“Not here.”
“Probably here.” I smirked. The men at the table in the corner laughed. The guy with the blond curls, the loudest.
“Stag night,” my father agreed. “Loud bunch.”
“Not quite the quiet holiday,” I tried. “We can order room service tomorrow night. Or, better yet, I can order room service. You can sit here and enjoy, what’s his face? Simon Le Holiday.”
“You know how much I loved Duran Duran,” my mother mused. “I am very much enjoying everything so far. Especially spending time with you. We never see enough of you because you’re always working."
“I’m forty, Mum. I need to work.”
“You’re also handsome and wonderful, and I fully agree with Dad on the dog. It would be lovely company for you. It must be lonely for you at times.”
“I’m not lonely!” I protested as my parents tutted in that disappointed way only they could.
Disappointment was my middle name. At least they were good parents. More disappointed with the fact that I still hadn’t stopped chewing my fingernails when things became too much for me than the absolute fact that I would never give them grandchildren. Or a granddog. I inhaled more air than strictly necessary, then exhaled slowly. Calming myself down. I did that.
“We love you,” my mother whispered. “And this is a lovely way of celebrating your birthday, darling.”
It was, I had to agree, because how else would I have celebrated this life event? No longer young, now instead? Forty. How I’d got here seemed beyond me, as I stared at my hands. Ringlet-boy was back at the buffet, metal tongs in his hand, inspecting a piece of fried chicken like it wasn’t exactly that.
“Stop staring at him, go over there and speak to him!” Mum nudged my arm. “He’s obviously here on his own. I mean, he’s sat at the end of the table!”
Okay, let me introduce you to Gillian. My mother. Gossipmonger extraordinaire, professional curtain twitcher, leader of the local knitting society and also the community book club. Retired nurse. Causer of all kinds of hilarious drama, which she happily reenacted to me during my weekend visits. My dad? Derek, also a retired nurse. Zero interests apart from doting on my mum and bringing her endless cups of tea and doing the weekly shopping. And sometimes golf. He was apparently rubbish at it.
Then there was me. And my parents’ other little quirk? The constant attempts to matchmake me with anyone who looked like they might be remotely single. Remotely queer. They’d once set me up on a blind date with a lesbian lady. To this day, I had no idea why, but we’d kept in touch for a while. Nothing more. I’d had stern words with my parents after that little escapade. Had they listened? Probably not.
“Mum, he’s on a stag-do and no doubt has a lovely wife and three infant children at home. Please let me have a break. I just want to have a holiday and relax.”
“No, you don’t.” Mum tutted, grabbing her plate and heading back to the buffet with determination in her step. Yes. Here we went again. She was straight in there, making Ringlet-man blush and laugh as they shook hands, and then she pointed at me as I slowly died on the inside. Fuck. And now I would have to have room service for the rest of the week and hide inside my room.
“You have to learn to be a little more social with new people, Son.” Dad gently patted my arm. “How are you going to meet someone if you don’t even try?”
“We’ve been here less than a day, Dad. Let me find my feet.”
“When I met your mum?”
“Dad.” I rolled my eyes. Yes, they had hit it off on the dance floor and got engaged a week later or something. I’d heard the story a million times. “I work with the general public. I listen to people’s woes and ailments and dilemmas and all of that from nine to five daily. Sometimes on the weekend too. Can I not just sit here and enjoy the peace and quiet?”
At least he laughed at that as Simon Le Holiday burst into some foot-stomping number where people were clapping their hands and dancing in their seats. Including Mum, who shimmied her way across the room with a plate full of chicken.
“Darling,” she said excitedly, taking a sip of her wine.
“Mother.” I sighed.
“Okay, his name is Riley, and he’s on holiday with his best friends, some of them he’s known since primary school! Anyway, I asked if one of the lovely men at the table was his partner, and he just laughed at me. So I feel that means I can ask more. Wait until he heads for dessert, and you can pop up and say hello!”
“No,” I said. “And why did you point at me?”
“Oh, I just casually mentioned that my lovely son is here to celebrate his fortieth.”
“And?”
She did that thing, where she pretended she was all innocent.
“Nothing.”
“Mother.”
