noticed Proust’s instant displeasure, and wondered fleetingly if he’d ever been open-minded even in his youth. She felt a hand close around her arm: Debbie Gibbs. ‘I wish I could laugh at myself the way you laugh at yourself,’ she said. Her eyes looked wet.
‘I can laugh at you if you want,’ said Charlie. Debbie shook her head, not getting the joke. You’re a cop, not a comedian, Charlie reminded herself.
Once Debbie had moved away, Olivia pulled Charlie to one side. ‘Mum and Dad were never hippies.’
‘Well, whatever they were, then—champagne socialists. People with wooden floors who go on CND marches and eat pasta a lot—but that would have taken too long to say. Much easier to summarise now Dad’s a golf bore.’
‘Don’t start, Char.’
‘Interested in his golfing stories, are you?’
During Olivia’s treatment for cancer, Howard Zailer had been fully involved. As much as Linda and Charlie were. It was when he’d retired that his horizons had started to narrow. By 2006, when Charlie’s name had been splashed all over the papers, he had been willing to talk to her only briefly about what she was going through; it wasn’t life-threatening, after all. Howard couldn’t be late for his day’s play, or, if it was evening when Charlie happened to ring, for a drinking session with his friends from the club. ‘I’ll hand you over to Mum,’ he said whenever she phoned. ‘She can fill me in later.’
‘You’ll have to forgive me if I’m determined to like my family in spite of their faults,’ Liv said huffily, looking Charlie up and down. ‘It’s not exactly an abundance of riches scenario, is it? I don’t have any relatives who aren’t a pain in the arse in some major way. I suppose you’d like me to cut all ties, take myself off to the pound to sit in a mesh-fronted cage until some perfect new family comes to claim me.’
Charlie decided it would be unwise to pursue the point.
Olivia had no such reservations. ‘Do we all get to say exactly what we think, or is it just you? I wasn’t going to say a word about how ridiculous this whole charade is, your loony engagement . . .’
‘That policy has subsequently been revised, I take it?’ Charlie snapped.
Liv didn’t get the chance to answer. Shouting was coming from the bottom of the stairs near the presents table. Simon’s voice. Everyone who could hear it was shifting in that direction, not wanting to miss out.
Stacey Sellers was crying. Simon was holding a large vibrator, wielding it like a truncheon. ‘This is what you thought we’d want, is it?’ he yelled, throwing it on the floor. It landed amid strips of wrapping paper, next to what was left of its cardboard and plastic box.
‘There’s nothing wrong with sex toys. They’re not dirty,’ Stacey screamed back at him. ‘Haven’t you ever watched Sex and the City ? Don’t you know anything ?’
‘She’s got a point,’ Olivia whispered in Charlie’s ear. ‘A libido might not be essential but a sense of humour is.’
‘Liv says she’ll have it if we don’t want it,’ Charlie shouted down the stairs.
Simon looked up at her. ‘Get your stuff,’ he said. ‘We’re going. ’
‘Going? Simon, it’s only ten past nine. We can’t leave—it’s our party.’
‘I can do whatever the fuck I like. Give me your keys. I’ll see you later.’
Keys? Did he mean he planned to spend the night at her house? He had to mean that—it was unambiguous. Charlie looked around to see if anyone was smirking. Most people seemed more interested in Stacey’s weeping. There was no way anyone could know that Charlie and Simon had never spent the night together at either of their houses or anywhere else, that she’d feared it might never happen, even after they were married. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she told him, grabbing her coat and bag from the stand at the top of the stairs.
Olivia was waiting to pounce. ‘I’ve only just got here. Can’t Simon wait?’
He
‘I can laugh at you if you want,’ said Charlie. Debbie shook her head, not getting the joke. You’re a cop, not a comedian, Charlie reminded herself.
Once Debbie had moved away, Olivia pulled Charlie to one side. ‘Mum and Dad were never hippies.’
‘Well, whatever they were, then—champagne socialists. People with wooden floors who go on CND marches and eat pasta a lot—but that would have taken too long to say. Much easier to summarise now Dad’s a golf bore.’
‘Don’t start, Char.’
‘Interested in his golfing stories, are you?’
During Olivia’s treatment for cancer, Howard Zailer had been fully involved. As much as Linda and Charlie were. It was when he’d retired that his horizons had started to narrow. By 2006, when Charlie’s name had been splashed all over the papers, he had been willing to talk to her only briefly about what she was going through; it wasn’t life-threatening, after all. Howard couldn’t be late for his day’s play, or, if it was evening when Charlie happened to ring, for a drinking session with his friends from the club. ‘I’ll hand you over to Mum,’ he said whenever she phoned. ‘She can fill me in later.’
‘You’ll have to forgive me if I’m determined to like my family in spite of their faults,’ Liv said huffily, looking Charlie up and down. ‘It’s not exactly an abundance of riches scenario, is it? I don’t have any relatives who aren’t a pain in the arse in some major way. I suppose you’d like me to cut all ties, take myself off to the pound to sit in a mesh-fronted cage until some perfect new family comes to claim me.’
Charlie decided it would be unwise to pursue the point.
Olivia had no such reservations. ‘Do we all get to say exactly what we think, or is it just you? I wasn’t going to say a word about how ridiculous this whole charade is, your loony engagement . . .’
‘That policy has subsequently been revised, I take it?’ Charlie snapped.
Liv didn’t get the chance to answer. Shouting was coming from the bottom of the stairs near the presents table. Simon’s voice. Everyone who could hear it was shifting in that direction, not wanting to miss out.
Stacey Sellers was crying. Simon was holding a large vibrator, wielding it like a truncheon. ‘This is what you thought we’d want, is it?’ he yelled, throwing it on the floor. It landed amid strips of wrapping paper, next to what was left of its cardboard and plastic box.
‘There’s nothing wrong with sex toys. They’re not dirty,’ Stacey screamed back at him. ‘Haven’t you ever watched Sex and the City ? Don’t you know anything ?’
‘She’s got a point,’ Olivia whispered in Charlie’s ear. ‘A libido might not be essential but a sense of humour is.’
‘Liv says she’ll have it if we don’t want it,’ Charlie shouted down the stairs.
Simon looked up at her. ‘Get your stuff,’ he said. ‘We’re going. ’
‘Going? Simon, it’s only ten past nine. We can’t leave—it’s our party.’
‘I can do whatever the fuck I like. Give me your keys. I’ll see you later.’
Keys? Did he mean he planned to spend the night at her house? He had to mean that—it was unambiguous. Charlie looked around to see if anyone was smirking. Most people seemed more interested in Stacey’s weeping. There was no way anyone could know that Charlie and Simon had never spent the night together at either of their houses or anywhere else, that she’d feared it might never happen, even after they were married. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she told him, grabbing her coat and bag from the stand at the top of the stairs.
Olivia was waiting to pounce. ‘I’ve only just got here. Can’t Simon wait?’
He
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