‘So sorry we’re late,’ Mimi mumbled. She sounded sad, but there was no trace of puffy eyes or blotchy face; in fact her make-up was dewy and practically pristine.
Toots harrumphed loudly, her magnified eyes narrowing behind her glasses. ‘Well, you’re here now,’ she muttered. Toots had seen and heard it all in her ninety-eight years, and she seemed to have lost any pretence of compassion. I doubt she’d seen anything like the sight I saw yesterday, though.
Mimi ignored her, sliding gracefully into a chair. Thetwins plopped down on either side of her, looking terribly bored.
As Mrs Harlow began ladling out the casserole, we all waited patiently for our turn, not sure of the correct thing to say in this scenario. Two empty chairs sat ominously, and the gravity of them seemed to pull at the room, rendering easy conversation difficult. Once we had all been served, I picked up my spoon.
Toots snapped her head towards me. ‘Aren’t we going to say grace?’ she demanded.
I lowered my spoon, heat rising to my cheeks.
Fergus steepled his hands together and began. ‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful,’ he intoned solemnly, ‘and may He watch over those who are no longer with us.’
A chorus of quiet ‘amen’s followed, though I noticed the twins remained silent, their eyes fixed on their plates. As we began to eat, the only sounds were the clink of cutlery against china and the occasional creaking of chairs. The near-silence felt oppressive, laden with unspoken grief and confusion.
I cleared my throat. ‘The casserole is lovely, Jeannie, thank you.’ Although we had prepared the meal, Jeannie had insisted that she would finish making it.
Toots cut in, ‘Why didn’t you follow my recipe, Jeannie?’
‘I did,’ she answered brightly, ‘I know it was George’s favourite.’
We all remained still with tight smiles.
‘Well, you can’t have, the beef is very tough,’ lamented Toots, ‘I can barely get my dentures through it.’
Jeannie stiffened in her seat, her smile faltering for a moment before she regained her composure. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way. Perhaps I did leave it in the oven a bit too long.’
Miles cleared his throat. ‘I think it’s delicious.’
Toots harrumphed but said nothing more. The silence descended upon us once again. I noticed that the twins were pushing their food around their plates and hadn’t said a word since sitting down, while Mimi ate with mechanical precision, her face a mask of calm.
‘So, girls,’ I ventured, ‘how’s university?’
Beebee slid her large brown eyes over me. ‘Yes, good, thank you,’ she said primly.
‘And you, Ceecee?’ I ventured, withering in the face of the girls’ bored, verging on loathing demeanour. ‘How is Cambridge?’
‘I’m at Oxford, Beebee is at Cambridge,’ she said, nearly rolling her eyes.
‘Oh– sorry…’ I began.
‘Ignore them,’ Mimi interjected. ‘You were right the first time. Ceecee is at Cambridge and Beebee is at Oxford. They do love to tease.’
The girls smirked at the pink rising in my cheeks. ‘And do you have any plans for after you graduate?’ I pressed on. I didn’t really give a rat’s arse what their plans were, but at least no one could accuse me of not making an effort.
‘Maybe some travel, a ski season in Aspen. We just really need a break and to let loose.’ Beebee put a tiny amount of potato into her mouth and chewed.
‘Sounds great,’ I said. There, my part was done. I’d learned not to expect anyone to ask my children about their plans or aspirations. They didn’t expect much from us and wouldn’t even feign interest; we existed to watch them and talk about them and their lives.
‘Would you mind serving the wine, please, Mrs Harlow?’ asked Jeannie, still visibly ruffled by Toots’s remark about the beef.
‘Oh– yes, sorry, Mrs Weiss.’ Mrs Harlow scraped her chair back, but Miles shot up, taking the decanter before she could reach for it.
‘I’ll do it, Mrs Harlow,’ he said. ‘You’re not expected to be on the clock all hours.’
Mrs Harlow shot Jeannie a worried look before she sat back down gingerly and Miles began pouring the Merlot into everyone’s glasses.
Fergus’s cheeks and nose were already beetroot red, and I could tell Miles was wondering whether he could get away with refilling his glass only halfway.
