sought out a vase, she felt him looking at her hair. The boyish cut, an impulsive decision, was meant to be chic but she worried it gave her the look of a prison warder.
‘What happened to your hair?’ said Charlie.
‘It fell off,’ said Kate.
A beat, then he laughed. She laughed too. They laughed more than the feeble joke merited.
‘Julian likes it,’ said Kate. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Julian’s got taste.’ Charlie gestured around the flat. ‘He must be right.’
Kicking off her shoes, Becca dragged Julian in from the terrace and shouted, ‘Turn up the music, Kate!’
‘Give me a mo.’ Kate hovered over the control panel. She turned a random dial and the lighting went from ‘candlelight’ to ‘extra bright’.
‘Argh!’ Becca cowered like a vampire struck by the sun until Julian reached over Kate and conjured up a flattering twilight.
By the time they took their seats for dinner, Julian was a little fuzzy around the edges. He swiped a handful of edamame, dropping some so they lay like jade beads on the black grain of the
table. Kate fancied him tipsy, when he pawed her like a lion, but it was early for him to be this squiffy.
‘Lay into the starters, everybody.’ Kate wondered if she’d sweated her foundation off. ‘Try the yakitori chicken thing.’
‘Why aren’t they on paper plates from your shops?’ asked Charlie. ‘Those nice fish patterned ones.’
Too frazzled to put a diplomatic spin on Julian’s plea that she not bring her own products home, Kate shrugged.
Paper plates are not really
us, he’d say.
‘You’ve gone to so much trouble,’ said Becca. ‘I’m crap around the house, aren’t I, babe?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlie. His hair was super short above the collar of his dark blue velvet jacket. Kate wondered how he’d smuggled such an obviously second-hand garment past his
wife, who was violently anti-charity shop. ‘I expected your mum and dad to be here tonight, Kate,’ he said.
‘God no,’ said Julian, a touch too fast. ‘I mean, we saw plenty of them over Christmas,’ he added.
‘By plenty,’ said Kate, ‘he means too much.’ She sympathised; she too had longed to escape from the small, hot kitchen where her mother had incinerated a turkey on
Christmas Day. A need to impress the son-in-law had culminated in a panic attack over the lumpy gravy. ‘Dad’s a bit down at the moment.’
‘Why?’ asked Charlie.
‘Why’d you think?’ Becca was wry. ‘He’s put off his trip to that stupid orphanage again.’
‘But he lives for Yulan House,’ protested Charlie. ‘The Christmas card he sent us had a picture of all the kids on the front.’
Julian nodded. ‘John’s fascinating on the subject.’ He didn’t listen when Kate’s dad spoke about Yulan House but made sure to look interested.
‘Mum says they can’t afford for Dad to travel all that way. She says it’s enough for him to sponsor an orphan.
Charity begins at home
, apparently.’ Kate stirred
her miso with a chopstick. ‘They’re buying a caravan instead.’
The glance Becca threw at Kate was empathetic: she knew how Julian must have scoffed at such a plebeian purchase.
‘I love caravans,’ said Charlie, wistfully.
‘We’re looking at a time share in Ibiza,’ said Becca.
‘That we can’t afford,’ said Charlie.
‘That you pretend we can’t afford,’ said Becca, adding a ‘babe’, as if the endearment would make up for annoyance in her voice. ‘We can’t keep borrowing
Kate and Julian’s villa, can we?’
‘We don’t mind,’ said Kate, knowing that Julian did mind a little. When Becca took up residence in the Tuscan square stone house she was harder to evict than bedbugs.
Relieved that the starters were well received, Kate returned to her showroom kitchen. Truly on show, feeling that the eyes of the residents opposite were trained on her, Kate rolled, and sliced,
and cursed her culinary ambition. Julian had drunk too many of his own cocktails to
‘What happened to your hair?’ said Charlie.
‘It fell off,’ said Kate.
A beat, then he laughed. She laughed too. They laughed more than the feeble joke merited.
‘Julian likes it,’ said Kate. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Julian’s got taste.’ Charlie gestured around the flat. ‘He must be right.’
Kicking off her shoes, Becca dragged Julian in from the terrace and shouted, ‘Turn up the music, Kate!’
‘Give me a mo.’ Kate hovered over the control panel. She turned a random dial and the lighting went from ‘candlelight’ to ‘extra bright’.
‘Argh!’ Becca cowered like a vampire struck by the sun until Julian reached over Kate and conjured up a flattering twilight.
By the time they took their seats for dinner, Julian was a little fuzzy around the edges. He swiped a handful of edamame, dropping some so they lay like jade beads on the black grain of the
table. Kate fancied him tipsy, when he pawed her like a lion, but it was early for him to be this squiffy.
‘Lay into the starters, everybody.’ Kate wondered if she’d sweated her foundation off. ‘Try the yakitori chicken thing.’
‘Why aren’t they on paper plates from your shops?’ asked Charlie. ‘Those nice fish patterned ones.’
Too frazzled to put a diplomatic spin on Julian’s plea that she not bring her own products home, Kate shrugged.
Paper plates are not really
us, he’d say.
‘You’ve gone to so much trouble,’ said Becca. ‘I’m crap around the house, aren’t I, babe?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlie. His hair was super short above the collar of his dark blue velvet jacket. Kate wondered how he’d smuggled such an obviously second-hand garment past his
wife, who was violently anti-charity shop. ‘I expected your mum and dad to be here tonight, Kate,’ he said.
‘God no,’ said Julian, a touch too fast. ‘I mean, we saw plenty of them over Christmas,’ he added.
‘By plenty,’ said Kate, ‘he means too much.’ She sympathised; she too had longed to escape from the small, hot kitchen where her mother had incinerated a turkey on
Christmas Day. A need to impress the son-in-law had culminated in a panic attack over the lumpy gravy. ‘Dad’s a bit down at the moment.’
‘Why?’ asked Charlie.
‘Why’d you think?’ Becca was wry. ‘He’s put off his trip to that stupid orphanage again.’
‘But he lives for Yulan House,’ protested Charlie. ‘The Christmas card he sent us had a picture of all the kids on the front.’
Julian nodded. ‘John’s fascinating on the subject.’ He didn’t listen when Kate’s dad spoke about Yulan House but made sure to look interested.
‘Mum says they can’t afford for Dad to travel all that way. She says it’s enough for him to sponsor an orphan.
Charity begins at home
, apparently.’ Kate stirred
her miso with a chopstick. ‘They’re buying a caravan instead.’
The glance Becca threw at Kate was empathetic: she knew how Julian must have scoffed at such a plebeian purchase.
‘I love caravans,’ said Charlie, wistfully.
‘We’re looking at a time share in Ibiza,’ said Becca.
‘That we can’t afford,’ said Charlie.
‘That you pretend we can’t afford,’ said Becca, adding a ‘babe’, as if the endearment would make up for annoyance in her voice. ‘We can’t keep borrowing
Kate and Julian’s villa, can we?’
‘We don’t mind,’ said Kate, knowing that Julian did mind a little. When Becca took up residence in the Tuscan square stone house she was harder to evict than bedbugs.
Relieved that the starters were well received, Kate returned to her showroom kitchen. Truly on show, feeling that the eyes of the residents opposite were trained on her, Kate rolled, and sliced,
and cursed her culinary ambition. Julian had drunk too many of his own cocktails to
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