Come Di(n)e With Me, page 8
“Hello?” the woman said with a smile, on opening the door.
“Hi, is Sandy in? Or maybe Anton?”
“No,” the woman said.
The woman, best described as ‘alternative’, looked rather odd to be standing in their doorway. Was it the cleaner, maybe?
The young woman dressed a bit like what Faye would like to if she didn’t have a business to run. Bohemian clothes; bright, vivid, baggy, which all looked super comfortable. She had long dark hair, that was tied up in places with lots of tiny plaits. Different coloured pieces of ribbon were sticking out here and there. It was a bit of a mess, but obviously on purpose. It framed her mixed-heritage, possibly Asian, complexion perfectly. She had her nose pierced, and a few tattoos were poking out of her sleeves and across the top half of her breast. She actually looked like someone Faye would get on with rather well.
But where was Sandy?
Shit.
Faye really didn’t want to see Chris now, or deal with any of his probing questions regarding why her funding request was declined. He’d give her the old ‘I told you so’ spiel that came out every time her charity hit a minor bump.
Faye took a step back to assess the house. She was sure this was the right one. She had dropped the couple off here before, albeit late at night, hadn’t she?
As if reading her confusion, the woman added, “…but they do live her.”
“Ah, okay. Well, I’m Faye. I’ve come to move in for the next couple of days,” she said, lifting her bag as evidence.
“Oh, right. They didn’t say anything about it.”
“Oh, shit let me call them,” Faye said, fishing out her phone from somewhere in the bottom of her bag.
“No problem,” the woman said, stepping to one side. “I’m Moanie, come in.”
Faye must have pulled a face because Moanie then added, “Well, Monalisa actually. I’m Sandy’s daughter.”
Faye stopped in her tracks. She was expecting anything but that.
“Sandy had sex with a woman?” she blurted out, halfway other the threshold. “Oh my God, that was so rude of me. I’m so sorry. I just… I’ve known him for a while and I had no idea.”
Moanie smiled. “No worries, I can’t say it’s a shock to anyone that meets me, to be honest. Come in and I’ll get you a drink. It looks like you need one.”
***
“Shit! Look at the time!” Sam called out as he noticed his phone.
Eager to hear back from Sandy about where and what time his Flights of Fancy audition would be, he’d been absentmindedly fidgeting. Twiddling his mobile in his hands, he’d glanced down to double-check there was no missed call or message. As yet, he’d heard nothing.
“Why? Oh fuck. C’mon. We’re gonna be late,” Chris said, downing his pint. “And we’re gonna have to walk coz I’ve drunk a few too many now. Burp.”
Shit.
They’d been in the pub together for four rounds and nearly three hours. They still had plenty of time before kick-off, but Chris had lots to prepare before then.
They grabbed their coats and headed for the door.
“Bus?” Sam suggested.
“Nah, they’re crap at this time of day. It’ll take longer to wait for one than it would to walk. It’s only about a mile and a half,” he said. “It’ll do us good.”
“Suppose. So, are you worried about Faye staying with Sandy. You know, in case they get up to anything?” Sam asked. He even managed to keep a straight face for it.
“Oh yeah. I reckon she’s gonna fall in love with him and leave me. Can you imagine it, leaving me for Sandy?”
They both started laughing. Sandy was practically a woman. An annoying, miserable ‘Karen’ of a woman, but still surprisingly, a man. There was more chance of Chris leaving her for him.
“What about you? There’s nothing stopping your fine young boyfriend from seeing what else is out there.”
“Ah, well… you say that but…” Sam grinned, umming and arring over his words.
Chris stopped dead in his tracks and turned to his best friend. “What is it? I know that face anywhere. What have you got to tell me? There’s something, isn’t there?”
“There might be.”
“Go on then.”
“No. We said we’d wait until Saturday.”
“You can tell me.”
“No, I promised Peters.”
“Go on.”
“Okay,” he said, typically caving in after barely putting up a fight to keep the news secret. “We’re engaged.”
