‘Hell of a coincidence,’ agrees Kate, glancing quickly at me.
‘Can you all please stop talking about things that don’t involve me?’ shouts Mitch from the other end of the table. ‘What the devil are we going to do now, anyway? No, Harriet, we are NOT playing touch rugby,’ he says, closing his eyes and holding a hand up to stop her before she can speak.
‘I’m going to get the papers and lie on the couch,’ says Ant. ‘A Saturday is a Saturday, after all.’
‘Well, let’s ask Edward what delights he’s got planned for us this weekend then,’ says Mitch. ‘Edward?’
Eddie takes a long drink of orange juice, swallows it slowly, makes a cow-chewing-cud motion with his mouth and blinks a few times. ‘Not much,’ he finally says.
‘Must I do everything around here?’ says Mitch to the ceiling. ‘Booze, tick, can buy that today, BBQ tonight or dinner party if it rains, tick, ditto, music, tick, everyone has iPods, right? What else could we need? A bouncy castle? Playing cards? Drugs?’
‘No drugs,’ says Eddie firmly.
‘Fine, no drugs, which is good as I didn’t pack them…though if you can’t get ripped whilst enjoying God’s countryside then where can you, I’d like to know.’
‘No,’ says Eddie.
‘Fine. Have you written a list for food for tonight?’ asks Mitch.
‘Um…no,’ says Eddie, eating a piece of toast. Everyone is watching this repartee like a tennis game, back and forth.
‘Fucking useless. Well, you can do that now.’
‘Can I finish my marmalade toast, please?’
‘Who eats marmalade?’ exclaims Mitch. ‘Except Paddington Bear and my grandmother?’
‘You guys are like a married couple,’ says Kate.
There’s a pause, and the boys look at each other with distrust, as though one might actually be secretly in love with the other. It’s true: as we get older, Mitch is ever more highly-strung and naggy, and Eddie is ploddier and lazier, but they’re still tied together. It is like a married couple.
‘Someone has to clean up breakfast,’ says Eddie. ‘And someone has to drive into Banbury to get supplies.’
‘No problem,’ says Sam. ‘Happy to do whatever is needed.’
‘Me too,’ chorus Bloomie, Kate and I.
‘But Jake and I cooked,’ I add. ‘So, according to the rules of Eddie’s Weekend Parties, we are not on cleaning duty.’
‘We most certainly are not,’ Jake agrees, walking in the kitchen door. I glance up and meet his eyes and we exchange smiles. His hair is wet from the shower, and he’s wearing a navy shirt and old jeans. Mmm.
My attention is pulled away by Mitch saying, ‘Right. I’ll clean up. Then I’m going to do nothing all day till it’s time to start drinking. Someone else can drive to Banbury for the food.’
‘I’ll do it. I just need some decent directions,’ says Jake. He’s standing behind the big island in the kitchen making himself a bacon sandwich. He catches me looking at him and makes a ‘want one?’ question with his eyes and hands. I shake my head no quickly and resolve to stop looking at him for awhile. Having him around with all these people is making me nervous. I need to wee.
‘I’ll help clean up. I’ve got to wait here for Eugene and Benoit,’ says Bloomie. ‘They’ll be here in the next hour or so.’
‘Looks like it’s us four,’ says Jake to Kate, Sam and I.
‘And us!’ says Harriet loudly. God, no. I can’t take cricket talk and poor whipped Neil.
‘Oh, do you really have to go, Harriet?’ says Bloomie quickly. ‘I was hoping you’d give me a quick rundown on the cricket last
night. I was really sorry to miss it…’ What a trouper. Talk about taking a hit for the team.
‘Yeah, wicked!’ says Harriet happily. ‘Neil, we’re staying here,’ she says, without even looking at him. Poor whipped Neil nods.
‘Oh dear,’ says a clear voice. ‘Have we missed breakfast?’ It’s Tara and her little-but-not-anymore-brother Perry. Tara is looking incredibly pretty. Her dark blonde hair is tumbling over her shoulders in shiny waves and makes her black tank top and black jeans look about a thousand times more glamorous than they ought to.
‘Course not!’ says Mitch quickly, getting up from the other end of the table. ‘I’ll make you a bacon sandwich, if you like.’
