he turned to me and said drily, ‘God, they get more like a bad sitcom every time but hey, you’re a hit and you haven’t even opened your mouth yet.’ He pulled at the fridge door, which resisted, relented. He took out a bottle of wine.
‘What was wrong with the last one?’ I asked, equally drily, sliding my coat off my shoulders, looking around for somewhere to hang it, then dropping it over the back of a kitchen chair. We had been going out for three months – I had just started counting in months rather than weeks. I longed to stop being sardonic with him. Why were we still wisecracking in private – in public, yes, but between ourselves? When could I stop pretending I felt less than I did? When would the signal come from him and how would I recognise it?
He rolled his eyes. ‘She was an accountant. She had a voice like this…’ He pinched his nostrils together and made a nasal sound.
‘Stuck-up little cow,’ said Lorraine as she blustered into the kitchen carrying a blue, oval-shaped platter, empty but for a few wisps of flaky pastry. ‘We were terrified our David was going to marry her.’ She pronounced his name the Welsh way, Dav- eed . She dumped the platter in the sink, on top of what was there already, and picked up another, full platter from the counter top, whisking off some cling film to reveal a neat arrangement of tiny withered samosas with cherry tomatoes dotted between. ‘Thank God she got wise to him before that.’ She handed it to me. ‘You know what they say about Welshmen, don’t you, girl? They make wonderful fathers cos they’re such children themselves, but terrible husbands mind.’ She turned away, then said over her shoulder, ‘Be a love and take that through for me. I’ve still got the spring rolls in the oven. They’ll be hot, anyway, even if that lot isn’t.’
I understood this was a test and did as I was bid, pulling a face at David as I passed him with the platter in my hands.
*
As we left the house, three hours later, David slung his arm around my waist and pulled me in so close he made me squirm, digging his fingertips into me. ‘You were great!’ he murmured, and bit my ear. I was a bit drunk, a bit tired, and wondered if this was it, the signal – I had met his family and I had passed. I wasn’t a stuck-up cow and I didn’t wear too many synthetic fibres. Now we were a couple in public, so to speak, could we be one in private too? I wasn’t afraid of eccentricity. Having always considered myself something of an oddball, I had found it easy to take his large, voluble family in my stride. Previous girlfriends from nice, nuclear families had found them all somewhat intimidating, I later gathered, had been put off by the smoking and shouting and occasional outbursts of anti-English sentiment. Those family gatherings were always on the edge of chaos. I had known from the first moment I had met David that he was chronically impulsive, giving of himself and self-centred in equal measure, and used to being indulged – now I had seen him in the context of his extended family, it made perfect sense.
Later, I came to love them, the aunts and uncles – even his parents who were probably the most restrained of the lot, and his sister who was four years older than him and married with three children and rarely spoke except to be even more sardonic than her brother. A whole family; and they swallowed me whole.
We had walked only a few hundred yards from Lorraine’s house when David stopped suddenly in the middle of the icy pavement, turned to me, and looked at me as if he had just realised his pocket had been picked and suspected me of being the culprit. I looked back at him, thinking he was about to tell me he had left something behind at the house, or that his lower back had gone again.
He shook his head a little, then strode off down the road, leaving me to trot after him in the cold. He always walked at a ferocious pace. I caught up with him and pushed my
‘What was wrong with the last one?’ I asked, equally drily, sliding my coat off my shoulders, looking around for somewhere to hang it, then dropping it over the back of a kitchen chair. We had been going out for three months – I had just started counting in months rather than weeks. I longed to stop being sardonic with him. Why were we still wisecracking in private – in public, yes, but between ourselves? When could I stop pretending I felt less than I did? When would the signal come from him and how would I recognise it?
He rolled his eyes. ‘She was an accountant. She had a voice like this…’ He pinched his nostrils together and made a nasal sound.
‘Stuck-up little cow,’ said Lorraine as she blustered into the kitchen carrying a blue, oval-shaped platter, empty but for a few wisps of flaky pastry. ‘We were terrified our David was going to marry her.’ She pronounced his name the Welsh way, Dav- eed . She dumped the platter in the sink, on top of what was there already, and picked up another, full platter from the counter top, whisking off some cling film to reveal a neat arrangement of tiny withered samosas with cherry tomatoes dotted between. ‘Thank God she got wise to him before that.’ She handed it to me. ‘You know what they say about Welshmen, don’t you, girl? They make wonderful fathers cos they’re such children themselves, but terrible husbands mind.’ She turned away, then said over her shoulder, ‘Be a love and take that through for me. I’ve still got the spring rolls in the oven. They’ll be hot, anyway, even if that lot isn’t.’
I understood this was a test and did as I was bid, pulling a face at David as I passed him with the platter in my hands.
*
As we left the house, three hours later, David slung his arm around my waist and pulled me in so close he made me squirm, digging his fingertips into me. ‘You were great!’ he murmured, and bit my ear. I was a bit drunk, a bit tired, and wondered if this was it, the signal – I had met his family and I had passed. I wasn’t a stuck-up cow and I didn’t wear too many synthetic fibres. Now we were a couple in public, so to speak, could we be one in private too? I wasn’t afraid of eccentricity. Having always considered myself something of an oddball, I had found it easy to take his large, voluble family in my stride. Previous girlfriends from nice, nuclear families had found them all somewhat intimidating, I later gathered, had been put off by the smoking and shouting and occasional outbursts of anti-English sentiment. Those family gatherings were always on the edge of chaos. I had known from the first moment I had met David that he was chronically impulsive, giving of himself and self-centred in equal measure, and used to being indulged – now I had seen him in the context of his extended family, it made perfect sense.
Later, I came to love them, the aunts and uncles – even his parents who were probably the most restrained of the lot, and his sister who was four years older than him and married with three children and rarely spoke except to be even more sardonic than her brother. A whole family; and they swallowed me whole.
We had walked only a few hundred yards from Lorraine’s house when David stopped suddenly in the middle of the icy pavement, turned to me, and looked at me as if he had just realised his pocket had been picked and suspected me of being the culprit. I looked back at him, thinking he was about to tell me he had left something behind at the house, or that his lower back had gone again.
He shook his head a little, then strode off down the road, leaving me to trot after him in the cold. He always walked at a ferocious pace. I caught up with him and pushed my
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