Authors: Clare Lydon
“I think it’s great to have kids,” Darren piped up.
Stu, who had already finished his burger and chips, choked on his wine. “Something you want to tell me, dear?”
Darren smiled at the waves his comment had caused. “I’m just saying – look around the table, who’s going to look after all of us when we’re old and grey? Our cats and dogs?”
“We’re happy to pimp ours out if you like – our kids, not our cat. But they’ve got to look after us before they look after you.” Laura had finished her fish too and was watching Tash eat hers with hungry eyes.
“I thought you were serious there for a minute,” Stu told Darren, looking flustered. He paused. “We have been thinking about this though – not the child-slavery bit – but the whole getting old and being gay. I mean, what happens to older gays? There’s got to be a market for gay retirement homes. Me and Darren are going to run one when we’re older.” He sat back in his seat then gestured round the group. “Discount rates for mates, obviously.”
“Think about it,” Darren said, looking skywards as if looking at an invisible departure board, painting the picture with his hand. He was still eating his fish and salad but had rested his cutlery on his plate. “State of the art TVs, on-site gym, huge cinema, pool, swim-up bar, boys in tiny shorts…”
“They already have that – it’s called Mykonos or Sitges.” Kat made a face.
“Yeah, it sounds more like a holiday resort than an OAP home. Have you been to one lately?” Abby added.
“Plus, I think we might want some things done differently. I’m all for the swim-up bar and the on-site gym and cinema, but I want my drinks served to me by scantily clad lovelies like a Carry On film,” Tash added, laughing.
“Wow – you guys are certainly projecting your old age well. If my eyes are well enough to see these ladies and my hips agile enough to swim up to the bar, I’ll be happy,” Abby said.
Nods of approval all round.
“True,” Geri said. “But this is fantasy retirement. Plus, Stu’s paying for it so I’m 100% in.” She turned to Tash as she chewed her food, and swallowed before continuing. “Much as I love your kids, I’m not sure I can rely on them wholly. So it’s off to Stu’s nursing home we go.”
“So where’s it going to be?” Vic asked, dipping one of her chips in ketchup and popping it in her mouth. She’d thought about going for something other than the burger but remembered how good it had tasted on Thursday and so abandoned that idea. Vic was a creature of habit.
“We were thinking somewhere posh and by the river so we can go for waterside strolls with our bespoke ivory walking sticks. Greenwich maybe?” Darren said. “Or perhaps Highgate.”
“That’s not near the river,” Geri pointed out.
“…And it might be cheaper to widen your search to somewhere out of London. Cheaper, more space,” Tash said. The whole group were swept up in the idea now.
“What about Southend?” Laura said in a moment of clarity. “Fuck the river – you can have the sea! Fish and chips, candyfloss and honeycomb in bags all year round.”
“And a million Essex queens glinting in gold going up and down the pier on the little train. I love it!” Stu guzzled more wine as Darren raised an eyebrow beside him.
“So let me get this straight…”
“…Or not,” Geri quipped.
“…Or not,” Darren smiled. “While everyone else is planning their retirement to Cornwall or a new life down under, we’re all getting hot under the collar about a nursing home in Southend?” He stretched the final word out like an elastic band, his gaze roaming around the table daring anyone to speak. Nobody did. Darren clapped his hands together.
“People people people!” he grinned. “We can do better than that, can’t we?”
“Not if my pension pot is anything to go by,” Kat said. “A room with a view might be the best I can hope for.”
Stu and Geri exchanged glances.
“I’m still gunning for Southend,” Stu added. “But no florals. Strict rule. And none of those terrible chairs with the wooden armrests that look like they were made for you to die in.”
“Deal,” said Tash, scraping the last mouthful of sea bass onto her fork. “And who knows, if it’s in Southend, maybe we
can
employ my lovely daughters. Although don’t come running to me when they don’t show up for work on time.”
With their retirement plans sorted, Stu focused his attention on Kat while the rest of the group chatted and finished their food. She seemed fragile, on edge, as if anything could tip her over the edge. He leant over to Geri.
“Did you speak to Kat today, by the way?”
Geri nodded.
“And?”
Geri swallowed and leant in closer. “She lost her job three months ago and she’s on antidepressants.”