She nods and smiles. ‘Hi, Mitch.’
There’s a sudden tension in the air. Interesting.
‘I’ll have two, thanks, mate,’ says Perry with a grin, walking into the kitchen. He and Mitch exchange some kind of masculine handshake slash hug, with a ‘Good to see ya!’ or two thrown in for good measure. I glance at Kate and see her staring at Perry with unabashed lust, and accidentally snort with laughter. The entire table looks at me, including Jake, so I quickly fake a coughing fit.
‘Sorry…’ I say, patting my chest.
‘Dratted hayfever,’ says Jake. I raise an eyebrow at him in response as Tara introduces Perry to everyone.
‘We’re going to go into the local town to get some food and drink for tonight, if you’re keen,’ says Kate to Perry and Tara. (Mostly to Perry.)
‘Sounds good,’ he says, smiling at her amiably. Tara’s attention is taken by Mitch asking her how she likes her bacon, so Perry sits down and we all start chatting. It turns out he’s just finished his law degree and is starting as trainee at a law firm in London in a few months.
‘Lucky bugger. What are your plans for the summer?’ asks Sam.
‘I’m going to Florence, actually,’ says Perry.
‘Omygodispentayearthere!’ exclaims Kate excitedly, before composing herself and adding, ‘It was uh, pretty good. You’ll love it. I mean you’ll probably enjoy it…It’s OK.’
I’m fighting the urge to giggle again, but I think Jake is looking at me, so I frown and make a ‘how fascinating, do go on’ face instead. Behind me in the kitchen, I can hear Mitch talking to Tara.
‘So, how did you, uh, sleep last night? You’re in the attic rooms, right?’
Hmm. I’ve never heard him make attentive small talk, ever. Down the end of the table, Bloomie is making her own version of the ‘how fascinating, do go on’ face at Harriet, who’s talking about cricket, again.
Jake clears his throat. ‘Well, no point sitting around here,’ he says. ‘Let’s go and discover what Banbury has to offer. Someone make a list. Me. I will make a list. OK, shoot.’
‘Why don’t we just make spaghetti bolognese?’ suggests Eddie. ‘It’s so easy and my recipe is awesome.’
‘No,’ say Jake and I in unison.
‘It’s the sundried tomato paste! And cashew nuts. And just a pinch of cinnamon.’
‘No,’ we say again. I meet his eye and grin. I wonder if he hates spaghetti bolognese as much as I do.
Everyone starts calling out ideas for tonight. The general plan is to have a BBQ—the weather forecast is warmish, a bit sunny with a chance of rain (ie, pretty much the same forecast you’ll get anywhere in England from May to September)—which means we need meat, fish, salads, bread, alcohol, and more breakfast supplies for tomorrow. Jake writes everything down.
‘How many people are definitely coming?’ I ask.
Eddie starts counting on his fingers and pointing at people around the table. ‘You, me, Kate, Mitch, Jake, Sam, Bloomie, Harriet, Neil, Tara, Perry…Eugene and the French dude Benoit
are on their way now, plus the Irish guys are arriving from London tonight and let me think…who am I missing?’
‘Morning all,’ says a booming voice. ‘Where’s the scran?’ It’s Fraser. He’s showered and dressed, and looking smug, if slightly fatigued.
‘Fraser and Tory,’ I say flatly. ‘You forgot them.’
Tory walks in behind him wearing an obscenely short, tight pair of pale-brown velour shorts and a matching tight velour zip-up hoody. Juicy Couture via Primark. Her hair is in a very obvious I’ve-been-fucked-all-night hive, and her chin is red from stubble rash. She’s clearly not showered, and smiling coquettishly, sits down in a chair in the middle of the table near Sam and Jake, who both do the polite standing up thing. Nice manners.
‘I’m Tory,’ she says to them with a lascivious smile, pulling one knee up to her chin in what is clearly meant to be an unintentionally sexy move. ‘I slept SO WELL!’ she adds, yawning and stretching so her top unzips slightly, revealing some rather veiny boob.
‘Toto,’ calls Fraser from the kitchen. ‘How do you like your eggs, darling?’
‘Unfertilised, I imagine,’ I say under my breath to Kate.
