Drip Dry (31 page)

‘That's for sure,' chimes in Aunt Emma sourly, ‘over and over again.'

‘Oh, put a sock in it, Emma,' says Auntie Annie dismissively. ‘Just because none of your lot made it past year ten, there's no need to take it out on Camilla.'

‘I'll have you know that both Rebecca and Jacob have their VCE certificates, Annie, so please check your facts before you open your mouth.'

‘And which cereal packet did they get those out of then?'

‘Why, how dare you suggest that –'

‘They eat cereal?'

‘Annie Elizabeth Williams, you are going to go too far one day and my Christian forgiveness will not be able to rise to the occasion!'

‘Oh, shove your Christian forgiveness, Emma!'

I take my glass and slip away as Aunt Emma's face slowly turns crimson. Great Aunt Pru is busily tapping her walking stick against any passing shins and, being deaf, is totally unaware that her two nieces are now going at it hammer and tongs. However, my assorted cousins and their families, who fill the remainder of this table and the next, are well aware and have paused in their conversations to listen open-mouthed to the extremely unchristian behaviour going on next to them. Obviously my mother's two sisters are not getting on terribly well nowadays. I walk back over to my table where Maggie and Terry are sitting by themselves, and settle myself back into my chair.

‘It's World War III over there,' I announce. ‘I think I'll stay here where it's safe.'

‘What makes you think it's safe here?' asks Terry grimly. ‘You might have jumped from the frying pan into the fire.'

‘Oh, no. Don't tell me you guys haven't sorted anything out?'

‘How can we sort anything out?' says Maggie. ‘She stole our man, she did!'

‘If you lot had treated him better, he wouldn't have been out looking!'

‘Bitch!'

‘Slut!'

‘Hey, you two! Please don't do this!' I say with real
consternation as they glare furiously at each other across the table. And then suddenly Terry snorts loudly and explodes into laughter while Maggie quickly follows suit with her trademark guffaw. I stare at them stunned as it slowly dawns on me that I've been had.

‘I hate you both,' I say with real feeling.

‘Oh! Your face!' splutters Terry. ‘It was priceless!'

‘Where's a camera when you need one?' Maggie is holding her sides as she convulses with laughter. ‘Oh! Don't make me laugh any more – it hurts!'

‘I'm not talking to either of you,' I say, turning my head ostentatiously away.

‘What's so funny?' Fergus has returned from the bar with refills for Terry and Maggie and is looking at them both with a tentative smile on his face. ‘Is it me?'

‘No, of course not, sweetie,' says Terry, wiping her eyes. ‘Come and sit down.'

‘No, first I'll be getting a drink for Camilla – another wine?'

‘Yes, thanks, Fergus,' I reply, still ignoring the other two.

‘Sorry, Cam.' Terry leans over and touches me on the arm. ‘I couldn't resist. Come on, can't you see the funny side?'

‘Hmm, of course she can,' Maggie chimes in. ‘After all,
you
were the one that told Terry that Fergus was one of our clients, weren't you?'

‘But wasn't he?' I ask curiously.

‘Well, no – never. Not unless he was getting some action behind my back.' Maggie grins, catches sight of Terry's face and hurriedly continues: ‘Which of
course he wasn't. He's our handyman, that's all. He's been coming around for the last couple of years and doing all the jobs that need doing. And, believe me, that's a bloody lot. Why, just last week we had a guy put both hands through a plaster wall!'

‘How on earth –' I pause and give the matter some thought. ‘No, it's okay – don't bother explaining.'

‘So we have Fergus around almost every other day doing something or other,' says Maggie, grinning at me, ‘but that doesn't mean he's a client.'

‘No, sir-ree,' states Fergus emphatically as he places a glass of wine in front of me and slides into the seat next to Terry.

‘God, I just
assumed
,' I say to Terry remorsefully. ‘I'm really sorry.'

‘You know what they say about assuming,' replies Terry with a sanctimonious smirk. ‘It's the ass between you and me.'

‘Is it me that you're talking about?' asks Fergus nervously. He happens to be sitting between the two of us. ‘What've I been doing now?'

‘No, you dorks.' Terry gives us both an impatient look. ‘The ass is the ASS between you, that's the U, and me, that's the ME. Get it?'

‘No, it's not,' I reply pedantically. ‘That would be “assume” not “assuming”.'

