The Saturday Supper Club Page 5

  ‘Wow,’ Ethan said, standing to make his point. ‘Eve, that’s brilliant.’

  I was bolstered by Ethan’s praise. I longed to tell him all about my plans, in minute detail. I knew he’d love some of my ideas.

  ‘Ah well,’ I said, blushing. ‘I’m yet to actually open and you should see the state of the place.’

  ‘Seriously,’ he said. ‘Don’t do it down. You know how good I think it is to work for yourself. We’ve talked about it. If anyone can make it work, you can . . .’

  I glanced at Ethan and we shared a smile.

  ‘Thanks. So, do you all want to come through to eat?’ I said. ‘I’m not sure it’s edible, though, which kind of scuppers my chance of winning, doesn’t it? We might have to get a takeaway. I’m not joking.’

  ‘Well, I’m ravenous,’ Maggie said, standing up from her chair and pulling down her pencil skirt with a sensational wiggle. She followed me into the dining room, then called over her shoulder: ‘Come and sit near me, Ethan, I want to find out all about you. What’s that face for? Am I scaring you?’

  ‘In a good way,’ Ethan said, following on behind, the tip-tap of his brogues against the wooden floor reminding me of the sounds of our past.

  ‘Personally, I think you’re terrifying,’ Andrew said, standing. ‘But then, most women are, especially pregnant ones. At least the one I know is.’

  In the dining room, Andrew checked his mobile and looked distracted for a moment, then pulled out a chair, flipped open a napkin embroidered with pink cottage roses and stuffed it into his collar. I leaned against the back of the chair opposite him. He noticed me watching him and smiled up at me.

  ‘Am I over-sharing?’ Andrew said.

  I shook my head.

  ‘I love over-sharing,’ Maggie replied, glancing very obviously at Ethan. ‘Let’s all over-share.’

  ‘You know bridegrooms in the nineteenth century ate great bundles of asparagus on their wedding nights to increase their virility,’ said Maggie, when I served generous plates of steaming asparagus, their spears coated in a creamy rich hollandaise sauce and topped with a crunch of black pepper. ‘They’re blatantly phallic, aren’t they? Although a little on the narrow side.’

  Maggie winked at Ethan and ate her asparagus so provocatively I couldn’t even look in her direction. I glanced up at Ethan, whose eyes were glued on Maggie’s mouth. Andrew’s too. For the entire appetizer, it was like she was the only person in the room. It was as if her pouty red lips were inflating as she spoke and ate.

  ‘Right, then!’ I said, standing to forward the CD on to the next song. ‘Everyone had enough?’

  I whisked away the plates while Ethan and Andrew were still eating. Then, as Maggie bantered with Ethan about aphrodisiac foods and Andrew talked about the vintage kitchen memorabilia he collected, I banged down clean white bowls on the table. Andrew eyed me cautiously.

  ‘My glass is empty,’ Ethan said, pouring himself and everyone else more wine. ‘Better remedy that.’

  We were all getting hideously drunk, I thought, as I served up the fisherman’s stew, spooning steaming ladles of it into their bowls, not at all carefully. I sat down and sighed. My head pounded. This wasn’t a good drunk. This was tears before bedtime drunk, I could feel it. The quicker this meal was over, the better.

  ‘Fisherman’s stew,’ I said, slumping down in my chair, suddenly drained of all energy. ‘Enjoy.’

  A quiet descended. I drank more wine as Ethan dipped a chunk of bread into the sauce, tasted it, then froze, a look of alarm on his face.

  ‘Do you want to spit that out, Ethan?’ I said, only half joking. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

  Ethan shook his head, just smiled and raised his eyebrows, then carried on munching.

  ‘There seems to be something missing from this seafood dish,’ said Maggie, poking the food. She looked up at me, a smile dancing on those red lips.

  ‘What?’ I said in a panic, tucking my hair behind my ear. ‘I know I’ve burnt it and I’ve put so much parsley in there I can hardly see – oh shit.’

  I dipped the ladle into the pot again and stirred, trawling through the liquid.

  ‘I might be wrong,’ said Maggie, ‘but shouldn’t there be seafood in this?’

  ‘Fuck,’ I said, sinking into my seat. ‘I forgot the seafood. I don’t believe it. What an idiot! I must be drunk. I’m so embarrassed. I was supposed to add it while we were having the starter. God, I just cannot understand why I . . .’

  My eyes drifted to Ethan and I stopped talking.