“Fucking hell, mate. That’s amazing!” Chris hugged him. “I’m really made up for you. Thought you’d tie him down before he tried it on with anyone else, did you?”
“He proposed to me, I’ll have you know.”
“Aww, I bet it was really sweet. Really romantic, was it? I can picture it now.”
Sam thought back to the exact moment he popped the question; Sam’s legs in the air, sweating profusely, Peters on the clock. “Yeah, something like that.”
“So does that mean you’re going to become a Peters too?”
“No. I’m going to keep my name. For work. I mean, if he wants, he could change his to Ben Brown, or Ben Brown-Peters, but I’m sure he’ll still want to be known as Peters either way. We haven’t really talked about it to be honest. It’s all very new.”
“Exiting though. Oh man, I’m really made up for you,” Chris said, wrapping his arm around his best friend and giving him a squeeze.
“But don’t say anything to anyone. Not even Peters, okay. We promised we’d keep it a secret until Saturday. You know, a big surprise on the final night. We wanted to end the week in a bang.”
Chris knew that it would have been Sam’s idea. Sam was the dramatic one, quite literally. Peters was far too introvert to want to make a big reveal in front of everyone.
“My lips are sealed. Now, come on, we’d better get back if everything’s going to be ready in time.”
***
At five forty-five, Sandy swept through the house as he always did, via the back door.
“Oh, Faye!” he said, taken aback. Obviously, he hadn’t noticed her car. “I’m sorry darling, I didn’t mean to be so late. But, however did you get in?”
She was sat at the breakfast table, flicking through a magazine. Pricilla was at her feet, apparently liking her company in Sandy’s absence.
“I let her in.” Moanie said, coming out from behind the fridge door.
“Oh, Monalisa. You’re still here? I thought you might have left by now.”
“Well, I would have, but I thought I’d stick around a bit longer now. Faye doesn’t want to be cooped up in here with an old queen like you, Papa. I thought I could keep her company.”
Faye looked up and smiled, clearly glad of the supportive female energy in the house.
“Splendid,” he said through gritted teeth. “Well, you seem to have everything under control down here. I think I’ll go for a bath before we need to leave, Faye.”
“Sure, whatever. Cool,” she said, taking the beer bottle that Moanie had just passed her.
“Oh, before I do, let me show you to your bedroom.”
“No need, I’ve already shown her around,” Moanie stepped in. “It’s all under control. Faye has settled in brilliantly.”
Taking his cue, Sandy left them to it. He didn’t like being made to feel uncomfortable in his own home, by his own daughter. But he wasn’t going to let Faye know that. After all, it was important to keep up appearances.
“What’s his deal?” Faye whispered as soon as he’d left. They both started giggling.
Over the three hours since arriving, she’d had quite a laugh with Moanie. She was fun, vivacious, and like Faye, not afraid to stand up for what she believed in.
“I have no idea, but don’t let that stop you having a good time,” Moanie said, clinking bottles with her new friend.
“Well, I suppose I’d better go get ready myself after this,” Faye said.
“Shame you couldn’t stay back and leave the ‘men’ to it.”
“I know, I’m sure I’d have a better time,” she replied, really not looking forward to the week ahead.
“Here here, sister!”
Eight
“Hello, come in… Come in.” Chris said to his wife as though he was meeting her for the first time and she didn’t actually own the house.
Obviously, Faye and Sandy were the first to arrive.
Faye had the distinct impression that, more than anything, Sandy wanted to get her away from his daughter. She could sense a tension building between them, but other than Sandy’s usual disdain for pretty much everything, she couldn’t tell why.
“Why was the door locked?” Faye complained.
The truth was, Chris didn’t want her to waltz in like she lived there. If they were going to do it, they were going to do it properly. Especially on night one. This was the episode where all the contestants meet for the first time.
“Was it? Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. If you’d like to follow me into the lounge. Oh, is that for us? Thank you very much,” he said, taking a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape from Sandy.
Leading them through, Chris had set up a little silver tray on the coffee table, with eight champagne flutes. He’d even popped half-strawberries in each glass.
