The Grin of the Dark

'I don't think there's any call to talk smart to your mother,' Warren says.

'I'm afraid I'll be putting her right if she makes that kind of allegation about my son.'

'I don't believe your mother said he'd taken anything,' Nicholas intervenes. 'What she was trying – '

'I know what she was trying. I don't have any problems with words.'

Surely that isn't a sly gibe at me. Ordinarily I would delight in her standing up to her parents and Nicholas, but it doesn't release any tension; it feels more as though some kind of riot is imminent. The idea is at least as ominous as all the others swarming in my skull. 'I wasn't questioning your literacy,' says Nicholas.

'You'd be a fool to,' Colin says. 'She fixed quite a few paragraphs for me in Cineassed.'

'You can know every word in the dictionary and still not be able to address people as you should.'

It's absurd to think that violence will break out among these people in this expensive respectable kitchen, however much we've drunk, but something besides the flickers of clownish pallor on various faces keeps snagging the edge of my vision: an eager gleam of metal. Just enough knives to arm everyone in the room are arranged on the wall above a chopping board. As the insistent glints sting my eyes Bebe tells Natalie 'We didn't know you had anything to do with writing that magazine. You never told us.'

'I should have given her another credit,' Colin says. 'She'd have had even more to be proud of.'

'I think,' says Nicholas, 'some of us would rather she kept her pride for the work she's doing now.'

'A lot of you, are there? Where's your gang, in your pocket?'

Mark laughs, and so does Rufus. I'm not sure which of them angers Nicholas more, but I ought to head off any violence – I should take charge of all the weapons. As Nicholas says 'I really must ask you to explain yourself' I begin to sidle to the chopping board. I keep my face towards everyone, and move so gradually that nobody seems to notice. 'Not so handy with language then, eh?' Colin retorts as I wonder if my fists will be able to hold all the handles, and Mark splutters 'Why are you looking at the knives like that, Simon?'

'My goodness,' says Bebe, 'what's wrong with him now?'

'Maybe he'd like to contribute to the discussion,' Joe says.

Mark grows solemn, or at least his voice does. 'You have to say what you thought of your film.'

'That's right, you're Tubby's spokesman,' Colin says. 'Nobody knows more about him. You're the fount of all knowledge. There's nobody else.'

'Do sit down first,' Bebe urges me. 'You're making us all nervous.'

I'm certain nobody can be more on edge than I am, but perhaps I'm infecting my audience. I sit at the kitchen table and grip the DVD case with both hands and feel as if I'm keeping a different kind of weapon safe. 'So explain him to us,' Warren says.

'Spray Tubby?' I protest and try again. 'Splay Nubby. Pray Ubby. Say Ub.' Each desperate attempt brings more of a giggle from Mark, and once my speech gives out completely he laughs as if only he sees the humour of my mouthing like a stranded fish. Then Rufus joins in, followed by Colin, who even applauds. Does he think or hope this will end my performance? I clutch at the plastic case and grin with the effort to utter a single word. Joe produces an encouraging laugh, and Natalie seems to think she mustn't let him outdo her for support. Will they be entertained if my straining for words turns into gasping for breath? Natalie's parents and Nicholas look more pained than amused, but Warren leads the most belated mirth, probably as an indication that I can stop performing. The case creaks in my grip, and I'm glad not to be holding the knives; how might I use them to fend off so much clownish glee? I feel as though Mark may never let me stop miming – as though his delight is tugging my lips into the shapes he wants to watch. I can no longer tell which if any words my mouth is struggling to form. Perhaps my antics can only be halted by a different kind of joke, and here's one. My mobile is wishing me a happy Christmas and New Year.

I jab the button as much to silence the relentlessly merry melody as to accept the call. For a moment I imagine that the tune has broken into words, and then I realise that the blurred voices are chanting a different song. My parents must be convinced it's already my birthday, unless they're anxious to deal with the ritual and go to bed. They sound as close as the next room. If holding the phone has somehow given me back my speech, control of language is another matter. 'It severs the time,' I babble. 'It's ever that time.'

'Stop it now, Simon,' Bebe says as if she's rebuking a child.

I make an effort that sets my jaws trembling. 'It's never that time.'

'It's nearly midnight,' Nicholas says, having glanced at his no doubt genuine Rolex, and looks as disconcerted as I feel.

How long did I spend mouthing about Tubby? It doesn't help that my father is saying 'May this be your year.'

'May you realise everything you are at last,' says my mother.

Since when did they go in for that sort of phrasing? They sound as if they're reading from a script. 'You too,' I respond.

'We have,' my father says.

'We produced you,' says my mother.

I could do without feeling so focused upon. 'Happy New Year to you both,' I say, however prematurely.

'And a merry one to you,' my mother cries.

My father agrees, though it's the first I've heard of any such usage. 'Are your lady and her boy there?' he adds.

'My parents,' I explain as I hand Natalie the phone.

'Is it later up where you are?' she suggests, presumably joking, once she has wished them a happy future, and I have the unnecessary notion that she's urging time onwards. When she gives Mark the phone I sense his defiance even before he says 'Happy New Year, grandma. Happy New Year, granddad.'

Bebe settles for widening her eyes to elevate her eyebrows. I would ask my parents what they've said to amuse Mark so much, but they're gone when he returns the mobile. I'm distracted by Bebe, who announces 'Now it's really the New Year.'

Indeed, I can hear bells and cheers and whooping fireworks, not to mention detonations violent enough for bombs. 'That's all for your birthday,' says Mark.

'I don't think Mr Loster is quite that important,' says Nicholas.

I'm virtually certain that's what he called me. Knives come to mind once more. Perhaps Rufus is anxious not to be involved in a scene, because he says 'Happy New Year, everyone, and thanks for the hospitality, Natalie's folks. We should be on our way.'

'Happiest to all and thanks for the party,' Colin says.

They leave the kitchen at a speed that makes me nervous, especially when I realise what I've forgotten to establish. 'When will you be going to the office?'

'Sometime this year,' Colin assures me.

'Don't joke about it, all right?' I'm restraining words Bebe wouldn't like. 'That printout is the only copy of what I actually wrote,' I say to Rufus more than to him. 'A virus got into the document later.'

'It shouldn't have,' Joe objects.

He sounds as if he's blaming me, perhaps as a form of defence. I'm ready to turn on him when Rufus says 'When do you want us to go in?'

'When are you next in the area?'

'We'll be driving pretty well past it tonight.'

'Then could you collect it now?' As Rufus nods somewhat reluctantly I blurt 'I'll come with you.'

'That isn't very trusting,' Joe says.

I won't waste time wondering aloud what it has to do with him. 'I'll make a copy so you don't have the only one.'

'We can and send it to you,' Colin offers.

'You know why I'd rather it doesn't go anywhere out of our control.'

Nicholas glances at Natalie's parents, sharing or inviting their concern. As the three of them along with Joe assume worried frowns that I suspect are mostly for her benefit, Natalie says 'Do you really have to do this now, Simon?'