Geli Voyante's Hot or Not (20 page)

OK
, I feel glum. Bloody Christmas. Even Theo’s phone call this morning and his “pep talk” that Christmas has merely become a commercialisation exercise to get the sheeple out of their pens in winter and spend money in a time when spending is traditionally at a low because of the short days and lousy weather, pushed by the government for that wondrous Value Added Tax... At this point I switched off.

I think I was more excited about Theo when my interaction with him was limited to the confines of the
Gherkin and I didn’t get social phone calls from him. Despite his talk, I can’t shake this feeling of despondency but the one good thing about Christmas at the Rosenbergs’ is they don’t hold for consumerism. I’m spared that at least – it’s only a snag of silver lining though on this very black cloud.

That is until Christmas dinner is served and that silver lining is tugged away from my black cloud in the form of Mr Rosenberg. I always forget how much of a
n absolute horror he is and how Glinda shrinks in his presence. Sadly, company does nothing for his behaviour towards her.

I always believed men like Mr Rosenbe
rg, Alan, were feminist tales; men who live a lifetime of disappointment because they don’t sire a male heir – Mr Rosenberg fits the myth perfectly.

‘We finally get rid of you then
?’ he asks Glinda.

Mr Rosenberg has the habit of saying “we” even though we all know Mrs Rosenberg
, Maria, doesn’t agree with his views. However, since she believes in deference being the key to a successful marriage, she never corrects his “we” usage as it wouldn’t pander to Mr Rosenberg’s ego.
Marriages, huh?

‘Yes
,’ Glinda replies softly. Unfortunately that deference towards him was also instilled in Glinda. Isn’t it about time one of them stood up to him? He’s just a big bully.

The conv
ersation went from bad to worse when he switched his attention to offer his “sorrow” to Mum that I was still on her hands, but congrats on her getting shot of Claire. I am not a burden. I do not subscribe to the idea of patriarchy and that I, in any way, “belong” to my parents until they manage to marry me off to some poor schmuck who accepts my parents’ bribe… sorry,
dowry
, to take me off their hands.    

Oddly
, Mr Rosenberg reminded me a lot of Theo with his ridiculously long sentences and gesticulations as he starts banging on about how he’s gaining a fine son-in-law in the form of Jeeves and should Glinda really be having second helpings when she should be dieting for the wedding?
Please
, Glinda is gorgeous and whereas she might want to tone up a bit, she does not need to lose any weight.

What
I’d really like to do is tell him exactly how much of a twat I think he is, but cheap rent on a nice home stops me. Materialism and comfort overrides that so-called conscience Claire suggested I had – funny that.

‘Thank goodness that’s over for another year,’ Glinda says as we collapse back into the flat after surviving not only the Christmas debauchery, but also the traffic on the M25. We borrowed her mum’s Mini which she’ll pick up when she comes to London to hit the Christmas sales.

‘
Mmm,’ I answer as I flick through the post. ‘Irgh,’ I say spying a rather pretentious cream-coloured envelope and ripping it open. ‘Invites to Tiggy’s engagement party.’

‘Let’s see.
’ Glinda snatches the invite from me. ‘How has she sent these through? Isn’t she in Durban?’

‘Christmas post delay
?’

‘Suppose so. Well, at least our New Year’
s party will be vastly superior!’

I
groan at this. ‘No party.’

‘Come on, i
t’s New Year’s Eve.’

‘Can’t we just let it slide in quietly?’ I beg
.

I’m really not in the mood for parties. I jus
t want to sleep the New Year in because it never ends well. Usually some bright spark gets the idea at half eleven that we should head out to watch the fireworks. The result is usually getting lost and missing out. Or getting crushed. Or getting sick from disappearing into the night and forgetting to put a coat on… Or one of several million undesirable, non-fun scenarios.

‘Quiet night then? You, me, Jeeves and Theo?’

‘Pass on Theo,’ I mutter.

‘Geli?’ Glinda asks me concerned.

‘Oh, I’m just tired. Hormonal. Whatever. Ask me tomorrow.’