  ‘Let me get rid of this,’ I said, standing. I started to collect their plates, Andrew’s first, but he held on to his and gently refused to hand it over.

  ‘Too hungry,’ he said kindly. ‘This looks like sensational tomato soup to me. Asparagus followed by soup and bread is an absolute feast. Thank you, Eve.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Ethan. ‘What a gent you are, Andrew. Man after my own heart. Not many of us left, you know.’

  Paul was taking photos, laughing behind his camera. I frowned at him.

  ‘That’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Compared to some of the disasters I’ve seen doing this job, no seafood is not a biggie.’

  I shook my head and tutted.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, briefly covering my eyes with my hands. ‘Must have been nerves, or . . .’

  Or the fact that my ex-boyfriend turned up out of the blue and has been flirting with a woman I’ve never met before at my dinner table. I glared at Ethan.

  ‘Well,’ said Andrew, ‘I think this is delicious.’

  ‘It makes a nice change to just have vegetables,’ said Maggie. ‘I always order the biggest steak on the menu when I go out for dinner. I love meat. I love staring at the meat in the butcher’s window. What do you think that says about me?’

  ‘You like meat?’ I said.

  Maggie looked at me, nonplussed.

  ‘You are really scary,’ said Andrew. ‘You know, one of the things Alicia has completely gone off is meat. The other thing, unfortunately, is me.’

  He delivered his self-deprecating line with a snort of laughter, but there was sadness behind his joke. I watched his hand shake a little when he lifted his glass to his lips.

  ‘It’s probably pregnancy hormones,’ I said. ‘You should have seen my sister, Daisy, when she was pregnant. She was a nightmare! I couldn’t say anything to her without a scene.’

  ‘So I’m not alone, then?’ said Andrew, with a quick raise of his eyebrows. ‘Because right now, I feel it.’

  I shook my head and smiled that no, he wasn’t.

  ‘Wow,’ said Ethan. ‘Daisy’s a mum? That’s cool. How is she?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘She’s fine, you know. She’s Daisy. Benji’s a lovely little boy, but I know the whole parenthood thing hasn’t been easy, especially because he wouldn’t stop crying when he was a baby. It was relentless.’

  ‘Christ,’ said Andrew, draining his glass. ‘Think I’m going to need another drink now. Hardly anyone seems to have a good news story about having a baby. People with kids just say “Enjoy your last days of freedom” in a resigned voice. Especially women.’

  ‘Well,’ said Maggie, lacing her fingers together under her chin. ‘Who can blame women for telling the truth? Your body becomes an incubator and your figure gets wrecked and you have to give everything up. No sleep. No spontaneity. I mean, where’s the joy in that? I wouldn’t be too happy about it either. Anyway, that’s not going to happen to me. I want to enjoy my life! Sorry, Andrew, I didn’t mean that you won’t enjoy your life. I just mean personally, it’s not for me. God, I always stick my great hoof in where it’s not wanted.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Andrew generously. He shrugged helplessly, but said nothing more.

  Sensing his discomfort, I tried to change the subject, asking, inanely, if anyone had any party tricks, knowing that Ethan would immediately leap up, relishing the chance to be centre of attention. Before I’d finished speaking, Ethan pushed back
his chair, put a cushion on the floor in the middle of the dining room and did a headstand, staying up until the veins on his temples were bulging and I pushed over his legs, worried.

  ‘You’ll have a stroke or your brain will burst,’ I said. ‘Be careful.’

  ‘Oh, sshhhh,’ Maggie said, annoyingly. ‘That was impressive! What a man! I just adore spontaneity in a man. Too many people are so boring. I hate boring men.’

  Ethan beamed. His chest visibly puffed up. I wondered if he wouldn’t start pounding his pectorals at any minute.

  ‘That’s me out, then,’ said Andrew drily. ‘God, I feel so boring – and old – at the moment. Maybe I should be spontaneous while I still have the chance. You know, do something wild.’

  Maggie looked up, a sudden flash of mischief in her eyes.

  ‘How about a sponsored streak down Lordship Lane?’ she said with a guffaw. ‘I’m sure you could raise enough to cover the fine.’

  ‘Steady on, old gal!’ Ethan said in a mock posh accent. ‘Talking about streaking, though, I must tell you this. I was driving through Camden and waiting at the lights when this guy came out of a shop wearing a shirt, but no trousers or pants. Shoes on. The lights turned green but a whole line of traffic just sat there staring. I mean, what the fuck? Only in Camden.’