‘Besides,' comments Fergus with a thoughtful frown, ‘the ASS is
before
you and me, not between.'

‘Anyway,' says Maggie in a loud voice, ‘so Fergus just works for us at times, as well as being a friend. A very welcome friend who often has drinks with us too.'

‘And to be sure,' Fergus adds, ‘I've never been having to pay for it in my life.'

‘Well, just stick with Terry,' I say, picking up my wineglass, ‘and that will soon change.'

‘Bitch,' replies Terry, giving me a playful punch on the arm.

‘Anyway, I'm glad that's all been sorted,' I say as I rub my arm. ‘And that reminds me – Fergus?'

‘Yes?' Fergus looks at me with trepidation.

‘I only wanted to say thanks for the floor, that's all. You've done a great job and I'm really pleased. It looks fantastic.'

‘Ah,' says Fergus, breathing a sigh of relief.

‘Is this a private party, or can anyone join?' Alex slides into a seat next to me, puts a glass of beer down on the table, and turns to Fergus and Terry. ‘I don't believe I've met you – I'm Alex Brown.'

‘Fergus O'Connor,' says Fergus as they shake hands, ‘and this is Terry . . . my girlfriend.'

Maggie starts to question her brother as to where he had disappeared to, while Terry and I exchange a couple of meaningful glances that communicate (a) her surprise at being called Fergus's girlfriend, (b) my surprise at her being called Fergus's girlfriend, (c) my query as to what she thinks of Alex, and (d) her opinion of him as being not half bad for a bounder.

‘Hey,' exclaims Fergus suddenly, ‘is this yer man that –'

‘So, Alex,' asks Terry politely as Fergus abruptly buckles over moaning, ‘how are you finding the house?'

‘Is he okay?' Alex looks with concern at Fergus,
who is hugging his midriff in pain. ‘Does he need any help?'

‘Oh, no,' replies Terry airily, ‘he just gets heart-burn, that's all. Now, you were saying? About the house?'

‘It's not bad, actually,' replies Alex, eyeing Fergus doubtfully. ‘Apart from the neighbours, that is.'

‘Ha, ha,' I laugh jovially as I narrow my eyes in warning at a slowly recovering Fergus.

‘No, seriously, I reckon my sister did quite well.' Alex smiles at Maggie and she grins back complacently and raises her glass in a salute.

‘Not much work to be done?' asks Fergus, one hand still grasping his stomach as he flips his tie out ostentatiously, obviously touting for business. ‘Let me know if you're after a handyman. Cam'll recommend me.'

‘Hmm,' I comment enigmatically.

‘I'll keep that in mind, thanks.' Alex takes a sip of beer and reads the monogram on Fergus's tie. ‘There
are
a couple of things actually – like the ceiling, for a start. There's a really odd dent that'll need plastering over.'

‘Hey! Who wants to buy a baby?' David bounces over with a tightly wrapped baby girl in each arm and dumps one unceremoniously onto Maggie's lap and the other onto Terry's. ‘Alex, my man, great to see you again. How's life treating you?'

‘Not a problem, and congratulations!' Alex stands up and shakes David's hand. ‘And what a beautiful pair they are!'

‘So I'm told, mate, so I'm told.'

‘David, you are totally sexist,' I comment with a shake of my head.

‘What! Why do you say that?'

‘Because there're two guys here but you still picked on the women to offload your babies on, that's why.'

‘Okay, then, I'm sexist. Who am I to argue? After all, the nose nose. Get it?'

‘How droll.' I take a sip of wine and then laugh as I catch sight of Terry, who is desperately trying to pass the baby she is holding onto someone else. It's probably Regan and she has fixed her with one of those gimlet gazes. Fergus takes the bunny-rugged bundle with surprising expertise and starts to rock and coo at the same time.

‘Is he trying to give those babies away again?' Diane comes up behind her husband and links her arm through his. ‘He hasn't found any takers yet so he's getting desperate.'

‘Are you saying we're the bottom of the barrel?' asks Maggie with her eyebrows raised. ‘Because I might take offence to that.'

‘Diane, you are looking positively radiant.' Alex stands again and gives her a kiss on the cheek. ‘And I've already congratulated your husband here so a hearty congratulations
and
well done to you too.'

‘Thanks, Alex,' says Diane as she gives him a hug. ‘It's really great to see you back. I was thrilled when Mum said she'd invited you today.'