I’m not looking forward to tomorrow though. It’s back to work and one of those weeks when I have limited time to write my column, even though I have exactly the same amount of time to write my column
as always given I write it last minute. I can’t shake this irrational mindset though. What is up with me?

When tomorrow comes though, I’m actually quite pleased to see Theo. I even decide to invite him over for the New Year’s party I’ve agreed we can have, much to Glinda’s great delight. This is because she has decided to make it her engagement party to kill two birds with one stone.

Theo has also agreed to accompany me to Tiggy’s engagement party
, which is a relief because Jeeves has some must-go-to work event at the same time and the future Mrs Jeeves is abandoning me to accompany him, not that I can blame her. I’m glad I have salvation in the form of Mr Bones. I can hardly analyse Calvin with Theo by my side like I could with Glinda’s attendance, but she has promised to be on standby to answer my texts.

Anyway, given I feel much better
, I find it surprisingly easy to produce Saturday’s column. It helps that Christmas is always a quiet time news-wise, unless there is some freakish natural disaster like the tsunami last year. Luckily for me the Ad Department wants to place an advert at the bottom of my page, which means a reduced word-count. Weirdly enough though, the advert is for De Beers where Dad works. That makes me recall the message he left over Christmas imploring me to speak to him soon… or else.

‘G
rab the phone,’ Glinda screeches. ‘The caterers!’

Ah yes
, the caterers. Glinda truly is her mother’s daughter. This is supposed to be a
small
gathering of fifty close friends for the New Year’s Eve Rosenberg–Jeeves engagement party, around thirty too many to fit comfortably into our flat. Yet, despite this “small” gathering, Glinda has booked caterers.

Why she couldn’t stick some sausage rolls in the oven and have done with it, I don’t know, but it’s near
ly six o’clock and the caterers who were supposed to arrive at half five, haven’t shown. Glinda is in a spin, convinced this is a sure sign her marriage is cursed and the whole evening is ruined. She’s left umpteen messages, the first one probably at thirty-one minutes past five, so I’m expecting an amused voice on the phone and excuses of traffic. That’s fine with me, but I know Glinda will not accept this tardiness, despite the party kicking off at half seven. It’s a good job I’m answering the phone.

‘Hello,’ I trill picking up the hall phone.

‘Angelica?’

My heart st
ops. It has gone deathly silent. ‘Angelica? Hello? Are you there?’

‘Hi
… Dad,’ I manage to choke out.

Hardly anyone phones us on the house phone, so we usually let the answering machine pick up. This is how I’ve
always managed to avoid Dad in the past.

‘Happy New Year, sweetheart,’ he
says pathetically.

‘It’s not the New Year
here,’ I snap. ‘What do you want?’

‘Geli,
please
. Don’t be like this.’

‘What do you want?’ I repeat.

He sighs. ‘Are you still going to Tiggy’s wedding?’

I snort at that one. ‘Yes.
Now if you’ll excuse me–’

‘No, no,’ he interrupts.
‘What I mean is, well, it’ll be lovely to see you.’

‘
OK. Got to go.’

I’m about to hang up the phone, but a plea in his voice stops me.
‘Geli… Geli? Are you still there?’

‘Yes,’ I mutter.

‘Is this Theodore chap accompanying you?’

‘Excuse me.
’ I gasp. ‘What has that got to do with
you
?’

‘Geli, swee
theart, I’m just worried about–’

‘Worried?’ It’s my turn to interrupt now. ‘
What on earth could you be
worried
about? You don’t even know Theo.’

‘Well, it’s just Tiggy said a
t Christmas–’

‘Antigone said
what
at Christmas?’ I hiss. Interfering fucking bitch. Now I really will kill her, so, no, I won’t be attending her wedding because no one will be.

‘That she thinks you can do better than him,’ he blurts out. ‘That he’s not responsible.’

‘Pot, kettle, black,’ I drawl at him. ‘Like
you
can comment about responsibility.’

At this point Glinda is stood in front of me dripping wet all over the carpet from her shower. I am shaking with rage.

