WOMAN: Well, if it does go horribly wrong, my advice is to be reasonable at all times. Pete and I started out being more than civil, but then he got nasty, so I did too. It was tough. At times I wondered if it was going to be worth it, but I just kept repeating to myself a joke my best friend told me.
ZACH: Go on …
WOMAN: What’s the difference between getting a divorce and getting circumcised?
KEITH: What’s the difference?
WOMAN: When you get a divorce, you get rid of the whole pri—
The message clicks off and the disembodied voice returns.
To return the call, key five. To replay the message, key one. To save, key two. To delete, key three. For message details key eight.
I key 8. The message was left six minutes ago. I imagine Zach washing his hands at the sink in the toilet, looking into the mirror. He is content with his reflection. Why wouldn’t he be? Zach never fucks up. That’s Zach. A justifiably shame-free zone. I think about the way she looked at me in the mirror at the hotel. After looking at me she looked at herself. She was staring at her face until I left the room. It was expressionless. There was no shame. I wonder how long she gazed at herself for like that. How could she? How dare she? After what she did …
… Tanya fucking Dinsdale.
TANYA
‘Happy birthday to y—’
‘MAMA! Jasper’s being MEEEEEEEEEEAN! I haaaaaaaaaate him! I want to go shopping!’
‘Happy b—’
‘Whatever, Evie. You ugly anus pig face.’
‘Jasper! E-nough. Where did you learn that dis-gust-ing expression?’
Greg leans down and laughs in my ear. ‘His eye-wateringly expensive private school, probably.’
‘MAMAAAAAAAAAA! Owwwwww! Jasssssper! MY ARM! He’s got my AAAAAAAAAARM!’
‘Happy birthday, dear Taaaaany—’
‘Can’t we go to the shops? OWWWWWWWWWW!’
This particular squeal is so blood curdling I drop my fork. One decibel higher and there could be potential perforation of an ear drum. Judging by the expressions (ranging from marked annoyance to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Child-Catcher-style loathing) worn by the other customers eating in The Croft’s alfresco area, they feel the same. Across the table, Maddie and Kian, look stoically—and a little smugly—at each other. Kian is bouncing their baby, Carter, on his knee. Carter has not murmured since we got here, whilst Suze’s children have not stopped swearing and screeching whilst locked in combat. Her eldest, Jasper (my godson), has always been rough with the younger Evie (Maddie’s goddaughter), to obtain information or his own way but, recently he’s started treating her way outside Amnesty guidelines, purely for fun.
‘Jasper! NO! I said, NOT shouts Suze.
‘Listen to your mother,’ adds her husband, Rollo, without much volume or losing focus on the remaining section of his cheeseburger. ‘Maybe I should put them in the car …’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I reassure him. ‘They’re only playing.’
‘… cut to Evie being disembowelled,’ says Greg.
Suze shoots him a look. But then, another squeal. This one more cochlea-penetrating than the previous. Suze jumps up from the table and marches over to where Jasper is yanking Evie across the grass by her left wrist. With one swift action, Suze separates both kids and drags them towards the car park, where they will stay until she ‘effing says so’.
‘How long is an effon, Mama?’ asks Evie, as they are shunted off. ‘I want new shoes. With a heeeeeeeeeel! Flatties make your legs look gross. You get cankles! FACT! Is an effon longer or shorter than a minute?’
‘You can work that out whilst you’re sitting in the car, can’t you?’ seethes Suze. ‘And by the time you have, we’ll be leaving.’
Jasper blows a nonchalant raspberry at his mother. ‘Like I care. Sooner we get out of this lame hole the better. Can we go to Nando’s on the way home? Food here is crap. I want peri peri chicken. To take away. I’ll eat in my room, then smash the shit out of Call of Duty.’
Greg bursts out laughing. ‘To be fair, I often think that when I come here to start my shift …’
I smile at my boyfriend again, relieved that he is not simply making light of the situation but actually enjoying himself and making sure everyone else does too. I know he wasn’t expecting to have a good time at my birthday lunch today. I noticed a box-shaped lump in the back of his jeans as he was tapping in the alarm code before we left the house. Cigarettes. Or as they shall henceforth be known: sperm destruction sticks.
Suze returns to the table with dots of sweat on her forehead. She dabs at her face—she has applied a fair amount of make-up today—and gives Rollo the type of look usually reserved for violent criminals in the dock.
‘What was that for?’ he asks her, dipping the last piece of his brioche burger bun into a pot of aioli. ‘I haven’t done anything.’ He swivels his eyes at Greg and Kian. ‘Did I do anything? No, m’lud, I didn’t.’
Suze claps her hands to her cheeks and makes a skew-whiff ‘O’ shape with her mouth, briefly resembling The Scream by Edvard Munch.
‘I think that may have been the issue, Rollo, mate,’ mutters Kian, chomping on his dressing and cruton-free Caesar salad (Maddie has put him on a diet) whilst goo-gooing at his five-month-old son. ‘Never ever admit to not doing something.’
‘Who taught you that?’ asks Rollo.
‘You. When Suze got preggers for the first time.’
Everyone laughs, even Suze. She sits back down at the table next to her husband and he puts his arm around her.
‘Sorry, sweetness.’ He squeezes her. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I too wish our son was not so sadistic nor our daughter so materialistic, and that we could leave them both at an enclosed educational institution all year round. As soon as such a place is set up—that is not strictly a prison and has flexi but not compulsory visiting hours—I assure you, you will never have to see them, unless you want to.’
Suze manages a smile back at him. ‘You promise?’
‘As I am also your barrister, I’ll get some legal papers drawn up.’
‘Thank you. Oh, and remember you also promised to drive back.’ She kisses him on the cheek then takes a restorative gulp of white wine. ‘Right, shall we try and sing “Happy Birthday” to Tanya again?’
I wave my hand at them all. ‘No! God, really, you don’t h—’
‘Yeah,’ agrees Greg. ‘Probably not the best idea. I think it’s safe to say the rest of the beer garden know we’re here now.’
Suze glances across the table at me, eyes narrowing. I pretend I haven’t seen her.
‘… so, what are you lot doing next Friday?’ continues Greg.
‘Erm, that’s when we’re round at my parents’ house for their anniversary. You reminded me the other day.’
He pulls a face. ‘Oh, shiiiiit, yeah. Only, there’s a band playing in Camden I wouldn’t mind having a look at. A sort of experimental indie collective with a retro-seventies