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘Shirt and shoes but nothing else?’ Maggie said. ‘Hilarious! You’re a hoot, Ethan.’

  I sighed inwardly. Maggie was blatant. But then she was pretty drunk. We all were. The table was dotted with empty bottles – I couldn’t believe how much alcohol we’d got through; I’m not sure any of us could even remember why we were together. Paul didn’t seem that interested either, his camera now ailing on the shelf as he joined in with the wine drinking. I suddenly thought of Joe, looked through the French doors at the darkening sky and watched the fairy lights that he had put up twinkle and sparkle in the apple tree. I checked my watch. I wondered, with a hot flash of nerves, what time Joe would be home.

  ‘I’m glad you said that about me being a man, though, Maggie,’ Ethan said, enjoying centre stage. ‘You know, when I was in Rome, my neighbour, a really old guy, kept calling out “Buona mattina, signorina!” every time I walked past his window, without a hint of irony. I mean, I did let my hair grow a bit longer, but do I look like a woman to you?’

  I swigged the last of my wine, annoyed with Ethan for seeming so relaxed when I felt so completely muddled.

  ‘I’ve never seen anyone less like a woman than you,’ Maggie flirted, then, looking at me, ‘Have you?’

  ‘Never,’ I said coolly. I moved to the stereo, turned my back to the room and changed the music just for something to do. When I turned back, Ethan was outside in the postage stamp, smoking a cigarette. I went outside to join him. The air was muggy and still, even warmer outside than in. I blew my fringe out of my eyes and took a deep breath. I had to say something while I had the chance.

  ‘Look,’ I said, my heart hammering, folding my arms. ‘This is really, really weird. I’ve hardly spoken to you and you seem so not bothered. We need to talk.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, blowing smoke rings into the sky. ‘I’m sorry, Eve, but there’s so much to say. I don’t know how much to say. You’ve moved on, you’re with Joe, and we’re—’

  Ethan turned to face me, cigarette dangling from his fingers, a sad smile on his lips. For the first time that evening I felt he was going to say something meaningful and honest. I glanced inside, at the silhouette of Andrew and Maggie talking together, while Paul turned up the music, making the speakers screech. I frowned, worrying vaguely about the young family next door.

  ‘I don’t know what to say . . .’ he said again. ‘You go first.’

  ‘How was Rome?’ I said. ‘Really?’

  Ethan looked at me curiously.

  ‘Truthfully?’ he said. ‘Incredible place, it had such a brilliant vibe and so much great food. But to begin with, I pretty much hated it. I didn’t know what I was doing and I missed—’

  He looked at me sheepishly and smiled.

  ‘I missed you . . .’ he said.

  ‘Then why didn’t you get in touch?’ I said. ‘I don’t understand. If you missed me, why stay away? Why not say sorry? Why go at all?’

  Ethan shrugged, dropped the end of his cigarette, stubbed it out with his toe and looked at the floor.

  ‘I did get in touch,’ he said. ‘I wrote to you.’

  I shook my head and blew air out of my nose quickly, as if to express doubt.

  ‘I did,’ he said seriously. ‘But it’s not important. I should have phoned you too. Of course I should have done. But there never seemed like the right time. I picked up the phone about ten million times, but when I dialled, I chickened out. I thought you’d be seething, I thought you’d hate me for going off and . . . anyway, there . . . was so much I wanted to tell you about, like when I got mugged and beaten up just for my watch, I really thought that was it, that I was going to die and all I could think about was how much I wanted to talk to you—’

  ‘Oh, Ethan,’ I said, shuddering at the thought. I suddenly wanted to touch and hold him. ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘Yeah, but I survived,’ he said, with a smile. ‘There were all these things I wished you could see, like this little place I went to most days for a coffee. Not just any coffee. The best-coffee-in-the-world coffee. And I would sit outside and wish you were with me getting drunk on caffeine—’

  ‘But,’ I said, tears filling my eyes, ‘you left me, not the other way around, and you’re making it sound like it was all my decision. I don’t get—’

  My voice cracked. I stopped talking. I didn’t want to cry. It would weaken me even more and I wanted to stay strong. Ethan’s face paled and he looked sad. I lifted the cool wine glass up to my cheeks, not looking at Ethan, but watching the couple in the house opposite, who were standing in front of the kitchen window. I looked away when they started kissing.