‘Go to Hell,’ I screech as he weakly begins to protest, but I slam down the phone.

‘Not the caterers then?’

I may be fuming right now, but I have to marvel at her dead-pan delivery. ‘My fucking father,’ I seethe. ‘Banging on about how Tiggy, yes
Tiggy
, has told him Theo is not responsible, like she can talk.’

I am
livid. How dare she say things like that to Dad? How dare he phone me on New Year’s Eve to try and parent me when he’s never bothered with me since he married Ursula? My mood to celebrate has totally washed out. Yet again, Tiggy Boodles is the cause. Oh, how I hate her. I wish her plane back from South Africa could crash and that she could be the only freak casualty of the accident. I wouldn’t wish death upon anyone else.

Even though Glinda is sopping wet, she hugs me
tightly. Just as I’m muttering that I will be fine, the phone rings again. Glinda snatches it up.

‘Hello?’ There’s a pause in which Glinda slowly begins to turn puce – never a good sign. ‘What do you mean you can’t come?’

There’s silence from Glinda as whoever it is carries on, unaware that they are sending Glinda to her boiling point.

‘I don’t care about getting the bloody deposit back,’ she suddenly screams which sends me a step back from her in case she angrily starts to kick the wall I’m leaning against. ‘I need you here with the bloody food.’

She starts taking deep breaths, as the caterers start apologising down the phone at her. I can see the tears about to fall.

‘Well thanks, thanks a lot.’ She slams
down the phone.

‘G?’ I ask uncertainly as she sniffles into her towel.

‘The caterers can’t make it,’ she yelps. ‘Something went wrong with the food and they are too short-staffed to fix it with it being New Year’s Eve.’

There’s nothing like a best friend’s disaster to make you stop feeling sorry for yourself.

‘Oh, Glinds,’ I soothe. ‘It’s
OK. I’m sure...’

I manage to stop myself. It’s past six on NYE – I don’t think we’ll be able to find a decent supermarket open, let alone be able to cook any nibbles given the lack of co
oking skills Glinda and I share, not to mention the lack of time.

‘We’re cancelling,’ she gulps. ‘Cancel it, Geli. Cancel them all. Clearly this wasn’t meant to be.’

‘Glinds,’ I say, even though two minutes ago I wanted to spend the night wallowing in my room. ‘Come on, it’ll be fine.’ I try and chivvy her.

‘It
won’t
. This is not just any New Year’s Eve party, this is my
engagement party
. I was silly to think it would work out tonight. Cancel it,’ she orders.

‘
OK,’ I carefully agree. Poor Glinds.

‘
I’ll phone Jeeves on my mobile,’ she says. ‘Can you phone everyone else, please?’

‘Of course I can, sweetie,’ I say. ‘Of course.’

So I do, starting with Theo who doesn’t seem as bothered as I’d like him to be. He even tells me he’s off to his friend’s party instead meaning I’m now dateless and alone on New Year’s Eve, but that’s fine. I’m off to bed once these calls are made and I’m sleeping in the New Year like I originally planned.

‘All done?’ Glinda asks as I hang up on the last guest I need to inform. She’s looking much better now – the wonders of make-up.

‘All done.’

‘Thanks, Geli.’

‘What are friends for?’ I smile at her, hoping she’s OK really. Poor Glinds.

The answering machine starts beeping before she can answer
. I hope it’s not the caterers suddenly announcing they can do the food because that would result in Glinda losing it again. She doesn’t need that.

“Hi Geli!
Hi Glinda! It’s Tiggy! Hope you guys have a fab New Year’s. I’m just calling to get your RSVP for my engagement party. The caterer needs to know for numbers. It’s that fab new one. You know, Cecil Rhodes. Anyway, let me know! Toodles!”

Glinda gasps. Cecil Rhodes was the caterer for tonight. Great, just great. Thanks a lot Tiggy I think as Glinda starts
hysterically crying again. I really hope someone ruins her engagement party because she deserves it. Vile, vile, vile.