A passing waiter stops at their table. ‘It’s the fleshy red part on a male foul’s head.’
‘Like a cockerel?’ Rhona asks.
‘Yes, or a turkey,’ the waiter replies brightly.
‘Festive,’ her dad mutters as he glides away.
Is it even edible, though? Esther supposes it must be, unless the aim of this place is to challenge you to consume terrible things. Why not garnish it with some goat’s toenail clippings and pony’s teeth? The menu stops short of bum holes and penises but only just. Esther stares at it, knowing she’ll have to choose something. It has also occurred to her how unfair it is, that the human body can produce tears but lack the ability to suck them back in, no matter how hard you blink or try to think calming thoughts.
‘There’s plenty of plant-based stuff, Esther,’ her mum remarks tartly.
‘I’m not vegetarian,’ Esther reminds her.
‘Peoplethinkyou are, darling …’ Already tipsy, her mother is clearly up for a quarrel tonight.
‘What’re you talking about?’ Esther glares at her, so not in the mood for smart remarks – even though it’s true. On her social media she has aligned herself to a plant-focused lifestyle, simply because brands like Bethani like it.It’s in tune with our values, they’ve told her, and fair enough; her followers don’t expect to see her cramming a kebab into her face.
‘Can we just leave it please?’ her dad says brightly.
‘Yeah, we’re here to have a nice time, aren’t we?’ Luc remarks.
Really?Esther thinks bitterly.I thought we were here to be horrible to me?The restaurant is bustling, filled with happy people all having a great time – apart from them, the dysfunctional family forced together by her mother who doesn’t seem to care about anything apart from managing to get a booking in one of London’s most talked-about restaurants. A ring of tension seems to have been drawn around them. Even the waiters appear to be giving them a wide berth.
Esther catches her dad’s stoical look. It’s a look that seems to say,Hey, it’s all right, Est. Your mum’s just a bit pissed. Don’t rise to her.
Finally, a server drifts over to take their orders.
‘That one please.’ Esther jabs at the menu.
‘Chicken parfait and cockscomb,’ he confirms with a nod.
‘Are you really having that?’ her mum exclaims.
‘Yes? Why not?’ She glares at her across the table.
‘D’you know what that is? Did you hear what the guy said?’
‘Yes, it’s fine, I really fancy eating the frilly thing off a cock’s head, okay?’ Esther announces. Her mum, dad, Luc and even the waiter are all staring at her. She realises too late that she was shouting, and now her eyes are all wet again, threatening to overflow.
‘Esther,’ her dad says, frowning in concern. ‘What is it, love? Please tell us …’ As tears spill down her cheeks he looks round at the waiter. ‘Could you give us a few minutes, please?’
‘Yes, sure,’ the young man says, and quickly scuttles away.
Her mum is staring at her and Luc is repositioning things on the table unnecessarily. ‘What’s going on tonight?’ her dad asks gently. ‘You don’t seem yourself at all …’
‘Is it the menu?’ her mum asks, frowning. ‘Because you don’t have to make a point by ordering the weirdest thing on it. No one’s forcing you to eat a cockscomb—’
‘I know that, Mum—’
‘If you want something plain, I’m sure they’d do it for you. Shall we ask?’ her mother trills, looking around for a waiter.
‘It’s not about the food, is it, Est?’ Luc cuts in. This man, who can spot a tangly ragwort, or whatever the stuff is that he yanks up from riverbanks, is more perceptive than her own mother.
‘Some boys were hassling me on the way here,’ Esther says, staring down at her hands.
‘What?’ her dad barks.
‘Just boys. Three of them. Grabbing me, wanting a photo …’ A sob bursts out and her dad leans towards her and grabs for her hand.