‘Shopping expedition meeting outside in ten,’ Jake says, standing up.
‘Shotgun,’ I say.
‘You can’t call shotgun until you see the car,’ he says.
‘I pre-call it.’
‘You can have the damn shotgun,’ says Kate, rolling her eyes.
‘I can take our car, too,’ suggests Perry. ‘More room.’
‘Great idea!’ exclaims Kate.
Kate and I head out of the kitchen together and upstairs to get money and jackets. As soon as she closes my bedroom door, I turn to her with a dirty smile.
‘You were undressing that boy with your eyes.’
‘I know!’ she crows delightedly. ‘It’s so much fun. Am I flirting well?’
‘Perfectly,’ I say. I flop down on the bed and sigh deeply.
Kate sits down next to me and mimes flipping a coin. ‘Heads, Jake…Tails, the Sabbatical. Heads, Jake…Tails, the Sabbatical…’
Either way, it’s a gamble. I pointedly ignore her, and close my eyes. Kate prods me.
‘Please make me pretty for Perry?’
I open my eyes and get up off the bed. ‘I saw Sam looking at you quite a bit.’
‘Seriously?’ she says. ‘I was too busy gazing at my soon-to-be-precioussss to notice…Tell me more about Jake. Have you talked to him about the Botanist thing yet?’
Urgh. The Botanist thing. I grab my make-up bag from the vanity table, and we sit on the bed.
‘No, I have not…Touch of blush, bronzer, mascara? All very natural, obviously…’
She nods and I get started.
‘So your Sabbatical is totally over now…’ she tries again, trying not to move her face or lips.
‘No!’ I say. ‘No, no, no. I just think Jake is a bit, um, good looking…that’s all. It would all go tragically, epically wrong if I actually dated him.’
‘Very healthy way to approach things, real positive. If you wouldn’t end it for Jake, who would you end it for? Or do you want to end up bitter and alone and miserable?’
‘I will anyway, because my relationships always end,’ I shrug. ‘I am doomed to it.’ I don’t feel as nonchalant as I’m pretending to be. If not Jake, then who indeed? Can you be on a voluntary Dating Sabbatical your whole life? Is voluntary romantic and sexual solitude better than certain heartbreak and crushing disappointment?
‘Can you be serious for one fucking second?’ snaps Kate. I thought
I was being serious. ‘Do you want to never ever fall in love, never have sex, never get married and have kids, anything? Because that’s how you sound.’
I sit down next to her on the bed and hide my face with my hands. ‘I don’t…I don’t know…I feel so stuck…I…I…’ I can’t finish my sentences. I don’t know what to say. No, I don’t want to be alone forever and ever, and I certainly don’t want a life without sex (sex. God! I miss thee), but I couldn’t take another rejection either. ‘Let’s not talk about it,’ I finally say.
‘Just don’t reject Jake automatically, OK? Just…just judge him on his own merits. Not on everything that all the other fuckwits did. Especially not Rick.’
‘OK,’ I mumble.
Kate hurries off to get a jacket for the shopping trip, and I clean my teeth, put on some lipbalm and grab Bloomie’s leather jacket. I’m feeling a little low all of a sudden, but I force myself to skippy-bunny-hop down the stairs and through to the kitchen. Eddie and Mitch are washing up and singing happily along to Elton John’s ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ (Mitch is tackling the Kiki Dee part with gusto), which is a sight a little too strange to even comment on. Fraser and Tory are still tucking into breakfast and smirking at each other. Bloomie is still at the end of the table with Neil, listening to Harriet talk about cricket. I have to save her.
‘Oh, Bloomie, there you are…! Sorry to interrupt, Harriet, but Eugene just texted me that he’s lost. You may want to give him a quick ring, Bloomie.’
‘Really?’ she says, her face brightening. ‘I mean…oh, dear. Men! Sheesh!’ She gets her phone out of her pocket. ‘Oh yes, it’s been on silent, silly me, five missed calls…’
She dashes outside quickly. I smile at Harriet, then quickly turn and walk out of the kitchen to the cars outside, where everyone else is waiting.
The drive to Banbury only takes about 25 minutes, and Sam and Jake regale me on the way with stories about their journey last night, till my stomach aches from laughing. It turns out Mitch was in charge of directions, with Jake driving.
