call a detached house in Oxshott “deprived.” “I mean, I suppose some of it was a bit deprived….”
“Splendid! Lay that on thickly too. Now I must go, my dear, but I’ll see you there?”
“Absolutely!” I say. And I’m about to add, “What shall I say about billiards, exactly?” when he rings off.
I stand motionless for a few seconds, thinking this through. A speech about billiards. Can I make a speech about billiards? Oh God. Is this all getting a bit much? Shall I just get Luke his normal old aftershave, which will take thirty seconds online, and forget all about the portmanteau?
But then my determination hardens. Come on. I can do this. I will do it. For Luke. How hard can it be to talk about billiards? It’s only a game with six balls.
Or maybe eight balls.
Some number of balls, anyway. I’ll look that up. But now I’d better get back to the party.
Thrusting my phone in my pocket, I hurry into the sitting room, where all the children have buttercream smeared round their mouths and Flo is saying in a pained voice, “I must say, cake has never really been my thing,” and Mum seems like she wants to explode.
As I look around, I try to get into a nice, relaxed party mood. I want to smile and enjoy the moment. But somehow I can’t. I feel too hassled. By Flo…by my disaster cake…by Nadine…by having to make a billiards speech…and that’s not even mentioning Christmas, which hangs over everything like some sort of glittery exam I have to pass.
“You could have a garland here,” Suze is saying to Jess, pointing at the mantelpiece. “Or maybe here.” Then she turns to me. “We were wondering when you were going to decorate for Christmas, Bex.”
And I know it’s just a question, I know it’s just Suze being artistic and creative…but somehow I can’t help feeling criticized.
“I was waiting,” I explain. “I thought we’d have Minnie’s birthday first and then get into Christmas decorating.”
“Ah! Speaking of Christmas, love.” Mum looks up. “Did you see the recipe for stuffing I sent you?”
“Um…” I wrinkle my brow, trying to remember which of her million WhatsApps was about stuffing.
“I’ve already sent Bex a brilliant recipe for stuffing,” objects Suze. “Apricot and hazelnut. It’s delicious.”
“Mine’s cranberry and chestnut,” counters Mum. “Much more Christmassy.”
“But what about sage and onion?” says Janice. “And, Becky, will we be able to have a bracing walk on the day even though Graham’s hurt his foot? Because I was thinking first bracing walk, then piñata.”
“A piñata is cultural appropriation,” says Jess disapprovingly. “I keep telling you. And, Becky, you’re not planning a wood fire, are you? Because it is catastrophic for the planet—”
“You could have a fabulous decoration in this alcove,” Suze interrupts, still appraising the room. “Where are you putting your tree?”
“Er…” I haven’t decided where to put the tree yet, but I don’t want to admit it.
“And have you sorted out your carols yet, Becky?” inquires Janice. “Only I do love ‘Good King Wenceslas’—”
“D’you want me to come round sometime and help decide about the tree?” Suze cuts across her. “And make a plan for your garlands?”
“No!” I exclaim, suddenly rattled by all the voices coming at me. “No, thanks! I’ll decorate myself in my own way. And I’ll choose the stuffing. And we won’t have a fire. And everything you all want, I’ll order, OK?”
As I break off, breathing hard, I realize how stressed out I sound. “Sorry,” I add, trying to calm down. “I’m just a bit…It’s all a bit…”
“Of course!” says Suze, shooting a look at Mum. “Bex, don’t worry about a thing! Sit down and have some tea. Relax.”
I sit next to Flo, take a few deep breaths, and gradually feel my heart rate slow down. I’m overreacting, I tell myself. It’ll all be fine. I’m aware that Mum and Suze are exchanging looks with Janice—but I don’t care. Let them exchange looks.
“So,” I say at last, forcing myself to be polite and turning to Flo. “Where are you spending Christmas, Flo?”
“Oh, Christmas,” she says, crinkling her brow dubiously. “I never was much of a one for Christmas.”
For real? OK, that’s it. Someone has to tell Janice: Flo’s got to go.
SPEECH TO LONDON BILLIARDS CLUB
By Prospective Member Rebecca Brandon (née Bloomwood)