“You do realise we aren’t on television, Chris,” Faye said rolling her eyes, “and you didn’t have to go buy a new tray especially for the occasion.”
He’d noticed she hadn’t kissed him hello, but didn’t want to ruin the night by causing a disagreement. To be fair, she hadn’t been particularly affectionate towards him for years now.
“Still, it’s nice to make an effort. Isn’t it Sam?”
“Hi guys,” he said, joining them in the front room. “It certainly is!”
Before he could even reach for his glass, the doorbell went again. “I’ll get that,” he said, clearly making himself at home. To be fair, until recently setting up home with Peters, he was around at least a couple of times a week.
“Lovely to see you all again!” he beamed, with the door wide open. “Do come in.”
The rest of them arrived at once. He held the door open as each one of them passed him a bottle of wine as they entered. “Bloody hell, we’re all going to be wrecked by the end of the evening!” he said with a smile.
Sam, like the rest of them, liked his booze.
Within a couple of minutes, they’d all greeted each other and armed themselves with a drink.
“To us, and a great week of dining ahead!” Chris toasted.
“Here here!” everyone agreed.
“I don’t know about you lot, but I can’t wait to see how you get on, Sandy!” Peters said, feeling bold. The stark glare he received from Sam suggested it wasn’t appropriate.
Sandy chose to ignore the remark. He still didn’t know how to take Peters or if his relationship with Sam would survive the week. If not, why even bother getting to know the lad?
“Anyway,” Chris said, changing the subject swiftly, “let’s make our way into the garden for the evening’s entertainment.”
“Huh, well, that’s a nice surprise,” sniggered Faye as they made their way outside. “I was expecting the entertainment to be a FIFA tournament, or whatever game it is you and Sam are currently obsessed with.”
As they filed outside, Anton whispered to Patrick, “There’s no way we’re putting on entertainment.”
“Don’t worry, neither are we,” Faye agreed.
Although it was late September, there was still plenty of light outside at seven thirty for Chris and Sam’s ‘entertainment’, whatever that may be.
“Come on, come on, we won’t bite… unless you want us to, that is.” Sam smiled at the rest of them as they lined up on the patio. “So, for tonight’s show, may I present Christopher Kemsley, playing the role of George, and I, Sam Brown, will be playing Lennie. We will be performing a dramatic scene from Of Mice and Men for your entertainment this evening,” he said, taking a bow.
Chris came out of the garage, complete in a pair of dungarees, as Sam shouted “action” into his cupped hands.
The ‘audience’, who had taken their seats on the white plastic patio furniture, were somewhere between indifferent, mildly entertained and engrossed. Faye thought it was downright hilarious that these two ‘thespians’ could even keep a straight face.
It might have been a nice idea, if the lawn wasn’t so overgrown, the weeds poking out of the patio weren’t so high, or the chairs weren’t so pitted in a summer’s full of dirt.
“Wouldn’t a scene from Beavis and Butthead be more appropriate?” she whispered to Anton, who was already sniggering at Chris’ American accent.
“Well, I was expecting fire eaters, or juggling or something, but if this is the entertainment, I reckon we could rustle something up, Peters,” Stewart said playfully.
Chris and Sam were in their own little world, prancing around the ‘stage’ like that as though they were giving Oscar-worthy performances. Like always, they were loving every moment of the spotlight. After what felt like an eternity, Sam eventually called ‘end scene’ and they both took a bow.
Everyone else applauded.
“Well done, guys. But I don’t remember Lenny shouting ‘Line?’ several times throughout the scene, though.” Anton pondered.
“Oh, shut it you.” Chris smiled, leading them all back into the house.
They can’t have been outside too long because as soon as they’d returned to the house, the baked camembert was ready. Within moments, it was on its way to the table.
“Take your seats, everyone. Dinner is served!” Chris proclaimed with a confident smile.
***
As expected, the chat around the dinner table was fun, light-hearted, but with the usual sarcastic comments thrown in for good measure.
