Carole’s fears of arriving on the dot had been avoided, but they arrived only just after the dot, and she was surprised to see how many people were already there. She knew about thirty had been invited, and most of them must have checked in at six thirty sharp.
Howard Martin was wearing exactly the same suit as he had done in the London restaurant, but Marie had clearly made an effort for the occasion. Perhaps a rather misguided effort, though. The print of pansies and violets on her dress drained what little colour there was in her face, and its tight high waist drew attention to the shapelessness of her body. As ever, the thick glasses blurred the features of her face. And yet she had the potential to be a pretty woman. With the sparkle of youth and energy, Gaby could look stunning, but her mother seemed deliberately to avoid making the best of herself. Again, Carole got the strong impression that Marie Martin found the world a very frightening place.
Oh well, the evening had to be got through. Although she’d arrived with him, Carole tried to look as though David had nothing to do with her, as she strode across to greet Howard and Marie. They were standing awkwardly to one side of the entrance, as though in a truncated reception line. Neither had adrink or seemed to regard their role in the proceedings as anything other than to be greeted.
Pleasantries were exchanged, and Carole was encouraged to ‘have some of the nibbles’. These were being listlessly handed round on a tray by an anonymous blue-waistcoated waitress, but neither the soggy smoked salmon on soggier bread nor the desiccated vol-au-vents with unguessable fillings held much appeal. Carole was relieved to be whisked away by Gaby and Stephen to get a drink from the bar. Her son instantly blotted his copybook by saying, “It’s great to see you and Dad together again.”
There was a bit of confusion with the anonymous barman (clearly both hotels got their staff from the same anonymous employment agency). Having failed to take on board that the guests were not supposed to be paying for their drinks, he had been charging everyone. Stephen put the barman right on this detail and then felt obliged to go round to explain the situation to those who had already parted with good money for his future in-laws’ hospitality. Gaby negotiated for Carole a welcome glass of white wine (slightly less welcome when she felt how warm it was to the hand), and then said, “I must introduce you to my brother.”
Anyone who’d met Howard Martin would have known that Phil was his son. He was probably about the same height, but being more slender, seemed taller than his father. And, in spite of gelled, spiked-up hair and silver earrings, he looked like someone from an earlier generation; his face bore the pinched look of post-war austerity. He was dressed in a shiny grey suit over a black satin shirt. A silver necklace gleamed at his throat. The bottle of Becks from which he took frequent swigs looked diminished in his huge hand. Carole couldn’t work out whether it was just his height, but something made Phil Martin look menacing.
Gaby introduced her. She was not overtly affectionate to her brother, but seemed at ease in his company.
“Hello, Phil. Gaby’s told me lots about you,” said Carole, knowing she sounded over-effusive.
“Not everything, I hope.”
Phil’s voice was unvarnished Essex, unlike his sister’s laid-back mediaspeak. Carole wondered whether they’d had the same education, and, if so, at what point Gaby had decided to get to work on her vowels.
“Not everything, no,” Carole replied, suddenly remembering that the young man she was speaking to had a criminal record. “But she told me you lived in – Hoddesdon, is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you work in a warehouse?”
“Yeah. Checker.”
His pride in the word echoed that which his mother had shown in the restaurant.
“Mm.” Carole tried to think of supplementary questions about working in a warehouse, but nothing sprang to mind. Jude, she felt sure, could instantly have elicited fascinating details about a checker’s lifestyle. “Well, we’re all delighted about the wedding,” she went on uncontroversially.
“Yeah. Well, Sis has landed on her feet all right, hasn’t she? I gather your son’s loaded.”
Carole wasn’t quite sure of the proper response to this. Phil seemed to be being a little ungracious, and that perception was not dispelled, as he went on, “Relief all round, actually. Gab’s no spring chicken. Didn’t think anyone’d ever take pity on her.”
“Oh, shut up, Phil.” But Gaby spoke automatically. Her brother’s words didn’t seem to worry her at all.
“And you’re not married yourself, are you?”
“No way. Had girlfriends, of course – don’t get me wrong, nothing funny about me – but no way I’m going to get tied down.”
“Right.”
“Have too much of a good time with my mates. You know, we all got bikes. I’m saving up for a Harley.”
“Are you?” said Carole, as though she had a clue what he was talking about.
“Yeah, rather save up for a Harley than save up for a deposit on a three-bed semi.” He grunted out a laugh, as though this were rather a good joke.
“Mm.”
“Got to enjoy life while you can, don’t you? You’re a long time dead.”
This was not an exact reflection of Carole’s own philosophy of life, but she nodded nonetheless, and scoured her brain for something else to say. She might be wrong, but she couldn’t somehow envisage her son spending a lot of time with his brother-in-law in the future. She hoped this wouldn’t lead to tension between Stephen and Gaby.
The potential conversational impasse was saved by the arrival of a newcomer, who received a much more affectionate greeting from Gaby than her brother had. Even before he was introduced, Carole felt certain she was meeting the famous Uncle Robert. He was a shortish man, not much taller than his sister Marie, with soft white hair puffing out from a central bald spot. His suit was casual but well-tailored, and he carried himself with a confidence lacking in the older generation of Martins. The huge hug that Gaby gave him demonstrated that he was very much the favourite uncle. It also emphasized the family likeness. Uncle Robert shared the energy and sparkle that Gaby radiated, but which seemed to have bypassed her mother.
“Robert, this is Steve’s mum.” Carole got a frisson of referred pleasure from Gaby’s use of the word.
“Carole, that’s right, isn’t it? I’m Robert Coleman.”
Her hand was taken in a firm grasp, and his brown eyes twinkled as he looked her in the face. Unlike his sister, he anglicized his name, pronouncing its final ‘t’. “Heard a lot about you from young Gabs, and it’s a great pleasure to meet you.”
“You too.”
“And you’re from – Gabs did tell me – South Coast somewhere, isn’t it?”
“Fethering.”
“Of course. I know exactly where you mean. I grew up in Worthing.”
“That’s right. Marie said you were there for a short while.”
“Yes.” He seemed to readjust his memory. “Isuppose it was only a short time, really. But a lovely part of the world.”
“Oh yes,” Carole agreed automatically. She was sometimes guilty of ambivalent thoughts about where she lived, but it was certainly better than Harlow.
“And you’re retired, is that right?”
Gaby had gone to greet new arrivals and Phil had drifted off to get another beer. David was in a knot of people around Stephen. But Carole didn’t mind being isolated with Robert. He was a man who knew that one of the big ingredients of charm was appearing fascinated in the person you were with, and in everything they had to say. For Carole, being at the receiving end of this treatment was an unusual and pleasant experience.