Authors: R J Gould
And now another woman was on the scene. Jane approached
him with a man by her side, he was rather formally dressed for the occasion in
suit and tie.
“Hi David.”
“Hello Jane.”
They’d had a heart to heart after the attempted arson
attack, Jane full of remorse and grateful that he hadn’t pressed charges.
“I thought I’d support your opening. I wish you lots of
luck.” She looked across to Bridget, busy at the bar. “Both of you.”
“That’s very kind, I appreciate you coming along.”
“This is Rupert, he’s a friend from work.”
Rupert extended his arm and they shook hands. What with
the tension of the opening night, Mary turning up, Ross chasing Mary, Candy
with a new man, Rachel heading off god knows where, and now Jane arriving, he was
struggling to build up enthusiasm to speak to Rupert.
“Go and get a drink. Now the band’s finished I need to
put on some music then I’ll have to relieve Bridget at the bar.”
David led Jane and Rupert towards Bridget, passing Ross
and Mary who were laughing away. He felt a tinge of jealousy. He escaped into
the small office and chose a Beach House album to play, appropriately gentle
end of evening music. They had to close by 11.30 pm so how to get customers to
leave on time was on his mind when Bridget joined him.
“It’s beginning to quieten down,” she said. “I know we
want masses of sales but I’m dead beat, I wouldn’t mind if everybody went home now.”
They peeped out.
Candy and her friends were still partying, the youngest of
the mixed age profile of customers that they had so hoped for.
“Wow, what a great night,” Bridget exclaimed.
“Yes, I think we’re going to make it. In fact I know we
are.”
“I believe you could be right. When I first saw this idea
on your list I thought it was a wild fantasy.”
“No, you were my wild fantasy! I’ve been thinking,
partner. Now we work together perhaps we should live together.”
“Let’s not run before we can walk, David.”
“Yes, but do you think a run might be possible?”
“We’ll see, David.”
“Stop saying ‘David’ at the end of every statement!
There’s no need.”
“What are you talking about? Why are you laughing?”
“A private joke, it reminded me of someone I used to
know.”
“Sometimes your humour is utterly incomprehensible. I’ve
got no idea why I’m fond of you.”
“It could be my money.”
“Ha-ha.”
They watched the band members pack up and left it to the
more conscientious of their own staff to collect glasses from the near deserted
tables. Jane and Rupert, engaged in earnest conversation in the shadows of the
far corner, were holding hands. David was happy to see that.
Candy and her gang were getting ready to leave. Drinks
were being downed, coats put on, and the couples were having a farewell snog.
Propping up the bar ever closer Mary, Ross looked across
at Candy. When her kiss was over he laughed aloud to indicate that he was
having the time of his life with a new woman. Candy didn’t notice or didn’t
want Ross to see her notice. She waved at David and Bridget and blew them a
kiss.
Ross rested a hand on Mary’s shoulder and whispered something
that made her giggle. “Who’s that woman with Ross?” Bridget enquired.
“Why do you ask?”
“I saw you talking with her earlier. Who is she?”
David reddened. “That’s Mary.”
“Your ex-boss? God, she’s not at all what I thought she’d
be like. She’s incredibly attractive. Don’t you think so?”
“I suppose she is, I’ve never thought of her in that way.
She was just my boss.”
“Come on, I reckon it’s time we shut down,” Bridget said
as she turned off the music. They stepped out the office and observed the
arrival of the very late comer.
David was flabbergasted that she’d popped in to support
their opening night, presumably having just got off duty as she was still in
uniform. He rushed over to greet her. “Hello, it’s great to see you. I’d better
not contravene licencing laws or you’ll arrest me, but there is time to get you
one drink before closing. What would you like?”
WPC Zara Dixon stood her ground by the entrance as the
few remaining guests looked on.
“That’s very kind of you sir, but I’m still on duty. I
need you to come with me to the station.”
Zara watched the woman who was by Mr Willoughby’s side take
hold of his right arm. Next Mrs Willoughby, assuming that was still her status,
approached and clutched his left arm. The man who had had his arm around the
maybe Mrs Willoughby’s shoulders followed her and clasped the spare hand.
“The station?” David asked, the women on each side of him
tightening their grips.
Diagonally from the right another woman came hurtling towards
him at great speed. She pulled away from a man who had been holding her hand
and he stumbled and fell to his knees. She ignored him and continued her rush
up to Mr Willoughby. She flung her arms around him and their faces all but touched.
“This is fabulous,” she slurred. “Fabulous. I’m going to
miss you so much; please promise you’ll keep in contact.” Before he could
answer she kissed him on the lips and sustained the embrace. He didn’t,
couldn’t respond, because his arms were still pinned down by the other two
women. The man who had been with the kisser edged towards them on his knees
then stood.
“I know all about you two, you are such a crafty bugger,”
he said to David as he prised Mary away.
The two women at his side looked on in puzzlement.
Unsure who to face, the policewoman addressed a convenient
gap to the left of David’s ear. “I’m afraid it’s your daughter, sir. She’s been
apprehended for drunk and disorderly behaviour.”
And not surprising, she thought.
Things
to do if you enjoyed ’The Reunion’:
If you didn’t like ’The Reunion’ probably best if you don’t write a review and there’s
not much point reading on, checking out the writer’s other work, or visiting
the website ☺. But thank you for giving it a
go.
Copyright@2013 R J Gould
All rights reserved worldwide. For all permissions please
contact the author at
[email protected]
This is a
work of fiction. All characters, places and events in this novel, other than
those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to
actual persons or incidents is entirely coincidental.
R J Gould lives in Cambridge, England. His contemporary
fiction introduces quirky characters and explores their relationships using
humour and a strong sense of irony. ‘The Reunion’ is his second
novel, e-published in January 2013. His first novel, 'The Engagement Party',
was published as an e-novel in February 2012 and in paperback in August 2012.