  ‘I just want to know,’ I said quietly, ‘why you left.’

  I looked him in the eye and waited for his response. When he left, I was paranoid that he’d run off with another woman – even though, in my heart, I doubted it. Plus, his flatmate and best friend insisted that wasn’t the case. Failing that, I was sure he was going to say he’d got tired of my petty jealousy, that I had driven him away, even though I did think that unfair.

  ‘I still don’t know what it is I’m meant to have done. I know it’s a while ago now, but I need to understand,’ I said. ‘Your pathetic note explained nothing, and really, it’s insulting that I’m having to ask at all . . .’

  Tears leapt into my eyes, but I blinked them away.

  ‘Eve . . .’ Ethan said, his voice low. ‘I . . . that note was stupid and I had no right, I was completely out of order to treat you like that when I loved you so much—’

  I held my breath, stunned by his words, when Maggie suddenly flew breathlessly out into the garden, grabbing my arm, holding out my mobile phone.

  ‘Eve, your phone’s been ringing! I answered and it was someone called Joe. He sounded very nice. I told him to come and join the party. But he’s ringing again. Ethan, we’re missing you in here,’ Maggie said. ‘Come in, let’s dance!’

  I took a sharp intake of breath and held the phone. Was Joe about to come home to this drunken scene, with Ethan here? I shuddered.

  ‘Joe?’ I said brightly, answering his call while lifting my free hand to cover my ear. Maggie pulled Ethan inside. He gave me an apologetic stare, leaving me outside under the night sky. I listened as Joe told me he’d be home in an hour, then said goodbye before I had time to say anything at all about Ethan. I tucked the phone into my pocket, folded my arms across my chest, looked up at a bright star visible even in the city, and took a deep breath of air to clear my head. Then Ethan stuck his head out of the door again and the quiet intimacy of a minute earlier was gone.

  ‘You coming in?’ he asked. ‘Andrew says he needs his pudding, or he’s going to g
ive you a big fat zero out of ten. What a fucker, huh?’

  Chapter Four

  Back in the kitchen, the walls, especially the wall hung with my pots and pans, seemed to be pulsing. I turned on the tap and splashed my face with cold water, squeezing my eyes shut.

  ‘Oh God,’ I muttered, feeling amazed about what Ethan had said in the garden. All these years I’d imagined that he had gone off me. But, from what he was saying, he’d missed me as much as I’d missed him. I couldn’t work out if that pleased me or made me feel gutted. Drying my skin on a towel, I started to panic. Too much of my brain was thinking about Ethan, too little about Joe, and Joe would be back within the hour. I shouldn’t have been so drunk. I had known it was dangerous to drink, but equally, I couldn’t possibly have got through the night sober. I made myself concentrate on the pudding while I dusted the meringue with icing sugar and poured chocolate sauce into two small silver jugs. My thoughts, though I tried to control them, went to Ethan and when I’d first met him.

  ‘I like your laugh,’ were his first words to me. That was all it took. I’d known instantly that he was the yin to my yang, the salt to my pepper, the anemone to my clown-fish. He was, without a glimmer of a doubt, The One. Up until that point, I’d been waiting for my real life to begin, meandering through the trailers, wondering if the motion picture was ever going to start. But, when we met at a winter picnic in Greenwich Park through my sister, Daisy, it was a Technicolor moment. Daisy and her friends had a Christmas picnic every December where a group of them got together, wrapped up in thermals, hats, gloves and scarves, to eat mince pies with fresh cream and drink mulled wine from flasks, play rounders and football and basically act like fools. Ethan was a friend of one of Daisy’s friends and, when I turned up, Daisy introduced me to him and winked. Daisy, a housing manager, in charge of huge budgets and teams of people, never winked. I laughed nervously. Then she had to go to buy a present, promising she’d be back later. When she did return, after what felt like minutes, Ethan and I had spoken only to each other. We liked the same things: deep-fried scallops from Petticoat Lane market, cooking, Murakami’s novels, the relentless hum of London life, Jack Rose’s music, recipe books, daytrips to Brighton for hot chips on the beach. During our conversation, Ethan made me feel like I was the most interesting person in the world. Within that hour I had picked out my wedding dress, named our six children and engraved a romantic message on our double tombstone. When we played rounders, the winter sun a pink marble dropping low in a pale purple sky, our breath steamy clouds in the cold air, Ethan and I only had eyes for each other. I ran round that pitch like Black Beauty.