‘And finally, Mitch asked for directions in some tiny town at about, like, 11 pm,’ says Sam.
‘Usually I am anti-direction-asking, as it’s part of the contract of being a man,’ interjects Jake.
‘But it was getting ridiculous,’ says Sam. ‘So Mitch gets out and asks “Where are we, mate?” and this guy says “Bryngwyn”. And Mitch says “Where’s that?” and the guy says “Way-ales”.’
‘And Mitch says “FUCK. OFF,” and gets back in the car,’ says Jake.
‘It was another half hour before we established that we were, in fact, in Wales,’ finishes Sam.
‘Never again,’ Jake finishes. ‘My cousin, apart from having the sexual morals of a stoat, has the sense of direction of a brick. And he said he’s been here dozens of times.’
‘He has,’ I say. ‘Though in his defence, we don’t come that often these days.’
‘It’s an amazing place.’
‘Yeah. It’s the perfect weekend party house. We spent almost every university holidays here.’
‘Is that back when you and Eddie were an item?’ asks Jake lightly.
‘No!’ I say, laughing. ‘That was 12 days of true, true love in October of first-year university.’
He shakes his head. ‘Yikes. Tough break-up.’ He looks over at me quickly. ‘Why’d you kids end it?’
‘Hmm…because we didn’t fancy each other, I guess,’ I say. ‘It was the first time either of us had met someone of the opposite sex we found funny. Anyway, we got along so well, we just thought we ought to go out. But the kissing was just…ew.’
Jake smiles, but doesn’t laugh like I hoped he would. ‘Are you from around here originally?’
I shake my head.‘Born in London. My folks moved to Berkshire in my teens, and I moved back as soon as I possibly could. You?’
‘Somerset,’ he says, glancing over at me.
‘Oh, tough break…I’m so sorry…’ I say.
‘Somerset is really very beautiful, I’ll have you know,’ he retorts huffily. ‘Certainly more beautiful than Latimer Road or whatever pothole area you were born in.’
‘I’m from Surrey,’ pipes up Sam in the back. ‘If anyone is talking to me anymore.’
Double yikes, we were almost having a personal conversation there. Jake must think the same thing as he quickly veers back to driving-with-Mitch stories. I look at his hands on the steering wheel as he drives. Is there anything about him I don’t find impossibly attractive?
Banbury is busy enough to be cheerful (nothing is more depressing than a lifeless English town on a Saturday), but we’re here early so we easily get a parking spot.
‘I know it’s radical of me, but isn’t there a Sainsbury’s out here in the wilderness? Do we have to go to market, to market?’ says Sam as we get out of the car.
‘We’re supporting the local economy,’ I say, pursing my lips to look pious. ‘Farmers. And butchers. And…fishers.’
‘Fishers?’ says Sam.
‘Is this one of those choose-your-own-rose-oak-smoked-duckling-non-denominational-co-operatives farmers’ markets?’ says Jake. ‘I’ve read about them.’
I nod, thinking quickly. ‘Lemongrass-infused balsamic vinegar…laced with lavender poo. Hand-crushed albino-watercress pesto. Made by one-legged widows in the next town over.’
‘Are you serious?’ says Sam.
‘Sausages with the name of the pig that they came from handwritten on the package. By the pig itself,’ says Jake.
‘Jeez, Sam, I thought you’d know this stuff,’ I say, shaking my head in disappointment. ‘It’s pretty basic.’
‘God, where did you two find each other?’ groans Sam. ‘It’s too much.’
I can feel my face going red.
‘How about this?’ says Jake, as Perry and Kate walk over to meet us. (She’s looking pretty giddy with excitement. I’d say she’s been practising her flirting.) ‘We tear the list in half and split up. Meet back here in half an hour.’
‘And we’ll take care of drink,’ says Sam.
‘Ooh! Champagne!’ says Kate excitedly.
‘Too much champagne gives me a terrible stomach ache,’ says Jake. ‘Especially that pink Laurent Perrier one.’
‘Laurent Perrier makes you ill? How ghastly for you,’ I say sympathetically.
‘It is,’ says Jake. ‘It’s a living nightmare.’
