He rang Cameron’s doorbell and hoped to god that Peggy was already there. Ideally they could just sit next to each other, ignoring the others and arguing whether tiramisu was better than Michael Flatley, Lord of the Dance.
The door was answered by what appeared to be a very short Victorian dandy, wearing a velvet jacket complete with waistcoat and bow tie. It took Andrew a moment to register that this was, in fact, a child.
“Do come in. I’ll take your coat?” the child said, holding Andrew’s jacket between thumb and forefinger as if he’d been handed a sack of dog turds. Andrew followed him into the hall as Cameron appeared, aggressively brandishing nibbles at him. “Andrew! You’ve met Chris, I see?”
“It’s Christopher,” the boy said, turning from the coat hook, smiling frustratedly. Andrew had already gotten the impression that Christopher held his father to very high standards that Cameron rarely met.
“Clara?” Cameron called.
“What now?” someone hissed back.
“Darling, our first guest’s arriiiiived!”
“Oh, just a second!” This voice bore almost no resemblance to the first. Clara appeared in an apron, smiling to reveal several thousand pristine white teeth. She had closely cropped auburn hair and was so pretty that Andrew felt flustered even before they exchanged an awkward handshake, which became a hug and then a kiss on each cheek, a three-for-the-price-of-one greeting, Clara pulling him toward her as if leading him in a ballroom dance. Cameron handed Andrew a bowl of cashew nuts and asked Clara how the starters were coming along. “Well,” she said, through ever-so-slightly gritted teeth, “if someone hadn’t turned the stove all the way off we would have been bang on time.”
“Oh dear—guilty!” Cameron said, clapping his hand to the top of his head and grimacing theatrically. Andrew looked at Christopher and the boy rolled his eyes as if to say, Tip of the iceberg.
Meredith and Keith arrived together—not by coincidence, Andrew guessed, his suspicions confirmed by the fact that they were both clearly quite tipsy. Keith ruffled Christopher’s neatly parted hair and the boy left the room with a murderous look in his eyes, returning—to Andrew’s disappointment—brandishing a comb and not a revolver.
By the time Peggy arrived they had already sat down for the starters. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, hurling her coat onto an empty chair. “Got stuck on a bus. The traffic was an utter bastard.” She glanced at Christopher. “Oh, sorry, is that a child? Didn’t mean to swear.”
Cameron laughed uncertainly. “I’m sure you’ve heard worse from us, haven’t you, Chriss-o?” Christopher muttered something darkly into his soup.
Conversation was stop-start, in the way that magnified every slurp of food and clink of cutlery. They all agreed that the soup was delicious, although Meredith did add a caveat that it was a “bold choice” to have added quite so much cumin. Keith smirked at this, apparently enjoying the backhanded compliment, and Andrew was suddenly, horribly aware that there was some knee touching going on under the table. He wanted to bring this to Peggy’s attention, if only to share the burden of horror, but she seemed distracted, pushing soup slowly around her bowl like a disillusioned painter mixing colors in their palette. Andrew felt a strong urge to get her away from the others and ask if she was okay, but it was hard when you had Cameron to contend with. He had clearly anticipated lulls in conversation and was beginning to bring up topics that were as disparate as they were fruitless, the latest being their taste in music.
“Peggy? What tickles your fancy in that regard?” he asked.
Peggy yawned. “Oh, you know, acid house, dubstep, Namibian harpsichord stuff. All the classics.” Meredith hiccupped and dropped her spoon on the floor, disappearing to retrieve it and nearly sliding off her chair in the process. Andrew raised his eyebrows at Peggy. He had never really understood the point in getting hammered at social events like this. Surely you were just more likely to say something stupid and then spend the rest of the evening regretting it? Then you’d need another drink just to get over that.
(“That,” Peggy would later say to him, “is drinking in a nutshell.”)
Once they’d finished the main course Clara asked with exaggerated winsomeness if Cameron could give her a hand in the kitchen.
“You’re sure I won’t just be in the way?” Cameron asked with a little chuckle.
“No, no. Just don’t go near the stove,” Clara said.
Cameron headed after her with a You got me there! gesture and shut the door after him. A symphony of slammed cupboard doors occurred shortly afterward. “There may be trouble ahead,” Peggy sang quietly.
Meredith and Keith, again by total coincidence, decided that they needed the toilet at exactly the same time. Andrew and Peggy listened to the sounds of excited footsteps on the stairs.
“Those two are definitely shagging then,” Peggy said. “Sorry for swearing again, Christopher,” she added. Andrew had entirely forgotten the boy was still there.
“Not at all,” Christopher said. “I better go and see what’s happening in the kitchen.”
Peggy waited till the door was closed, then leaned over to Andrew.
“At least the poor sod’s got his mother’s looks. Anyway, bollocks to this, I’m off.”
“Oh, are you . . . Do you think you should just . . . wait?”
“Absolutely not,” Peggy said, swinging her coat on and making for the door. “I’ve had a rubbish enough day as it is without having to endure another second of this. You coming or what?”
Andrew hesitated, but Peggy wasn’t going to hang around for an answer. He swore under his breath and dashed to the kitchen, opening the door to find Clara in full flow.
“You know Wednesday is book club night, yet as usual you didn’t give any bloody consideration to what I might— Andrew! Is everything okay?”
Cameron spun around.
“Andrew! Andy-boy. What’s up?”
“Peggy’s not feeling very well so I thought I better make sure she gets home okay.”
“Oh, are you sure? There’s ice cream!” Cameron said, eyes wide in desperation. Luckily, Clara stepped in and, with a bit too much intensity for Andrew’s liking, said, “There’ll always be ice cream, Cameron. It’s chivalry that’s in short supply.”
“Look, I better go . . . ,” Andrew said, hearing the argument renewed in earnest as soon as he’d closed the front door.
—
He had to jog to catch up with Peggy. When he arrived at her side he was too out of breath to say anything, and Peggy only offered a quick “All right?” before falling quiet. They walked on without speaking, Andrew’s breathing finally leveling out, until gradually their steps became in sync. It was a comfortable silence, but it felt charged in a way that Andrew couldn’t put his finger on. As they waited to cross the road at some traffic lights, Peggy pointed out a pool of dried blood on the pavement.
“I’ve walked past a similar patch on my road every day this week and it’s barely faded,” she said. “Why is it that blood takes ages to wash away?”
“I think it’s because it carries all the proteins and iron and everything,” Andrew said. “And it’s so thick because it coagulates. Hard to get rid of, blood.”
Peggy snorted. “‘Hard to get rid of, blood.’ Now, that’s the most serial killer–y thing I’ve heard in a while.”
“Ah. God, I hadn’t . . . I just meant that—”
Peggy laughed and nudged him with her elbow. “I’m only messing.” She puffed out her cheeks. “God, I shouldn’t have come out tonight. I really wasn’t in the mood for it. Think anyone noticed?”
“I’m sure they didn’t,” Andrew said, trying not to picture Cameron’s forlorn face. “Is everything all right?”