Stu’s face dropped. “What the fuck?” he whispered. “Shit, no wonder she looks out of sorts. She okay?”
Geri gave him a look. “What do you think?”
Stu licked his lips and wondered what he could do for his friend. Suddenly it came to him.
“Too early for shots now?” he asked, checking his watch. “Just after 8pm and we’ve eaten. Who’s in?”
Kat’s face shone once more; Abby’s was the opposite.
“Babe…” Abby began.
Kat barely glanced at her. “Woo hoo, shots!” She paused. “Could do with another pint to chase it, too.”
Stu dipped into the booze kitty, took the drinks orders and disappeared to the bar just as Geri’s favourite barmaid arrived to clear the plates.
“Everything okay for you?” she directed to Geri, her broad local slur softening every syllable. In response, Geri turned on a smile that had its own crew, lighting and stage production – hell, it should have had its own show on the Reality channel. The object of its attention looked suitably dazzled.
“More than okay – perfect. Compliments to the chef – and to the server, of course.” Geri cranked up her charm offensive, fixing her gaze on TJ and ignoring the amused glances around the table.
From the wide smile on TJ’s face, it was working.
“We’re ordering shots – you want to take a break and join us?” Geri continued.
TJ let the offer roll across her brain but rejected it just as quickly. “No time right now.” She began stacking plates expertly on her toned forearm. “But ask me later and you might get a different answer.” TJ flicked her long lashes Geri’s way.
Now it was Geri’s turn to be dazzled. “I may well just do that.”
As TJ walked away, Laura nudged her old friend. “I may well just do that,” she mimicked, clutching her sides. “I’d forgotten the Gimpy charm offensive – top marks, mate, top marks.”
Geri turned and glared at Laura, pinning Laura by the chest with her right index finger.
“One mention of the word Gimpy in her presence and I won’t be accountable for my actions.
Capiche
?” she asked, the last word in Italian brogue.
“Sorry Gimps – promise.”
***
By 9pm the group’s night was in full swing, desserts eaten and a second round of shots lined up at the bar. At the table, Abby was proving to her receptive audience that she’d ingested far too much management speak into her vocabulary, talking about how to leverage off the failing relationship of one of her friends.
Stevie put another cross in her Abby con pile. Abby struck Stevie as calculating and ambitious – and she meant that in a positive way. Stevie had always known she wanted to be a teacher, always known she wanted to work with kids. Similarly, she could see Abby had always wanted to be in management, to have people listen when she spoke, to hold a position of power. Even though their career fields were totally different, perhaps the two of them were not so dissimilar after all.
Stevie turned now to her wife of three years, her partner of ten, and felt a wave of love for her. Maybe that was because she’d shared her profiteroles with her after Stevie had finished her dessert of tarte tatin. Maybe it was because, even though she was a solicitor, she didn’t use the words ‘leverage’ or ‘bifurcate’ in everyday conversation. Or maybe it was because she could see things from a slightly altered angle and, right now, staring into the all-too-evident cracks in other people’s lives, Stevie reckoned it was time to start plastering over the one crack in hers. She leant over and kissed Vic on the cheek.
“What was that for?” Vic asked.
“Just because,” Stevie said.
Vic’s caution failed to lift.
***
Kat might not call the shots but she could certainly drink them as she proved now, arriving back at the table with a tray of tiny drinks. Obediently, they all picked up their tequilas and sambucas, applied salt and lemon where necessary, licked, slammed, sucked, winced. Before Stevie even knew what was happening, another glass of wine had appeared in front of her, another shot and the night flipped to fast-forward, taking on a life of its own.
What did the locals think of their pub being infiltrated by tourists? Or was it something they saw every weekend? The place was stacked high with young men sporting tousled blond hair and faded jeans, looking like they’d surfed in direct from the beach. A few young couples were dotted around sharing a romantic Saturday night dinner and, by the door, a foursome of 60-somethings were enjoying their steaks with red wine, faces flushed, cheeks pinned into grins. This was how life should be – fine wine, fine food, fine friends.
Behind them, sitting at the only other larger table in the pub were a group of what Stevie assumed were tourists, too – either that or they were local royalty. Three men and three women who all exemplified the term ‘power-couple’. It’d been applied to Stevie and Vic before now, but they’d have to bow down to this altar of prestige.