‘And does your bed of money make you itch?’ I add, and start giggling helplessly at myself. I know I’m breaking one of my rules by laughing at my own joke, but the tension of the car ride seems to have gotten to me.
Jake raises an eyebrow at me. ‘Yes, and the clock in my Rolls-Royce makes a terrible racket.’
‘Enough, enough,’ says Sam, prodding both of us to start walking. I’m still giggling, but I calm down soon as we start the serious matter of food shopping. Every now and again I catch
sight of Kate flirting with Perry, smiling kittenishly and asking his opinion on everything she picks up. I’m grinning to myself as I go to skip to the next fruit stall, trip over Jake’s foot and fall sprawling on the ground.
‘Are you OK?’ says Jake. Sam is off talking to a stallholder about asparagus season.
‘Ow! Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow,’ I say, sitting up and brushing gravel off my palms. They’re a bit grazed but not really bleeding.
‘I’m so sorry,’ says Jake, crouching down next to me. ‘Is anything broken?’
‘No…don’t worry, happens all the time,’ I say, getting up and pretending not to see his outstretched hand. ‘I’m not very spatially aware.’
Forty minutes later, our cars are groaning with food and alcohol, and we set off back to Eddie’s. On the way home Jake and Sam tell me stories about their friendship.
‘We met at six, but Jake was the school dork,’ explains Sam in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘and his sister gave me two pounds to talk to him during breaktime for a month, so he’d be popular…’
Jake nods. ‘It was like
Can’t Buy Me Love
, you know? Only without the ride-on lawnmower. And it was Ribena I spilled on my white suede fringed cowboy outfit instead of red wine.’
I crack up, and slap my thigh with glee. Ha! Some men really do know their 80s films.
We get home to discover Eugene and Benoit have arrived, and they join Jake, Sam and Perry to ferry in the shopping. As soon as we start unpacking, we realise that both teams have picked up ‘a few extras’ that the other team either already had on the list, or also thought necessary. As a result, we now have enough food to feed four hundred people.
‘Ça va?’ I say to Eugene and Benoit in the kitchen, kissing them on both cheeks hello.
‘Ça va,’ they chorus. ‘Tu parle Français?’ adds Benoit.
‘Non,’ I say apologetically. Benoit looks crestfallen, and goes back out to the car to get the last loaves of bread.
‘What’s for lunch?’ calls Eddie from the lounge room.
‘Four kinds of ham, five different cheeses, two pasta salads, three roast chickens, some paâté, and about nine loaves of bread.’
Eddie wanders in yawning, with one hand under his shirt scratching his tummy. He and Ant have clearly been festering all morning in front of the TV. ‘Shouldn’t we save some of that for dinnerofuck?’ he says, as the sight of his food-filled kitchen greets him. ‘Lunch buffet it is.’
My eye is caught by a couple drinking tea and chatting at the garden table outside the kitchen. It’s Mitch and Tara. I can see Harriet and Neil playing croquet on the far side of the lawn—God, does she do anything that doesn’t involve competition—which leaves only one couple unaccounted for.
‘Don’t tell me Tory and Fraser are back in bed,’ I say.
‘I’d rather they were in bed than in here,’ Bloomie replies. ‘Her breakfast attire was enough to put me off my food. And the irony that those shorts were a colour oft-called “camel”…’
‘Toosh! Haut cinq,’ I say, and we high-five each other.
Jake looks over from the kitchen quizzically.
‘It’s “high-five” in French,’ I explain. ‘We’re, like, totally bilingual.’
‘Mon dieu,’ he says. ‘Ou est le fromage, anyway?’
‘You speak French, thank God,’ says Benoit, coming back in to the kitchen, and launches into a question about English cheese. Jake follows extremely politely, and tries to answer as best he can in schoolboy French.
‘You don’t speak French,’ says Benoit blankly, when Jake finishes with an ‘erm, oh, bof’.
‘Non,’ Jake hangs his head in shame.
‘Dommage,’ says Benoit. ‘No French, no dating…’ he adds, gesturing at Jake and then me. Benoit turns and leaves the kitchen again. I can feel myself blushing again.
Jake turns to me. ‘I’m so ashamed. How does he know no one wants to date me?’
