Denise gave a yelp of delight when she saw Felicity. ‘Fliss, babes!’ She hugged her and kissed her on either cheek. ‘Big day’s here at last! Come on through and meet the girls.’
Felicity took off her coat and followed Denise into the back room, where three women of Denise’s age, all decked out like ageing barmaids, were busy arranging plates of food on a gateleg table. Denise introduced Shelley, Rhona and Barbara, and they twinkled their fingers at Felicity in welcome. When Denise told them how Felicity had been waiting faithfully for four years for Vince, they all let out little murmurs of sympathy, and Shelley gave her a hug of solidarity.
Felicity glanced around. There was a ‘welcome home’ banner strung over the fireplace. She glanced round, but no balloons, which was small mercy. ‘Can I do something to help?’
Denise grasped Felicity’s hand. ‘Come and help me sort out drinks in the kitchen.’
A serious mountain of booze was crammed into the tiny kitchen. Bottles of vodka, whisky and wine covered the surface of the kitchen table, and four boxes of Stella lager were stacked behind the door.
‘The offie threw in a free box of wine and beer glasses, but I’m still worried there won’t be enough. We’ve got a ton of people coming over,’ said Denise. ‘Here, you get unpacking these, and I’ll sort out what I’ve got in my cupboards. He’ll be here around four.’
No need even to say his name, thought Felicity, as she began unpacking glasses from the box. How had Vince attained this heroic status? Simply by being absent, she supposed, like a Beirut hostage. Forget the real reason.
‘Ossie and Quills are picking him up at three, and they’re taking him for a beer first – you know, just to get him acclimatised, first day out and all that.’ Denise gazed speculatively at two baking trays of sausage rolls. ‘I reckon those should go in the oven at quarter to four. What d’you think?’
Felicity nodded. ‘Sounds about right.’
When she’d finished with the glasses, Felicity went through to the living room, where Denise and the others sat perched on the edges of two sofas, skirts riding up their thighs, making inroads into a bottle of Chardonnay. Denise was holding forth on the iniquities of the British criminal justice system, how Vince should never have been sent down, how he’d only ever been defending himself in a fair fight.
Felicity had heard Denise spin this record countless times over the past few years, always the same old tune. Felicity had her own thoughts about it all. Sure, Vince had been unlucky. He had punched someone in a brief fight in Soho, and the man had died after hitting his head on the pavement. Vince had never meant that to happen. No question it could have turned out differently. But why, in the recounting of it, was it always Vince who was the unlucky one? How come Vince’s family and friends never mentioned the even unluckier bloke, the one who’d been on the receiving end of that vicious punch? It was like that time she’d ended up at the foot of a flight of stairs, losing the baby, thanks to Vince and his drunken temper. All that agonised contrition on his part. Unlucky old Vince. She hadn’t wanted that pregnancy in any event – so lucky her.
‘Come on, Fliss, have a glass!’ Denise wagged the bottle of Chardonnay.
‘I’m all right for now, thanks. I’ll have one when he gets here.’
The women nattered on. Denise opened another bottle, glasses were refilled, long-nailed fingers scrabbled in the bowls of peanuts and Bombay mix. After a while Denise glanced at her watch.
‘Omigod! Look at the time.’ She scuffed out of the room in her slippers, and returned moments later in shiny, plum-coloured platforms. The shoes dramatically altered her height and posture, thrusting her bust forward, balling the muscles on her spindly calves. The doorbell ding-donged and she hurried out to answer it. Seconds later came the sound of Denise’s squeals of welcome mingling with the voices of the new arrivals. Two middle-aged couples entered the living room, bringing with them the cold smell of outside, and two carrier bags full of cans of lager. Felicity didn’t know any of them.
Denise began introductions, but the doorbell rang again and she went to usher in more people, this time an entire family of three generations – gran, mum and dad, and brood of noisy youngsters.
The tiny living room was suddenly filled with shrill talk and laughter. Felicity made a discreet exit to the relative peace of the kitchen, and decided to station herself there and dispense drinks. She really didn’t want to mingle with these strangers.
She stayed there for the next hour as more and more people arrived, handing out cans of lager and Coke, mixing gin and tonics, cracking the caps of wine bottles and pouring drinks. Denise seemed to have forgotten about her, for which Felicity was grateful. She’d been worried Denise would drag her through to the living room to introduce her to everyone as the love of Vince’s life. Barbara, mildly pissed, came through and relieved the tedium by talking to her for twenty minutes about what a darling Vince had been as a teenager when he was at school with her Ryan, before splashing some Bacardi into her glass and wandering away.