she never introduced the assistant, which I thought was a bit rude. Anyway, when I’d finished doing my bit and the bell was about to go, the teacher stood up and said, “Can we all please give PC Zailer a huge round of applause for coming to visit us and giving us such a fascinating talk?” Everyone clapped. And then she said, “And now, let’s put our hands together for Grace.” ’
Charlie cringed at the memory, even at a distance of several years. She saw Sam Kombothekra laughing next to Kate, the only person who seemed to have anticipated what was coming next.
‘Thank goodness, I thought to myself: finally the poor classroom assistant—Grace—is getting some acknowledgement for all her hard work. I started clapping vigorously, but nobody else did. All the little kids were staring at me as if I was a nutter. And then I realised that they all had their palms pressed together, praying style . . .’
A tide of giggles rose in the hot room. Charlie heard her father’s throaty guffaws. Her mum and Olivia were on either side of him, watching him to assess how much he was enjoying himself and infer from that how much enjoyment they were entitled to.
Think nice thoughts.
Kate Kombothekra was giving Charlie a thumbs-up sign from across the room. Stacey Sellers had a smear of guacamole in the corner of her mouth.
‘That’s right,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s when I remembered that I was in a Catholic school, and that Grace, as well as being a girl’s name, was also the name of a prayer. The fact is, I knew nothing about Catholicism, having been raised by atheist hippies whose idea of a deity was Bob Dylan.’ Linda and Olivia Zailer looked worried momentarily; when Howard laughed, they smiled, but turned warning eyes in Charlie’s direction. ‘If I had any ideas at all about Catholics, I probably imagined they were all repressed weirdos who think they’re right about everything all the time.’ Charlie gave it a few seconds before saying, ‘And then I met Simon.’
Laughter broke out. Stacey Sellers’ tittering was audible above the general noise. Too late to back out now, thought Charlie. ‘Simon, a good Catholic boy, is bound to have had preconceived ideas about the children of atheist hippies: foulmouthed, loose-living, promiscuous, bent on annihilating themselves and everyone around them.’ One, two, three, four . ‘And then he met me.’ This time the laughter was deafening. Charlie tried not to feel hurt. ‘And, in fact, he’s now looking at me as if I’ve sprouted horns, so maybe the engagement’s off. I hope not—if it is, all prezzies will be returned.’ As an afterthought, Charlie added, ‘Which means, Stacey, that you’ll get your vibrator back, though I doubt you’ll manage to get much purchase on it, having had two children the natural way. Anyway, moving swiftly on . . . Thanks so much for coming, everyone. There’s plenty of booze left—have a great evening!’
Charlie saw Simon marching towards her while she was still climbing down from the chair.
‘What the fuck . . .’ he started to say, but his words were drowned out by Lizzie Proust who appeared between him and Charlie, dragging the Snowman behind her. ‘That was absolutely the best speech I’ve ever heard ,’ she told Charlie. ‘Wasn’t it, Giles?’
‘No,’ said Proust.
‘It was . You were terrific!’ Lizzie hugged Charlie with one arm, keeping hold of her husband with the other. By the time she’d managed to struggle free, Charlie couldn’t see Simon any more.
‘I don’t think it was the best speech your intended has ever heard either,’ said Proust, giving her a wintry look.
‘Most people seemed to like it, sir.’ Charlie smiled resolutely. She wouldn’t let him ruin her mood, so recently improved. Her speech had been good. But now where was Simon? He couldn’t really be angry, could he?
The music came back on, louder than before, and a different CD: Wyclef Jean’s Carnival II . Charlie
Charlie cringed at the memory, even at a distance of several years. She saw Sam Kombothekra laughing next to Kate, the only person who seemed to have anticipated what was coming next.
‘Thank goodness, I thought to myself: finally the poor classroom assistant—Grace—is getting some acknowledgement for all her hard work. I started clapping vigorously, but nobody else did. All the little kids were staring at me as if I was a nutter. And then I realised that they all had their palms pressed together, praying style . . .’
A tide of giggles rose in the hot room. Charlie heard her father’s throaty guffaws. Her mum and Olivia were on either side of him, watching him to assess how much he was enjoying himself and infer from that how much enjoyment they were entitled to.
Think nice thoughts.
Kate Kombothekra was giving Charlie a thumbs-up sign from across the room. Stacey Sellers had a smear of guacamole in the corner of her mouth.
‘That’s right,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s when I remembered that I was in a Catholic school, and that Grace, as well as being a girl’s name, was also the name of a prayer. The fact is, I knew nothing about Catholicism, having been raised by atheist hippies whose idea of a deity was Bob Dylan.’ Linda and Olivia Zailer looked worried momentarily; when Howard laughed, they smiled, but turned warning eyes in Charlie’s direction. ‘If I had any ideas at all about Catholics, I probably imagined they were all repressed weirdos who think they’re right about everything all the time.’ Charlie gave it a few seconds before saying, ‘And then I met Simon.’
Laughter broke out. Stacey Sellers’ tittering was audible above the general noise. Too late to back out now, thought Charlie. ‘Simon, a good Catholic boy, is bound to have had preconceived ideas about the children of atheist hippies: foulmouthed, loose-living, promiscuous, bent on annihilating themselves and everyone around them.’ One, two, three, four . ‘And then he met me.’ This time the laughter was deafening. Charlie tried not to feel hurt. ‘And, in fact, he’s now looking at me as if I’ve sprouted horns, so maybe the engagement’s off. I hope not—if it is, all prezzies will be returned.’ As an afterthought, Charlie added, ‘Which means, Stacey, that you’ll get your vibrator back, though I doubt you’ll manage to get much purchase on it, having had two children the natural way. Anyway, moving swiftly on . . . Thanks so much for coming, everyone. There’s plenty of booze left—have a great evening!’
Charlie saw Simon marching towards her while she was still climbing down from the chair.
‘What the fuck . . .’ he started to say, but his words were drowned out by Lizzie Proust who appeared between him and Charlie, dragging the Snowman behind her. ‘That was absolutely the best speech I’ve ever heard ,’ she told Charlie. ‘Wasn’t it, Giles?’
‘No,’ said Proust.
‘It was . You were terrific!’ Lizzie hugged Charlie with one arm, keeping hold of her husband with the other. By the time she’d managed to struggle free, Charlie couldn’t see Simon any more.
‘I don’t think it was the best speech your intended has ever heard either,’ said Proust, giving her a wintry look.
‘Most people seemed to like it, sir.’ Charlie smiled resolutely. She wouldn’t let him ruin her mood, so recently improved. Her speech had been good. But now where was Simon? He couldn’t really be angry, could he?
The music came back on, louder than before, and a different CD: Wyclef Jean’s Carnival II . Charlie
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