“You didn’t decorate just for us, did you Chris?” Anton asked, with a raised eyebrow sweeping around the lounge – diner.
“No, of course not…” Chris replied, tucking into his starter, which was lovely if he did say so himself
“Well, I didn’t think so, but I thought I’d ask,” he sneered.
“Cheeky bitch!” he scoffed, before adding, “I do work, I’ll have you know.” Chris was acting defensively, but he knew Anton was just playing. It was just his usual way. Although, to be fair, the house was looking a bit tired, now that he’d mentioned it.
“Well, if you can call it that,” Faye couldn’t help but add. “You’re off sick more than you’re in.”
“Hey, is it pick on me day? We’ve just cooked you all dinner.”
“Yeah, leave my husband alone, will you?” Sam joked, patting Chris’ hand.
“Hey, no need to have a go at us lot, Chris… if you can’t take a joke, we might have to reflect that in the scores,” Patrick said.
“Good point! Pick away.” Chris grinned.
It didn’t take long for everyone to finish their first course.
“Very nice, gents. Yum, that was delicious. Now, do we give you your score now, or wait until the end of the evening?” Peters asked eagerly.
Stepping in, Sam sheepishly whispered, “there’s two more courses to come, honey.”
Chris clutched his chest. He was having palpitations… a heart attack, maybe? “Oh my GOD, Peters. Are you telling me you’ve never watched Come Dine With Me?”
“Err, nope. Should I have?”
Heaving as though he was suffocating, “the disgrace,” Chris gasped, before immediately getting over it and settling down. “No, it’s all done in secret and we don’t find out until the end of the week.”
Faye wasn’t impressed. Although the starter was acceptable, she’d probably be having more fun back at Sandy’s with her new friend, who wasn’t trying so hard to be liked or be the centre of attention like her husband was.
“The next course is salmon, on a bed of wilted spinach with a tartare cream. We’ve made a batch of homecooked chunky frites to go with it. And obviously, a veggie one for you, Faye… made out of banana blossom.”
“Fish and chips, you mean? You’re serving fancy fish and chips,” Stewart laughed, before turning to Peters, “I think even our plans are posher than that.”
“I’d be grateful if I were you. He never buys me takeaway, let alone make it all homemade,” Faye complained.
“It’s not ‘fish and chips,’ Sam corrected, bringing three plates in with him. The part-time restaurant jobs he’d worked over the years to make ends had obviously paid off. “It’s… what was it again, Chris? Salmon something… oh bugger it, here’s your fish and chips,” he smiled, placing Stewart’s plate down.
Once everyone was seated, the conversation quickly moved away from the food. With the exception of a couple of ‘hmm, delicious’ and a ‘best chippy tea I’ve ever had’, everyone was rather keen to get to know Peters a little better. Somehow, between the drama of moving tables so many times and birthday presents, they hadn’t had a chance to grill him properly on Sam’s birthday.
“So, what is it you do, then? Are you an actor as well?” Patrick asked, mid-mouthful.
“Emm, no. I can’t act for anything…” Peters blurted out.
“Lol, that never stopped Sam!” Chris joked.
“Watch it, or I’ll slip some arsenic in your hot chocolate tonight, mate,” Sam warned playfully.
“Umm, well… I’m actually training as a paramedic,” he said, biting his lip. There was no point in explaining the other stuff he did on the side.
“Ahh, well Sam does like a man in uniform.” Anton said as a matter of fact.
“Huh? What are you talking about?” Sam asked, taken aback. There was a telltale rosiness just breaking through onto his cheeks, though.
“Scott. Danny. Theodore… a second guy named Scott. Need I go on?” Anton said, listing them off on his fingers.
“You’re forgetting Austin,” Stewart added. “Wasn’t he that hunky policeman?”
“And Reggie,” Faye pointed out.
By this point, Sam was beetroot. It was futile to argue. With his head in his crossed arms on the table he said, “There was Philip, too.”
“Oh. My. God. Do I need to be worried?” Peters asked in mock concern.
