Thirty - Five

Ted stared at Marjorie, his mind a blank. After a long silence, he said, ‘I’m not with you.’ He realised it was weak, but he continued holding eye contact with her, keeping his face expressionless.

Marjorie’s eyes narrowed as she repeated her accusation. ‘Why are there two glasses in the bathroom?’

Ted shrugged and pursed his lips. He suddenly felt sure of himself. ‘I couldn’t drink a whole bottle of champagne in one go. I expect I took another glass up the next day.’

Marjorie deliberately let her mouth open in a parody of amazement. ‘You lay in the bath two days running and polished off a whole bottle of champagne?’

‘Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

Marjorie sniffed disapprovingly. ‘All that hot water’s costly. What’s wrong with the shower?’

Ted giggled audaciously. ‘The water gets into the champagne.’

Marjorie felt she was losing ground. She waved the empty champagne bottle in front of Ted and raised her voice. ‘You’re turning into a right boozer. How much did this set you back?’

‘Oh, um, not much. It was on special offer.’

‘That’s not what I said. How much exactly?’

‘I can’t really remember. It was just under twelve pounds.’

Marjorie looked as if she had been hit with something cold and wet. ‘Twelve pounds!’

‘Well, perhaps not as much as that,’ Ted began, hastily.

Marjorie glared at the worthless empty bottle. Sadness and longing crept into her voice. ‘You’ve never bought me any champagne. Not once. Not ever. Not even when we got married. You could have waited till I got home.’

‘I thought you weren’t supposed to have alcohol.’

‘That was before I had her.’

Ted was struck by a sudden bright idea, a way of changing the subject, once and for all. ‘That’s a point.’

‘What?’ Marjorie snapped, her eyes hard and piercing.

‘We haven’t decided on a name for her. Oh, I know we talked about it before...’

Marjorie broke in. ‘I think I’ve settled on calling her after my mum.’

Ted looked horrified.

‘What you looking at me like that for?’

‘Your mother’s name was Doris.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing. It’s just that ... well, it’s a bit old fashioned.’

‘Some of these old names are coming back into fashion now.’

Ted shook his head violently. ‘Yes but not Doris. She’s not a Doris. What about Portia? Or Olivia?’

Marjorie looked as if she could smell something unpleasant. ‘Oh no, if we’re going to have something old fashioned, it’s got to be Doris.’

‘In that case,’ said Ted, snatching the champagne bottle from her hand, ‘we’ll have to give her something a bit more up to date.’

Ted started to leave the room. Marjorie, unused to such assertive behaviour in her husband, shrugged and relented. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Something a bit more modern Like Tracey.’

The tall distinguished man with greying hair and old-fashioned film star looks, handed Craig an American Express card. From behind the counter, as she poured two glasses of house red, Maggie caught the man staring at her brother’s tattoos. A burning sensation of shame and embarrassment surged from deep inside her. Craig turned as he walked away from the table and flashed her a smile. She glared back at him.

‘What’s wrong, Maggs?’ he asked, as he reached the bar.

‘Nothing.’

Maggie’s eyes darted over to the customer, who was talking unashamedly loudly to his lady friend in the rich flat vowel sounds of the upper classes, that made Maggie want to cringe.

‘You’re a wonderful brother to have.’ Maggie came around the bar and moved close to Craig, rubbing his arm, as if giving his tattoos a seal of approval. ‘I’m proud of you.’

Craig looked into his sister’s smiling face, thrown by this sudden mood swing. He thought he detected a stale sweetness on her breath.

‘Maggs,’ he said, frowning, ‘you been drinking?’

She stiffened, then broke away from him, and returned behind the bar. ‘No, I haven’t.’ She avoided looking at him. ‘We’ve been too busy. When am I supposed to have had a drink, Craig? Hmm? When?’

‘I don’t know. I just thought...’

She silenced him with a warning look, picked up two bottles of house red and carried them over to two men in a far corner of the wine bar.

‘Your food won’t be long,’ she said. One of the men, wearing a suit that fitted him in a way that advertised bespoke tailoring, smiled at her as he broke off his discussion about exporting copper tubing, and she smiled back at him.

‘I hope you like our house red.’

The glass slipped in her hand. She tried to catch it, but would have been better off if she had let if fall. She knocked it flying into the man’s lap.