‘Oh, they’ll gosomewhere– jobs and school places will be found for them all. And I bet your sister will be more than happy to give it all up. Spend more time looking after that devastatingly gorgeous man of hers.’ Both Rachel’s and Suzy’s eyes swung almost longingly towards Fabian, Suzy fanning her brow theatrically as they did so. ‘Fabian Mansfield Carrington is one very hot man. I can’t for the life of me imagine why he wants to give up his vocation as a barrister in London to move up to Yorkshire to open a new restaurant with Kamran. I followed him on the news when he was defending the Soho Slasher and?—’
‘He adores my sister,’ I interrupted angrily.
‘Does he?’ Suzy broke off as a beautifully garnished and presented plate of Fabian’s fish pie was put in front of her. She glanced down at it, smiling somewhat whimsically. ‘Fish pie? At a special dinner party? How original. Mind you, it’s all the rage these days, isn’t it?’
‘What is?’ I snapped.
‘You know, dumbing down on formality. It’s all kitchen sups these days, isn’t it?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ I said crossly, turning away in order to give my full attention to my plate.
‘No,’ Suzy said, the catlike smile still on her face, ‘I don’t suppose you would.’
Turning my back on the two Sattar sisters-in-law on my left (who would, forever more in my mind, be dubbed the SS), I moved instead back towards Shirl, who was tucking in with alacrity, seemingly uninterested in any of the conversations around her. I proceeded to eat my way slowly through the fish pie, savouring every mouthful. Heavens, but it was good. Every restaurant, I reckoned, should be known for its signature dish, and this, I envisaged, could be The White House’s. There was a restaurant somewhere over in East Yorkshire that was known solely for its steak and kidney pie and, of course, The Ritz in London had Crêpe Suzette. Ihad the chance to be part of Fabian and Kamran’s dream for heaven’s sake! I felt a frisson of excitement and poured myself more wine in my own little celebration of this realisation.
What couldIbring to the party? Puddings were my thing: I could invent a pudding for The White House and have it named after me, like peach Melba; eggs Benedict; Caesar salad.Who the hell was that last one named after?I thought tipsily as I downed more of the white wine that complemented the food so beautifully. That was a point! Did either Fabian or Kamran know anything about wines?Icertainly didn’t, apart from that this one was going down very, very nicely indeed… I squinted at the bottle in the wine cooler in front of me, trying to decipher what it actually was, but the label seemed to be upside down. I lowered and turned my head almost 100 degrees but that just made me feel dizzy. I righted my head and began scraping the remaining gorgeously gooey and stringy bits of cheese from around my plate with my fork but then caught Robyn’s eye who was looking across at me somewhat strangely. ‘Who invented Caesar salad?’ I mouthed across at her. ‘Who was it named after?’
‘Someone once had a dog called Caesar who nicked the salad…?’ Robyn mouthed back, and I started to laugh loudly at that while Robyn frowned, and several people, including Dean – finally distracted from the blonde – stopped eating and talking, turning heads in my direction.
Oops, I was being a bit loud. Talking too much. Time to shut up. I poured myself more white wine, downed most of it, and tried to appear unaffected by the unused-to alcohol. I stuck a beatific – reverential, almost – look on my face and gazed round at the other guests, nodding almost regally with solemn grandeur towards those who continued to give me funny looks. The SS didn’t appear to want to include me in their conversation any more, if they ever had in the first place. Anyway, it was all about gyms, dry robes (what the hell was a dry robe?) and something called Sirtfood which apparently involved eating foods high in polyphenols, such as red wine, dark chocolate and apples and which would magically make fat disappear. Well, that sounded all right: I reached for the red wine, pouring a hefty amount onto the dregs of the white in my glass. Now, where was the dark chocolate?
‘Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?’ Kamran was on his feet, tinkling his glass with a pudding spoon and appearing uncharacteristically nervous. ‘I’ve – we’ve – invited both families here this evening not only for you all to get to know each other but to celebrate the fact that my… our’ – Kamran raised a glass in Fabian’s and then my direction – ‘dream of opening a restaurant in this lovely village of ours is well on the way to becoming a reality. The whole area might still appear something of a building site at the moment, but all services have now been installed in The White House, the kitchens will be fitted out in the next couple of weeks, and we’re meeting with the promotional teams any day now. And, as you will appreciate from the fabulous food we’ve eaten tonight, we have, in Fabian, a chef who knows his onions, as it were…’
‘Here, here…’
‘Fabulous food…’
‘Fabian…!’
Laughing and congratulating along with the other guests, Kamran eventually put up his hand. ‘All is going to plan, so can I ask you to take your glasses and raise a toast to The White House?’
‘The White House.’ I joined in, perhaps more loudly than those around me and, waving my glass somewhat erratically in Kamran’s direction, spilled red wine over my hand. I bent to lick the drops from my arm and was gratified to see Fabian grinning across at me, obviously amused.
‘But…!’ Kamran held up his hand once more for attention. ‘I… we… have something else to announce.’ He gazed down the table towards Mum, who was blushing furiously but was unable, it seemed, to suppress the utter joy she was obviously feeling. ‘Lisa and I have only been together a few months but… when you know… you know. I’ve already spoken to Georgia, Sophie and Sammy…’
‘Kamran’s children.’ Shirl nudged me pointedly in the ribs.
‘I didn’t want to announce anything before I got my children’s blessing…’
‘He always does things right, does Kamran,’ Shirl whispered. ‘Just like my Imran.’
Bloody hell, I thought; he’s asked Mum to marry him.
‘…but I’ve asked Lisa to marry me and, lucky man that I am, she’s agreed.’
There was a stunned silence, probably like the metaphorical calm before the storm (I’d never been party to this particular meteorological phenomenon and, until this moment, had put the phrase down to poetic licence, but now understood more where the phrase came from) and then there was kissing and back slapping and congratulations all round.
As well as, from Dean, much winking and thumbs up across the table in my direction.
Which I ignored.
Oh blimey, what was I going to do without Mum next door? I’d always been a homebird, too anxious to leave home at eighteen to take up my offered university place. Preferring, instead, to get myself pregnant in order to be with Dean who, at the time, was such a catch, never quite able to believe that I’d actually caught and married him, happy to settle down next door to Mum with him.
Ignoring the sisters-in-law to my left who, for a reason known only to themselves, were looking particularly sour-faced at the news that Mum would be joining the ranks of the Sattar wives, I glanced across the table towards Robyn, desperate to know what she was thinking. Would she approve? Was she happy at the news? She certainly appeared to be. Locked in a clinch with Fabian, who was stroking her hair, Robyn was obviously happiness personified. Kamran walked down the length of the table to Mum, taking her hand before pulling her to her feet and wrapping her in his arms, gazing down at her with such love, I had to look away. Had anyone ever looked at me like Fabian, and now Kamran, were looking at my sister and my mum?
I felt something akin to loneliness take over every bit of me.For heaven’s sake, Jess, I censured myself, offering up a ridiculously huge smile and over-the-top wave towards the happy couple. But as they were wrapped up in each other, it went unnoticed and I put down my hand, feeling foolish, reaching instead for my glass of wine.
You’ve argued for most of your adult life that Mum should ditch Jayden.I continued the conversation in my head.That she should move on to someone who would love her as much as she deserves to be loved. I needed to stand, needed to walk over to Mum and to Kamran and give them both my love, congratulations and approval, but I didn’t appear to be able to move from my seat. Instead, I took the option of drinking more wine, vaguely aware that Beau was moving down the table, placing plates of pudding in front of each guest.
