this.’
‘You’re right.’ Dan sounds contrite, for about two seconds. ‘But fuck it. He is a major pain in the arse.’
Lucy remembers something, jumps up, checks her recipe book, and pushes Si out of the way to get to the fridge. She pulls the butter out, then stops as she closes the fridge door and squints at a point on the upper left side of the door.
‘Si!’ She shrieks with laughter as Si skulks over to the table, trying to look innocent. ‘Luscious Sexy Smells Excite My Potent a r m p I t s’
‘Armpits?’ Josh looks bemused. ‘That magnetic poetry kit doesn’t have the word “armpits”.’
‘I spelt it out myself,’ Si says proudly, and within seconds we are all clamouring round the fridge trying to out-do one another with ridiculously flowery poems, when the sound of concentration is broken by a wail.
‘Daaaaaaaddy!’ comes Max’s shriek from upstairs, followed by a deafening silence. Then: ‘Caaaaan youuuuu cooooome and wiiiiiiipe my bottttttttttttom?’ Josh raises his eyebrows and leaves the room as the rest of us scream with laughter.
‘God. So embarrassing. He’s only just started using the loo on a regular basis, and Josh keeps showing him what to do, but he always wants one of us to do it,’ Lucy explains, stifling a laugh.
‘Quite right too. He doesn’t want to get his hands dirty, and who can blame him,’ grins Si. ‘I hope those hands will be washed before they come anywhere near me.’
‘Don’t be so insensitive,’ I chastise. ‘You love Max, and if you love Max then you love everything about Max, and if you love everything about Max then you love his poo.’
‘No.’ Si shakes his head solemnly. ‘My love does not stretch as far as to encompass poo.’
‘Come on, then, guys, who’s going to set the table?’ Lucy hands me the cutlery, glasses to Dan, and napkins to Si, who instantly arranges them into little swans, prompting much oohing and aahing from Lucy, who has witnessed this many times before, but is just as amazed each time she sees it done.
‘It’s so pretty I don’t want to undo it,’ she says, placing it gently down on her plate.
The five of us sit down and help ourselves to Caesar salad.
‘Bugger.’ Lucy jumps up and runs to the oven, bringing out a familiar-looking silver loaf.
‘Lucy, I love you!’ Si blows her Parmesany kisses from the other side of the table. ‘You never forget.’
‘Si, I only do this for you, you know. I’d never dream of serving garlic bread to anyone else. It’s just so seventies.’
‘Seventies is in again now,’ says Josh, shaking his head at Si, who’s already eaten one piece and is now licking the dripping butter off his fingers. ‘So as usual Si’s one step ahead of us all.’
‘God, do you remember that seventies party Portia had?’ Josh laughs. ‘When you and Cath set fire to my afro wig?’
‘It practically stuck to your head.’ I smile at the memory. ‘I haven’t thought about that in years.’
‘Portia,’ says Dan. ‘I know a Portia. What’s her surname?’
‘Fairley,’ say Si, Josh and I simultaneously.
Dan smiles as the rest of the table freezes. ‘I knew that wasn’t a common name. How do you all know Portia?’
How can a name, a name from the past that should have no power at all any more, still have such an impact on the three people in this room that knew her way back when? Time seems to stand still, and I’m too lost in memories to notice that Josh and Si are diving into those memories at the same time.
And the thing is, I can’t help but wonder if she’s forgiven us. I forgave her, forgave her for breaking Josh’s heart, a long time ago. I figured that she must have had her reasons, that she wasn’t doing it intentionally, but I’ve always wondered whether she has forgiven us for abandoning her friendship as a result.
And ten years on, none of us expected to hear her name in the comfort of this kitchen.
‘We were at university together,’ I eventually
‘You’re right.’ Dan sounds contrite, for about two seconds. ‘But fuck it. He is a major pain in the arse.’
Lucy remembers something, jumps up, checks her recipe book, and pushes Si out of the way to get to the fridge. She pulls the butter out, then stops as she closes the fridge door and squints at a point on the upper left side of the door.
‘Si!’ She shrieks with laughter as Si skulks over to the table, trying to look innocent. ‘Luscious Sexy Smells Excite My Potent a r m p I t s’
‘Armpits?’ Josh looks bemused. ‘That magnetic poetry kit doesn’t have the word “armpits”.’
‘I spelt it out myself,’ Si says proudly, and within seconds we are all clamouring round the fridge trying to out-do one another with ridiculously flowery poems, when the sound of concentration is broken by a wail.
‘Daaaaaaaddy!’ comes Max’s shriek from upstairs, followed by a deafening silence. Then: ‘Caaaaan youuuuu cooooome and wiiiiiiipe my bottttttttttttom?’ Josh raises his eyebrows and leaves the room as the rest of us scream with laughter.
‘God. So embarrassing. He’s only just started using the loo on a regular basis, and Josh keeps showing him what to do, but he always wants one of us to do it,’ Lucy explains, stifling a laugh.
‘Quite right too. He doesn’t want to get his hands dirty, and who can blame him,’ grins Si. ‘I hope those hands will be washed before they come anywhere near me.’
‘Don’t be so insensitive,’ I chastise. ‘You love Max, and if you love Max then you love everything about Max, and if you love everything about Max then you love his poo.’
‘No.’ Si shakes his head solemnly. ‘My love does not stretch as far as to encompass poo.’
‘Come on, then, guys, who’s going to set the table?’ Lucy hands me the cutlery, glasses to Dan, and napkins to Si, who instantly arranges them into little swans, prompting much oohing and aahing from Lucy, who has witnessed this many times before, but is just as amazed each time she sees it done.
‘It’s so pretty I don’t want to undo it,’ she says, placing it gently down on her plate.
The five of us sit down and help ourselves to Caesar salad.
‘Bugger.’ Lucy jumps up and runs to the oven, bringing out a familiar-looking silver loaf.
‘Lucy, I love you!’ Si blows her Parmesany kisses from the other side of the table. ‘You never forget.’
‘Si, I only do this for you, you know. I’d never dream of serving garlic bread to anyone else. It’s just so seventies.’
‘Seventies is in again now,’ says Josh, shaking his head at Si, who’s already eaten one piece and is now licking the dripping butter off his fingers. ‘So as usual Si’s one step ahead of us all.’
‘God, do you remember that seventies party Portia had?’ Josh laughs. ‘When you and Cath set fire to my afro wig?’
‘It practically stuck to your head.’ I smile at the memory. ‘I haven’t thought about that in years.’
‘Portia,’ says Dan. ‘I know a Portia. What’s her surname?’
‘Fairley,’ say Si, Josh and I simultaneously.
Dan smiles as the rest of the table freezes. ‘I knew that wasn’t a common name. How do you all know Portia?’
How can a name, a name from the past that should have no power at all any more, still have such an impact on the three people in this room that knew her way back when? Time seems to stand still, and I’m too lost in memories to notice that Josh and Si are diving into those memories at the same time.
And the thing is, I can’t help but wonder if she’s forgiven us. I forgave her, forgave her for breaking Josh’s heart, a long time ago. I figured that she must have had her reasons, that she wasn’t doing it intentionally, but I’ve always wondered whether she has forgiven us for abandoning her friendship as a result.
And ten years on, none of us expected to hear her name in the comfort of this kitchen.
‘We were at university together,’ I eventually
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