The men wore pristine shirts, litres of expensive cologne, shimmering gold watches; the women had miles of shiny hair, yards of red lips, hundreds of white teeth, a blur of cleavage. Stevie caught one of the brunettes casting a glance their way and couldn’t help but smile. For a moment she imagined trading places with her and playing the dutiful wife and mother, doing the dinner parties, wearing the sparkly dresses. Then she frowned, shuddered and kissed Vic once again. The brunette raised a single eyebrow and smiled.
When Stevie tuned back into her table’s conversation, the talk had turned to who had the sexiest job.
“Got to be Gimp… Geri,” said Stu, winning points with the group’s lone singleton for the nomination as well as for correcting her name. “I mean, CID sergeant – what’s not to love? The badge, the power, the handcuffs…” This last comment brought whistles from the crowd.
“Brought them with you for later?” Tash asked Geri, laughing.
“Keep it down!” Geri cast an apologetic eye towards the bar. “Anyway, you’re way off the mark. Stu and Darren work in PR and that means free drinks and parties, so they get my vote. Plus, being gay is part of the job description – who doesn’t love that?”
“Works for me most days.” Darren raised his wine glass in approval.
Stevie pulled her ‘disagree’ face and held up one hand.
“Permission to speak granted,” Geri said.
Stevie smiled graciously. “I know her job isn’t the best paid or the most powerful, but if I had to swap jobs for a day with someone, I’d go for Tash.”
At this, Tash perked up visibly: she’d been squinting out of one eye for the past ten minutes.
“Me?” she said softly.
“Absolutely!” Stevie said. “You get to nose round other people’s houses all day. You change people’s lives by getting them their dream home. Plus, you clearly get to meet some hot clients while you do it, too. If I had to have a career change, I’d be an estate agent.”
“I hope she doesn’t meet too many other hot clients,” Laura said, sipping her bottle of Heineken.
“None that match up to you, gorgeous,” Tash replied, kissing her girlfriend on the cheek before turning to address Stevie. “Thanks for the vote of confidence but I can tell you it’s not all glamour. But I do love seeing inside people’s houses. It’s the perfect job for a nosey-beak.”
“No votes for HR director, then?” Abby grinned at her own joke. “Don’t all rush at once...”
Geri cleared her throat. “I agree that my job has a certain sex appeal,” she said, leaning on her elbows. “But if I could choose my ideal job for a partner, it’d be a chef. Someone who could make me pancakes for breakfast and it not seem like a big deal. Someone who could just whip up a plate of something delicious at the drop of a hat. That would be awesome. Someone like Nigella perhaps…” Geri stared off into the distance.
“We’re talking about jobs around the table, not who you’d like to shag.” Stevie rolled her eyes.
***
All this job talk made Kat twitchy, so she headed to the bar and ordered another pint of Rattler. She didn’t ask for the drinks kitty – paying out of her own pocket would mean fewer pairs of concerned eyes draped on her. She was served by an older woman with curly brown hair that bounced as she bent to retrieve a glass from a shelf below the bar.
“Looks like a fun night,” the woman told Kat, indicating the jocularity at the table.
Kat nodded, watching the pint glass fill with the rust-coloured liquid and feeling the saliva flood her mouth in anticipation. “Yeah – weekend away.”
The woman smiled as she flicked the cider tap the other way to give the top a final fizz. “You over from London?” Her accent was surprisingly West Country-free.
“Most of us – renting a house on the cliff.”
“Tom and Grace’s house probably? I love that place, great views.” The woman set the pint down on a beer mat on the bar.
Kat paid her the money and reached out for the pint. She was already drunk but she also knew this wouldn’t be her final drink. Tonight’s path was already becoming clear and it ended in oblivion. It was just a question of when Kat would reach it.
At the table, Vic was speaking to the rest of the group and all, bar Stu and Darren, were listening intently. The lighting in the pub was too bright, making Tash squint as she focused. The jukebox, meanwhile, had taken a slightly more modern turn, now churning out a selection of hits from the 90s.
It was currently playing a track that made Kat frown as she tried to remember it – who had a secret smile again? She plucked her phone from her pocket and hit the Shazam app. It whirred for less than a minute, then told her it was Semisonic in 1999. She wondered again how pub quizzes worked anymore now everyone had smartphones.