‘I don’t think I ever heard you say anything like that before, Greg,’ said Karen, still puzzling over her husband’s public declaration of love.
Greg shrugged. ‘What, “shit”?’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Karen.
‘It’s the truth, babes. Changed my life in spades, meeting you,’ said Greg.
‘Oh, pass that sick bag,’ exclaimed George. ‘Seems I’m just a humble amateur when it comes to being nauseating.’
‘Don’t be such a dreadful old cynic,’ said Marlena.
‘Well, honestly,’ continued George. ‘I think we should make a rule here and now that meeting your bloody boring life partner isn’t allowed as an answer to this question...’
‘Who are you calling bloody boring?’ asked Karen.
‘I’ll rephrase that,’ said George. ‘It’s not the partner, whoever they are, who’s boring. Well not necessarily...’
He glanced towards Karen, who pretended to throw a punch in his direction. She was actually pleased that George was teasing her, just the way he usually would. A few days previously the two of them had been helping Marlena get rid of some unwanted furniture — never easy in Covent Garden — and afterwards she’d plied the pair of them with champagne. Karen wasn’t a big drinker. She’d quickly got rather drunk and George had offered to take her home. Greg had been working late. The kids were on a sleepover with school pals. Karen had made a silly pass at George. In her own flat. George, thankfully, had rejected her advances — most regretfully he’d said — on the grounds that they were both spoken for. The very thought of it now made her squirm with embarrassment, but at least George appeared to have dismissed the episode as a moment of madness. And so must she. The only thing that mattered was that Greg should never find out, which could only ever happen if she or George were to tell him. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to. And George was showing no such inclination. Underneath the self-obsessed bluster, he had always seemed to Karen a kind man, and certainly without malice. She should stop worrying, she really should. It wasn’t as if anything had happened.
‘It’s just that particular answer is bloody boring,’ George continued, cutting through Karen’s jumbled thoughts.
‘Sure you’re not jealous, George?’ asked Ari.
‘I’ve got my gorgeous Carla,’ said George.
And thank God for that, thought Karen.
‘Yeah, for five minutes if your previous form’s anything to go by, Mr Slap and Tickle,’ said Ari.
‘Oh please,’ said George.
During a previous Sunday Club session of The Game he’d made the mistake of revealing that his earliest childhood memory was his mother reading him the Mr Men books. And he’d confessed that his favourite was Mr Tickle. The friends had instantly seized on this; in view of his womanizing reputation, they’d dubbed him Mr Slap and Tickle.
‘Maybe the gorgeous Carla’s chucked you already. She hasn’t rung you back,’ continued Ari.
‘Really, Ari,’ said Marlena. Then turning to George, ‘Take no notice, sweetheart. But why don’t you give her another call? Get the girl here and shut the lot of us up.’
George protested mildly, but ultimately agreed to try Carla’s number again. With, as it turned out, the same result.
‘Oh dear, I’m still getting your voicemail, baby, and I soooooo want to speak to you. Please come to Johnny’s if you can. This lot are driving me mad. They’re desperate to meet you. But don’t be put off. They’re all right, honest. All my love, baby-face. More kisses.’
After that, the entire group joined in poking fun at George.
‘Listen, get off me, I’m sorry I said anything,’ he exclaimed. ‘Let’s everybody tell the story of their true-love life-changing moment. Why the hell not?’
‘Well, you won’t be getting an answer of that sort from me,’ said Michelle, her expression suddenly darkening. She’d been drinking quickly, knocking back the wine faster than the others, though nobody had noticed. She reached for a carafe and poured herself another glass. Her voice was hard and brittle when she spoke again.
‘I haven’t got a partner — bloody boring or otherwise. Mind you, come to think of it, meeting my ex was certainly life-changing. Or should that be life-destroying?’
‘Bambina, bambina,’ interrupted Alfonso. ‘Let’s not get too heavy, eh? C’mon, George, your turn. Clockwise round the table as usual. So let’s see how exciting you can make your answer.’
George propped one elbow on the table, rested his chin on his hand, and made a great show of being deep in thought. Which he most certainly wasn’t.
‘I think it was probably my Hamlet in the final year at drama school...’ he began.
‘Yeah, it prepared you for panto and you’ve never looked back!’ sniped Tiny.
‘Oh, all right then, maybe it was my Rutger at the King’s Head.’
‘Your what, darling?’ Marlena interjected.
‘Rutger. Norwegian play. I was the eponymous lead. Thought you knew your theatre.’
‘I do,’ said Marlena.
‘So, all right, it wasn’t the most important play in the world, and it did only last a week in Islington, but I like to think I grew as an actor while I was playing it.’
‘Oh, come on, George,’ said Bob. ‘Be serious. Give us a proper answer.’
‘I am being serious. I’m a very serious actor. In fact every time I step onto a stage or in front of a camera it changes my life.’
‘That’s why he wears tights,’ said Alfonso.
‘I gave you an honest answer, man. I mean, I carried that play, everybody said so.’
‘Butterfingers,’ said Marlena, sparking another outbreak of laughter around the table.
‘Oh, leave him alone,’ said Billy. ‘We all know you can never get any sense out of George.’
George smiled enigmatically. Or at least he hoped it was enigmatic. He had done what he liked to do, played what he considered to be his true role in life: he had entertained his friends, and at the same time wound them up a bit. He didn’t mind being laughed at. He had, after all, set out to make them laugh. He enjoyed being part of the group. Although he would never publicly admit it, Sunday Club was actually very important to him. In spite of his flamboyant and confident demeanour, there was a deeply introverted side to George. He could never reveal his innermost thoughts to his friends. It wasn’t in his nature. He liked to keep his hopes and his dreams to himself. He was what he was. And he saw no need to share his soul with anyone, that was all. But he sensed it was necessary to give just a little.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘What really changed my life was learning how to deal with bullies. When I was a kid I seemed to attract bullying. And it felt like I had nobody to tell. Then I discovered that if I could make the bastards laugh it was all right. So I learned to be funny.’
‘That’s what you think you are, is it?’ remarked Alfonso, but he was smiling.
‘Yeah, there was one kid at school I taught a proper lesson to though...’ George’s voice tailed off.
‘Go on then, tell us,’ encouraged Alfonso.
‘Oh, it’s history. Hey, it must be your turn, Bob.’
Bob hesitated. He always felt he was the least amusing of the group. Sometimes he wondered why they bothered with him. George, Alfonso and Ari were sharp as tacks and being witty came as second nature to them. Tiny had a dry humour, a big belly laugh, and bucketloads of charisma. Billy, clever, cool Billy, was a natural conversationalist with a knack of almost always saying the right thing. Marlena was Marlena, legend on legs, she both looked and was extraordinary and when she spoke the entire room fell silent. Greg oozed old-fashioned cockney charm and sometimes was the funniest of them all. Karen was quieter and seemed more ordinary, but she too had a quick mind; Bob thought she was exceptionally bright and intelligent but deliberately played it down so as not to outshine Greg. Plus she was a great audience. Her laughter came easily and was irresistibly infectious. Michelle was young and so pretty she didn’t really need any other attributes. Bob thought he must surely seem like a sad old man to them. He certainly felt like it that day. It should have been a special day. Always had been a special day. In the past.