chapter forty-two
The day of the barbeque
Erika had the dangerous, truculent look of a drunk about to reveal secrets.
Clementine’s stomach tightened. ‘We’re still friends now, aren’t we?’ she said lightly.
Erika made a sound that was almost a guffaw.
Dear God, revealing the painful complexities of her friendship with Erika felt like a more intimate, socially unacceptable revelation than the news that Tiffany used to be a stripper.
Tiffany cleared her throat, and Clementine watched her make a marginal adjustment of the wine bottle so that it was further away from Erika.
‘Excuse me,’ said Erika. She stood. She didn’t sway, but she had the careful stance of an inexperienced passenger on a boat, someone very aware that the ground could move at any moment. ‘I’ll just go inside to the bathroom.’ She blinked rapidly. ‘For a moment.’
‘Oh, there’s one right here,’ said Tiffany, pointing at a door at the back of the cabana. Of course there was. Clementine’s whole family could quite happily have moved into that cabana.
But Erika was already heading back into the house.
‘She’s a bit tipsy I think,’ said Clementine apologetically, because Erika’s strange behaviour was clearly her responsibility. She thought of their younger years when Erika would take charge, hailing cabs and making coffee when Clementine drank too much. It was strange to be apologising for Erika.
‘Probably my fault for refilling her glass too often,’ said Tiffany. ‘I’ll lose my responsible service of alcohol licence.’
‘Oh, have you got one?’ said Clementine. Maybe that was a requirement for strippers.
Tiffany smiled faintly. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Just joking.’
Clementine’s arm ached, so she shifted Ruby’s body, trying to get her into a more comfortable position. Judging by how noisily she was sucking her thumb, she was about to fall asleep, but the movement of her arm was enough to stir Ruby, and she suddenly jerked her head.
‘Holly,’ she said indistinctly, speaking around her thumb.
‘Over there.’ Clementine pointed at Oliver and Holly, who were still possum hunting.
Ruby slid off Clementine’s lap. ‘Bye,’ she said with a wave of her whisk, and toddled over to them.
‘That little pink coat is adorable on her,’ said Tiffany as they both watched Oliver bend down to pick up Ruby.
‘She’s probably going to complain she’s too hot in a minute,’ said Clementine. ‘It weighs a tonne.’
Clementine looked back at Tiffany, who was scratching something on the side of her neck but somehow making even that look erotic. What was it like to have a body like that? Did it automatically make you more sexually adventurous, because you just looked in the mirror and felt hot? So you were therefore destined to be a stripper? Or were there librarians with bodies like that? Of course, there were librarians exactly like that in porn movies.
She was so intrigued, so titillated by this woman. She had another mouthful of wine and leaned across the table. ‘Can I ask you a question?’ she said.
‘Sure,’ said Tiffany.
‘Obviously a lot of men who watched you – dance – would have been married, right?’
‘We didn’t get them to do surveys at the door,’ said Tiffany. ‘But yes, probably.’
‘Do you think they were betraying their middle-aged wives at home with the children by, you know, sitting there lusting over a gorgeous nineteen-year-old? Isn’t it effectively infidelity?’
‘Their middle-aged wives were probably at home reading Fifty Shades of Grey,’ said Tiffany. ‘Or lusting after the lead in a chick flick.’
‘But that’s fiction,’ said Clementine.
‘I was fiction,’ said Tiffany.
‘Right,’ said Clementine uncertainly. No, you weren’t. ‘But do you – oh!’ Hundreds of tiny lights suddenly flickered to life, transforming the backyard into a twinkling, magical fairyland. It was like the setting for a stage play.
‘That’s what happens when you’re married to a crazy electrician. They’re pre-set to go on at half past five at this time of year,’ explained Tiffany. ‘We could probably make it even earlier. Hey, look at your kids.’
Holly and Ruby had lost their minds. They ran in delirious circles around the backyard, laughing and pointing, their bright little faces transfixed, their hands reaching out, clasping and unclasping, as if to catch the lights like bubbles. Barney ran with them, tail wagging, yapping delightedly. Oliver looked on, his hands shoved in his pockets, smiling fiercely at them.
Vid and Sam reappeared in the cabana, laden with trays of food. Tiffany and Clementine both stood to help them.
‘And then there was light,’ said Sam. ‘We should get Vid to come over and do something with our sad old backyard. The girls look like they’ve never seen electricity before.’
Oliver came over to the table. ‘So is this the dish you mentioned earlier, Vid?’ he said, in his awkward, earnest way. ‘What did you say it was called?’
‘Cremeschnitte,’ said Vid. ‘You wait. You just wait.’
‘Have you got plates?’ Tiffany asked him.
