– they belong to my dad, he’s playing with Uncle Ted. My mum, Aunt Liz and my sister, Fi, are gossiping with Lisa. They are huddled into one of the booths, ferociously guarding a large bowl of steaming, fat chips. I watch as one or two of my cousins swing by and try to pinch a chip; they are swatted away like flies. Adam and Charlie are sat in a second booth; they are deep in conversation too. I think they are talking about the beer because they keep holding up their bottles and examining them as though they contain all the answers to the mysteries of the universe. I can’t see my brother Bill and his family, I think they palled up with Scott’s brother; Bill isn’t one to miss a networking opportunity. Rick and a handful of cousins fill a couple more booths. They are drinking Coke, which seems deliciously innocent after this afternoon’s antics, when the only coke being consumed was quite another sort and I’m not talking caffeine-free. I needed a friendly face and here they all are. All my friends and family, and yet suddenly I feel peeved and lost.
‘No one said there was a party going on,’ I say petulantly as I squeeze into the ladies’ booth. Lisa budges along to make room for me. I try to shake the nagging feeling I’ve been left out, that I’m missing out.
‘Oh Fern, lovely to see you, do you want a chip?’ asks Aunt Liz, proffering the previously greedily guarded bowl of temptation.
‘She’s not allowed,’ says Mum, whipping away the bowl with unusual dexterity. ‘I was talking to her personal trainer this morning. I don’t want to be blamed if she can’t get into her dress tomorrow.’
‘Unlikely,’ says my aunt, dropping her gaze to my now flat stomach. ‘There’s not a picking on her. If she eats a chip, we’ll probably see it.’
‘I think she’s too thin,’ calls my dad from the next booth; I hadn’t realized he was listening.
‘Well, I’m having chips,’ says Lisa, ‘I’m starving. As lovely as canapés undoubtedly are, they don’t do much of a job at lining your stomach or quelling alcohol-infused munchies.’
‘That’s the problem with posh food, it’s always tiny portions,’ adds my uncle. ‘I’m knocking, no sixes, no fives and no threes,’ he adds, returning to the game of dominoes.
‘Lovely party though, dear,’ says Mum, no doubt noticing my silence and assuming I’m offended by their analysis of my party food.
‘Wicked,’ yells Rick. My cousins all nod their agreement.
‘So much champagne and cocktails, it must have cost a fortune,’ says my sis.
‘Great band,’ says Charlie. ‘It’s been years since we danced like that, hey Lisa?’
‘You are so off the scale lucky,’ says Rick.
‘You are living the dream, no doubt about it,’ adds my sister.
‘Who could have imagined such a thing?’ asks Lisa.
‘Ben is sleeping with Scott.’ That’s me.
‘What?’
It’s gratifying that everyone else seems as shocked as I am (although no one else throws up). On the drive over here I’ve been haunted by the idea that everyone knew about this, everyone other than me, that is.
‘I’ve just found them together, now, after you all left,’ I explain.
‘Ben wouldn’t do that,’ says Lisa. Notably, she does not put up a similar defence for Scott.
‘I caught them in the act,’ I say. Then I start to cry. Well, cry suggests an element of restraint – I sob actually, and howl.
‘I’ll get you a drink,’ says Charlie.
I gratefully gulp down the whiskey. I enjoy the warmth swirling around my stomach; it offers me some sort of comfort. Not enough comfort. Not as much comfort as beating Scott and Ben with a spiky pair of Jimmy Choos until they beg for mercy – but some comfort.
‘How long do you think it’s been going on?’ asks Charlie.
‘Do you think it was the first time?’ asks Lisa.
‘Do you think Scott is gay or experimenting?’ asks Rick.
‘Is this a fling or the real thing?’ asks my sister.
‘I don’t know,’ I wail. These are exactly the questions that have spurted around my mind on the journey over here but I haven’t got any of the answers. Another whiskey appears from nowhere. I register murmurs assuring me that ‘It’s good for the shock.’ I down it. It has a calming effect or at least a numbing effect and that’s as good as, right now. I still can’t process what I saw half an hour ago. I can’t begin to tackle the enormity of the situation.
‘I’m supposed to be