‘Oh, Diane, David,' I say, suddenly remembering that they haven't met Fergus. ‘This is Fergus O'Connor, Terry's new
boyfriend
.'

While they shake hands I smirk at Terry and she grimaces back. Then the tinkling sound of a spoon hitting a glass echoes across the yard and gradually everybody slowly but surely hushes.

‘Hello, hello, everybody?' The portly guy who was acting as Harold's best man is standing by one of the decorated archways. ‘I'd like to have your attention for a while, if you don't mind. Only a couple of speeches and then we'll be bringing out a smorgasbord for you all to enjoy. So, in the meantime, if each table would like to grab one of the bottles of champagne that are coming around now so that you'll be able to charge your glasses when it's time, then we'll get underway.'

Diane and David find some spare chairs and drag them over. Maggie twists herself around and adjusts the baby on her rather ample lap while one of the catering staff hands Alex a bottle of champagne as he moves past. Terry deftly grabs another two from a waiter behind us so that we now have three between us.

‘We might need these,' she whispers loudly to the table in general, as she proceeds to pop the cork out of one of the bottles and fill the empty glasses which have magically appeared on the table. She grabs her glass and moves her seat around to face the speaker.

‘All right then, if everybody's organised, I'd like to say a few words about the happy couple first, if I may. I first met Harold way back in 1962 when we were –'

‘Pssst,' whispers Alex in my ear.

‘What?' I whisper back.

‘You're looking rather good for someone turning forty today. Happy birthday.'

‘Why thanks!' I look at him with genuine surprise. ‘Do you know, you're the only one who's remembered.'

‘Really? Well, I suppose there
is
a lot going on,' he replies, looking over at Harold's best man who is still droning on and showing no signs of stopping. ‘So where's your boyfriend?'

‘What boyfriend?'

‘The one you arrived here with – in the car.'

‘That's not my boyfriend, idiot, that's Elizabeth's boyfriend.'

‘
Bloody
Elizabeth?'

‘Yes, Bloody Elizabeth.'

‘Oh.' Alex leans back in his chair and mulls this over before continuing: ‘Oh, I see.'

‘Bully for you.'

‘And I almost forgot.' He pulls an envelope out of his jacket pocket and hands it over to me. ‘I got you a present. For your birthday, that is.'

‘Why thank you,' I say, genuinely touched. I untuck the flap of the envelope and pull out a gift certificate. Thoughts of a mini shopping spree flit gaily through my mind for a brief second or two, and then I read what is written on the certificate itself. A twelve-month gym membership. I stare at this blankly for a few minutes.

‘Don't you like it?' Alex looks disappointed. ‘I asked Sam and she suggested this. She said you'd love it.'

‘Oh, I do. Thanks very much.' I smile at him
convincingly as I tuck it back into the envelope and store it in my handbag. ‘Very thoughtful. Very nice.'

‘Oh, good.'

‘. . . and so I'd like to ask you all to charge your glasses and drink a toast to the newly married couple – may they always remain as happy as they are today!'

‘Cheers,' sixty-odd voices call out and sixty-odd hands raise sixty-odd glasses to sixty-odd mouths. I take a deep sip as I reflect on what I could do to my daughter to exact revenge for a twelve-month gift certificate to a gym that she – not me – has been dying to join. At least it was something
Sam
suggested, so it doesn't necessarily reflect on how he perceived my body Tuesday night. Which is what I thought at first. And suddenly I realise that I haven't seen any of my children for quite some time. In fact, I don't even know how Ben got here from the church.

‘Does anyone know where my kids are?'

‘Ben's sitting over there with Michael and a couple of Harold's cousin's kids,' answers Diane, pointing over to the other side of the yard. ‘And Sam's sitting with Sara and two of my boys at the table next to them. What did you think of the dresses?'

‘Extremely gross. Where's CJ?'

‘Oh, she's having a marvellous time sitting over with Mum and Harold and all their friends. Getting spoilt rotten.'

‘And now, friends, I'd like to hand the floor over to my good friend Harold, who wants to say a few words on behalf of himself and his new wife.
Here's
Harold!' The best man waves grandiosely over towards where Harold is sitting and then steps back. Everybody cheers as if this is some sort of vaudeville show and Harold stands up, bows, and moves over to the archway.