‘Dom Rock’s here,’ Vinny tells me unnecessarily when I join the throng of people at the sofa end of the kitchen.
‘Just bumped into him,’ I say, wondering whether Vinny remembers my one-night stand with Dominic all those years ago, because why else would he have mentioned him. He definitely knew about it: Dominic managed to bump into him and Antonio on his way out of the house the morning after, and they had far too much to say about it for my liking.
‘He’s a lovely young man,’ my mother says. ‘He reminds me of Jed. But better. Nicer.’ Then she gasps very dramatically and claps her hands over her mouth.
‘Sorry,’ mouths Vinny over her head. ‘Mum, do you think you should knock off the mulled wine for a bit?’
Mum nods and hugs me and mumbles, ‘Love you,principessa,’ into my hair.
I hug her back and sigh. I do not need my mother to be drunk today (or ever). I completely understand why she is, because it’s been very hard for her (and all of us) since Dad passed away extremely suddenly at the beginning of the year (it wasawfulbeing in a different country when that happened), and apparently this is her way of coping (or not coping), but no-one enjoys their mother being sloshed. I grab two glasses of water, take her hand and lead her to a sofa.
We sit there for a while, sip water a bit and chat a bit, and while we’re there I idly observe Dominic, who came into the room a little behind me and is now talking to people, in a very working-the-room kind of way. Older adults appear to adore his brand of small-c conservative apparel and demeanour, and younger adults, especially the women, seem to be falling in love with him in real time as he chats to them. The level of eyelash fluttering, boob wiggling and overloud laughter they’re producing is ridiculous.
For me, I’ve been there, done that with him. Twice.
I am alotolder and wiser now.
* * *
The party’s okay once Mum’s sobered up and I’ve had the Jed conversations (‘Yes, I know; yes, it’s a shame; yes, these things do happen; yes, onwards and upwards; yes, more fish in the sea’).
Antonio and his husband Dai are in charge of the playlist (having wrested it from Vinny’s wife, Amelie, who, when she can escape from their very gorgeous but high-maintenance four-year-old twins,lovesa raucous party and has the music to match, which isn’t exactly the vibe my mum’s going for this evening), and they have excellent Christmas music taste.
I’m actually kind of enjoying myself, I reflect a little later, as I head towards a large platter of mince pies on the dining table. (We moved the table to line one of the walls to make more space for our guests.) I think Mum’s enjoying herself too. I’m very glad that she decided to host this party and that I came.
I reach out for a mince pie at the exact same moment as someone else reaches for one too – a man with large and strong-looking, but slim, lightly tanned hands. Dominic, obviously.
As our hands brush, I give a tiny squeak, and then roll my eyes internally at myself. I might be suddenly single again for the first time in a long time, but that’s no reason for me to be behaving like a prudish Victorian when I accidentally bump hands with someone for the merest of seconds.
I can see Mum with her eye on us from the other side of the room and I don’t want her to think her party isn’t going well, so I need to make some polite conversation.
‘Nice tie,’ I say. ‘Holly. Very Christmassy. Nice colours, too.’
‘Thanks. I like your Christmas jumper,’ Dominic responds in kind. ‘Also nice colours and very Christmassy.’ He glances down at it, and his eyes remain on my chest for a fraction of a second too long, before he raises them to my face again.
I resist a strong urge to giggle and then we stand there awkwardly for a long moment. I glance over at Mum and, yep, she’s still watching us.
‘The mince pies look good,’ I observe.
‘Yes, they do,’ agrees Dominic. ‘The right amount of filling and that dusting of icing sugar on top is particularly enticing.’
I decide to ignore the fact that he is clearly being sarcastic with his mince pie enthusiasm, and say, ‘The pastry looks extremely fine too.’
Dominic nods, and then I nod, and then we just stand there. One of us should really make an excuse and wander away. My mind’s frozen, though. The only excuse I can think of is popping to the loo, and no-one takes a mince pie and immediately says they’re off to the bathroom unless they’re weirdly keen on toilet-based eating.
I’m ecstatic a moment later when Vinny pops up and says, ‘Hey, Dom. Hey, Flav,’ and starts wittering on about some Christmas football match.
I take the opportunity to say, ‘Lovely to see you again, Dominic. I’ll see you later.’
‘Good to catch up. Bye,’ Dominic replies, sounding rudely enthusiastic that I’m leaving.
I’m heading back across the room when my mum appears in front of me and takes me into a corner and tells me that there’s a raffle I need to buy a ticket for, because it’s for new curtains for the village hall, which is a very important cause.
The tickets aretwenty quid each, which is surely literally twenty times as much as you’d expect, but I can’t say no (apparently the village hall cannot make do with regular curtains; they have to be brocade ones, and they are expensive).
Mum tells me that she’s going to draw the raffle later because she doesn’t like upsetting people so she’d rather do it when she’s alone and then get in touch with the winners individually, so on her instruction I carefully tuck my ticket into my phone case, and think nothing further of it. (I never win good prizes in raffles.)
The rest of the evening is lovely, and I really am glad to have done it. In the summer, at the barbecue my mum held, I got through all the condolences about my dad, and now I’ve got through all the condolences about my marriage. I’ll be able to visit home with condolence impunity now.
