.
I see Dad put a hand to his mother’s arm to tell her to turn the angry woman down a notch so the new in-laws don’t think we’re in crime.
‘We were living together and had saved some money for a house and one day, he left me a note and told me it wasn’t working. He took all our savings and moved to Venezuela to travel and expand his horizons,’ I clarify.
The table goes quiet for a moment as the shame of having to retell the story to virtual strangers washes over me. However, I’m glad it at least shuts up any more lectures about milk.
Bringing it all up means the memory swoops into view. I remember that day well. I came home to the flat from work with a Chinese takeaway and the note was pinned to the fridge. I didn’t see it at first. I thought it was a shopping list. So I tucked into my Singapore noodles until I spied it and the words drew me in. I then sat on the floor of our flat as the sky went dark, until I could feel my legs again, my chest. Crispy squid, sweet and sour pork, egg fried rice. I got you your order. It’s going to get cold.I sat there for five hours. I then packed a bag and went to my parents’ house. It feels like another life.
‘He took all that money. He’s a thief and a liar,’ Mum says with the last word.
Sonny glares at Mum for bringing it up and switching the mood of the evening even though he was also party to it. They’re allowed to feel anger. Mike left. He lied. I didn’t even let them read the letter. That thing would have made them rage and hire hitmen. But next time I take that sort of plunge, I want to be prepared, ready. It’ll have to be a sparkling warm ocean I jump into, though, not this puddle of a man sitting next to me. He’s wearing a recycled waistcoat that once used to be a shopping bag.
‘So as lovely as you are, Ricky, I am deeply scarred and a workaholic and I didn’t even have a dress to wear out tonight. I borrowed this from my mum. I wear my mum’s clothes, so I don’t think I’m the girl for you.’
Dad looks over at me with sad eyes, but it is true. I would never buy a bodycon dress like this. I feel like I’ve been wrapped in cling film. Dad’s stance is more protective than Mum’s. While Mum wants me to replace my hurt with magic and fireworks, he just wants the next man to be decent, vetted. He’ll hire people to work out what the next man has for dinner on Tuesdays.
My sad life story has seemed to dull the mood, so I sigh and try to summon up some humour. ‘I mean, I’m sad, but has Sonny ever told you about the time he pooed himself on stage playing a camel in the nativity?’
It’s like a switch has been turned on and everyone laughs. Sonny beams at me and winks. I’ll let him tell that story.
‘And what’s this?’ I ask, taking a ladle in my hand and having a smell.
‘Josie, that is a pan of fat, don’t sip that,’ says Tina, cringing.
I put down the ladle and meander around Brett and Tina’s kitchen, looking for scraps. I’ve done a classic Josie this evening to avoid any more speculation about my love life. Once the table had been cleared, I excused myself to the loo by way of the restaurant kitchens to hang out with my mates. Through the doors, I can see my mum looking for me. It’s like grown up hide-and-seek, except she’ll never find me.
‘Service, Miguel,’ barks Tina, ringing a bell on the counter.
I notice Brett discussing an order with his wife, a hand to her shoulder. I love the way in which these two ended up together, partners in every sense of the word.
‘Was it your table with the vegan?’ asks Brett.
‘Ruby’s brother. Sorry, was it a faff?’ I reply.
‘Nah, he asked me where my pineapples were from, though, and I may have made that up.’
‘I hope you told him they were from your back garden. That would have made him jizz his locally grown pants. They’re trying to set me up with him.’
Tina grimaces and shakes her head. At least she gets it.
‘The family even brought up the Mike story,’ I add.
Brett and Tina both pull the same face, that mimicry in their body language that couples have when they’ve been together for the longest time. Please, not the look of pity, though. I remember that look from that time I had a date with a man who took me to Five Guys and only ordered something for himself.
Do we go down that path and talk more about Mike? I vote for the swerve. ‘So, a Valentine’s Day wedding,’ I say.
‘That’s like three months’ time,’ Brett remarks.
‘They want this specific country house and a date became free. You’ve saved the date, right?’