‘Erika is bringing out your good blue plates,’ said Vid. ‘She’s just behind us. And if the little girls don’t like my dessert we have ice-creams in the freezer, although, of course, they will like it.’
‘Tiffany, did I hear you say there was a bathroom through there?’ asked Oliver, pointing at the back of the cabana.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ said Tiffany. Oliver hurried off. It was just the four of them standing around the end of the table.
‘Also I have chosen music to go with my dessert,’ said Vid. He picked up his phone again. ‘No more of this head-banging stuff my wife likes. Clementine, have you heard of someone called Yo-Yo Ma?’ He enunciated the name clearly. ‘He’s pretty good, I think.’
Clementine smiled at him. He was too adorable. ‘Yes, Vid. I’ve heard of Yo-Yo Ma. He is pretty good.’
‘Okay, well this is him, right? And let me tell you, this is the sound of the taste of my cremeschnitte.’
The ineffable sound of Yo-Yo Ma playing the opening movement of Elgar’s ‘Cello Concerto’ filled the cabana. Clementine shivered. It was glorious.
Sam said, ‘Shall I open these chocolate nuts Erika brought?’
‘Oh yes, please,’ said Tiffany. ‘Just what I feel like.’
‘Like your nuts then?’ said Sam.
‘I just love sweet-tasting nuts,’ said Tiffany.
‘Is that so?’ said Sam, his hand on the lid.
‘Oh stop it, you two are so rude,’ said Clementine, and felt a burst of warmth because she could see already how a fun, flirty friendship between them all was about to unfurl. It would be a friendship involving good food, wine and music, and there would be a sexual frisson to everything they did, and God knows her life could do with a bit of sexual frisson.
(When was the last time she and Sam had even had sex? A week ago? No, two weeks ago. Had they crossed the finishing line? No, they had not. Holly had called out for ‘a glass of water, pleeeease!’ Her timing was uncannily and hilariously precise.)
Instead of the painful little foursome with Erika and Oliver, they’d become an easygoing group of six. It would be so much easier to like Erika and Oliver with Vid and Tiffany around as a buffer. Vid and Tiffany were edgier and rawer (and richer) than all their other nice, normal, middle-class friends. Vid and Tiffany opened up possibilities. Possibilities of exactly what? She didn’t know. It didn’t matter. It was like that non-specific anticipatory feeling of being a teenager.
‘So I don’t see how this cremeschnitte could be any better than your strudel,’ said Clementine to Vid as the music billowed and blossomed around her.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Ah, Clementine, you know I am not one to blow my own trumpet, as the saying goes. Ha ha! Yes I am! I love to blow my own trumpet. Ha ha! I’d be a good trumpet player because I have outstanding lung capacity.’ He banged his chest King Kong style.
‘You’ve got the right personality for a trumpeter,’ said Clementine.
‘You mean he’s full of himself?’ said Tiffany.
‘How many trumpeters does it take to change a light globe?’ said Clementine.
‘How many?’
‘Five. One to change it, and four to stand around and say, “I could do it better”.’
‘How many electricians does it take to change a light globe?’ said Vid.
‘How many?’
‘One,’ said Vid.
‘One?’
‘Yeah, one,’ said Vid. He shrugged. ‘I’m an electrician.’
Clementine laughed. ‘That’s not funny.’
‘But you’re laughing, you know. Anyway, listen, Clementine, you be the judge,’ said Vid. He dug a spoon into the decadent dessert and held it close to Clementine’s mouth. ‘Try it.’
She took a mouthful. It was good. The man cooked like a dream. Clementine pretended to swoon, her hand against her forehead. She let herself fall against his arm and he steadied her. Vid smelled deliciously of cigarette smoke and alcohol. He smelled like an expensive bar.
‘Jesus, this lid is on tight,’ said Sam with gritted teeth, the jar of nuts under one arm like a football.
‘Come on, Muscles,’ said Tiffany.
‘Listen!’ said Vid, his head on one side as the second movement began.
‘You can’t exactly dance to this, though, can you?’ said Tiffany.
Clementine tried to imagine Tiffany dancing in some dark, smoky club, mirrored disco balls hanging from the ceiling. Where did she get that idea from? She’d never actually been in a strip club. All her knowledge came from TV shows. She looked around. Erika and Oliver weren’t there to look disapproving. This was her chance to find out more. She was a tiny bit tipsy, she knew it, but this was fascinating, amusing, and she wanted some fun lowbrow tidbits to share with her highbrow friends. She lowered her voice and leaned towards Tiffany. ‘Did you used to do … you know, what are they called?’ She knew perfectly well what they were called. ‘Lap dances?’
Tiffany looked back at her speculatively.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Why? Do you want one?’