R J is a member of Cambridge Writers. He was the annual
short story competition winner in February 2010 and received a commendation for
'Domestic Blisslessness' in February 2012. This story is available as an e-book.
He works for a national
educational charity and has published in a
wide range of journals, newspapers and magazines, including a major work on
educating able young people.
For further information about his writing and to be
added to a mailing list to inform you of new work, you are welcome to
visit the R J Gould website at
www.rjgould.info
or email
[email protected]
This is the first chapter from the R J Gould novel ‘The
Engagement Party’
,
available as an e-book and paperback.
“I’m sure you’ll be very happy dear” her
mother had said when she’d broken the news of their engagement. It had been a
statement of great craft in indicating the exact opposite of what the
combination of words superficially suggested. It was accompanied by the look
that Clarissa had been subjected to many times over the years. Smile to smirk
to frown to smirk to smile. She knew exactly what was implied – you silly
girl, you’ve made another wrong decision and I’ll be the one who has to pick up
the pieces. “Have you told your father yet?” she then asked, all part of the
post-divorce competition for attention and preferential treatment. Clarissa
ignored the question, not wanting to give her mother the pleasure of knowing
that her father had still to meet her fiancée. That evening she’d
popped in to give him the news. “Where does he work?” he’d asked, ahead of
even knowing the man’s name.
“He delivers sandwiches,” she’d replied
with mischievous deliberation. There followed a rare moment of paternal speechlessness.
“His name is Wayne,” she’d added. Her father had responded with a patronising
nod indicating that he thought the name highly appropriate to the trade.
Clarissa recognised that her father was a
complete and utter snob and her mother was a close second. And if pushed she
would happily admit that she was too, a product of her parents enhanced by
fourteen years at prestigious independent girls schools. She was well versed in
the subtle nuances of dress, style, behaviour and expectations that went with
upper middle class status. Her ‘you can have everything you want’ only-child
upbringing was poles apart from Wayne’s experience of relative poverty, broken
home, bog standard comprehensive schooling and a flight from education at age
sixteen. Although her parents had also separated it wasn’t the same as for
Wayne, for a start the split hadn’t brought on any money problems.
From the outset she had been sure that
differences in background would never be a threat to their relationship but
perhaps now she was just a little less confident than she had been before
they’d starting planning their engagement party.
It was Saturday. Just eight days then it would
all be over and they could relegate their families to deserved low-level
status.
She’d been woken by the sound of his tacky mobile
phone alarm, a dog barking and refusing to give up. Just when you thought it
had packed it in the infuriating pseudo yaps repeated at louder and louder
volume.
“Wayne, turn that bloody thing off,” she
yelled out for the second time.
Her left eyelid was fluttering
uncontrollably, a movement that kick started whenever she was stressed. Her
Achilles eyelid.
Bark, bark, bark.
“Wayne!”
“Sorry” came a weak mumble, barely audible
through the closed door.
When he’d chosen the barking alarm they
had shared the joke. Now she found herself analysing his choice in terms of
lack of taste. There was no way any ex-boyfriend would have dreamt of being
woken up by the sound of a dog, not Charles or William or Sebastian or Christopher
or Roland. And certainly not Si either. Class was rearing its ugly head and
she was finding things about Wayne annoying that had never bugged her before.
She had to escape her growing intolerance.
She did feel just a little guilty about
her harshness in kicking Wayne out. However the ban from the bedroom was
entirely his fault. He was usually so compliant, he went along with whatever
she said or did. They had never argued, not until now. Well this wasn’t
exactly an argument, more him getting on her nerves going on and on about it
with her spitefully snapping back.
Wayne had completed his fourth night in
exile. She could appreciate why he was suffering from lack of sleep, the sofa
was far too narrow and short for him. She’d peeped out when she’d woken up in
the middle of the night and had watched him fidget, his knees bent as he
struggled to get comfortable. She heard his sighs and groans as she lay
restlessly in bed, endeavouring to dispel her own fears. Her mechanisms for
blanking out the high chance of disaster at the forthcoming engagement party
were not working and she blamed Wayne for nurturing her high anxiety.
Clarissa stretched out diagonally across
the king-sized bed and buried her face in the goose-down pillow.
Two Hours. Zero-One-Two. It’s Just
For Two Hours
she chanted slowly and quietly, as rising panic gathered
momentum to accelerate the eyelid flutter.
Zero-One-Two. Zero-One-Two.
She’d
been told about the benefits of deep breathing and chanting during a session
with a child psychologist when she was fifteen. There was some nastiness at
school with a plot to marginalise her led by Chloe. All sorts of bitchy things
were said and at one stage no one but the weediest of girls would sit next to
her in class. Break times were awful, standing alone crying while her
ex-friends laughed. In the end it was resilience rather than psychiatry that
helped – gradually she had won back her friendships, picking them off one by
one and successfully turning them against Chloe.
Zero-One-Two.
Last Tuesday morning had been the final
straw with Wayne. They’d been sitting in the kitchen having a quick breakfast
before work, she feeling pleasantly relaxed after sex followed by a good
night’s sleep.
“Clarissa, I can’t see why we’re doing
this,” Wayne had challenged for the umpteenth time.
Clarissa took a sip of cappuccino as she
considered a new line of attack, or was it defence. “Because my mum is
desperate for it and my dad is happy to pay.”
“That’s hardly a reason. It’s the
we
I’m
talking about. Why are
we
doing it?”
“We’ve been over this a hundred times, Wayne. Our parents have got to meet at some stage and an engagement party is as good a
way as any. It’ll only be for a couple of hours. Hardly time for a disaster
is it?”