Perhaps Jake doesn’t know about the Sabbatical after all. Perhaps Mitch didn’t tell him.
Within 20 minutes, the kitchen table is piled high with food, and we all take our plates outside to sit in the garden and on the outside table and chairs. The day has turned sunny and still, and birds are twittering happily. It’s the picture of an English garden in early summer.
‘Mmm. Bucolic bliss,’ says Jake contentedly as he chews the last of his sandwich, leans back on his chair and puts his hands behind his head.
‘You must be drowning in this kind of thing in leafy Somerset,’ I say.
‘Oh, yeah. Drowning. It’s boring. So boring,’ he murmurs, closing his eyes.
I want to gaze at him, but force myself to turn to talk to Bloomie, Benoit and Eugene. Mitch and Tara have slipped quietly inside and are sitting at the kitchen table eating sandwiches with Kate and Perry. Sam appears to have fallen asleep on the grass.
Eugene and Bloomie seem to be in good form, with lots of secret hand-holding and cheek-nuzzling. Bloomie is not carrying her BlackBerry—for the first time in years—and has deliberately steered away from any work or recession conversations. It might be obvious, but at least she’s trying to show him that he’s more important than work.
There’s something almost magical about a weekend away like this. It’s like stepping outside your life and all its stresses and worries, like they can’t touch you. Bloomie is laughing more than I’ve seen her in ages, and Kate’s little worried frown that she wears in quiet moments lately—thinking, I’m sure, about the chances of losing her job—has disappeared. Even I feel more relaxed than usual. It’s just so easy.
I lean back on my chair, tuck my legs under me and gaze up
at the perfect, pale blue sky above my head. Then I look over at Jake again, and stare for a second at his quiet sleeping face. His eyes are still crinkly at the sides, even when they’re shut. He must smile a lot, to have crinkles like that. Suddenly, Jake turns his head and looks straight at me. For about two long seconds, we lock eyes, and then I lose my nerve and look away. The heart-hammering thing is back.
Eugene and Benoit are telling a story about a previous driving holiday they took together in Biarritz in France. The holiday started with Eugene swimming in the sea with the car keys in his pocket, thus losing them, so they had to wait two days for Hertz to arrive with a spare set. They then drove over three chickens on the road, again Eugene’s fault, so the car was covered in feathers and blood. Then Eugene lost the map, his wallet, and Benoit’s phone, all separately, but all in the same day. And finally, over breakfast on the sixth day of the holiday, Eugene ate the last of Benoit’s carefully-prepared Nutella on toast. ‘That was it,’ says Benoit. ‘He was on my nerfs.’ Apparently Benoit stood up, pushed everything from their breakfast table onto the floor, walked out of the hotel and drove back to Paris alone.
We’re all laughing so hard by now that Mitch has come out with Tara to see what’s going on.
‘I waited for two days for him to come back,’ says Eugene in a sad voice. ‘And I’d lost his phone and the hotel didn’t have wifi. So I couldn’t call or email him.’
‘God, life was tough back then,’ sighs Bloomie. ‘No wifi in hotels. Coal for breakfast.’
‘Right, full story, please,’ says Mitch, ambling over with Tara. ‘I didn’t think it would be funny, so I didn’t listen, but now it sounds very funny and I want to hear the whole thing.’
‘Hello, treacle,’ I say, smiling up at him. ‘You’re awfully smiley today,’ I add, glancing pointedly from him to Tara, who’s chatting to Bloomie, and back.
‘So are you,’ he retorts, glancing equally pointedly from me to Jake, who seems to be dozing again, and back.
I stand up.
‘I’m…going to stretch my legs,’ I say.
‘I’ll come with you, Sass,’ says Kate.
‘I’ll come too,’ says Sam. ‘Didn’t someone say something about an afternoon in the pub?’
‘I’m in,’ calls Tara.
‘Me too,’ says Mitch quickly. ‘Come on, Ryan,’ he adds, prodding the reclining Jake with his toe. ‘Get up.’
Eddie and Ant have already agreed to play tennis with Harriet and Neil, and everyone else says they’re going to have a nap (winkwink) instead or really going to have a nap. So the six of us head off for the local pub on foot.