“Stick the wine on the island for now,” Jim said, indicating the pristine granite worktop complete with wine rack and artfully arranged Sunday supplements. “I need to work out what I’m pairing with what.”
“It’s not an island,” came Rupert’s voice from the doorway. “According to our estate agent, anyway. It being connected to the wall on one side, it’s actually a peninsula.” Rupert was wearing similarly smart attire to when they’d met in the pub, but with the addition of a purple dressing grown tied loosely at the waist. He noticed Andrew looking at it.
“It gets quite cold in my office but I can’t bring myself to turn the heating up. Don’t worry, I’m just an IT consultant, not Hugh Hefner or anything.”
Jim pulled some ingredients from a bag and, having lined them up on the counter, began to scrutinize each item closely, as if he were judging a village fete competition.
“All good?” Andrew said.
“Yes. Absolutely,” Jim said, tapping a finger against his chin, his eyes narrowed. “Absolutely.”
Andrew looked at Rupert, who raised an eyebrow at him.
Andrew was about to ask Jim if he was sure he knew what he was doing when the doorbell rang, the sound even more weary and out of tune than when he’d rung it himself. Rupert put his hands in his dressing gown pockets.
“Well it’s your house tonight, you better answer it.”
As Andrew left the room he heard Jim asking if Rupert owned “a cleaver, or something,” and felt his heart rate increase another notch.
Andrew opened the door to find Alex. Her hair was dyed a shocking white-blond, although it wasn’t altogether rid of the purple, which was clinging on in the odd streak.
“So I’ve got loads of decorations and stuff,” she said, thrusting one of the two bags she was holding into Andrew’s hands. “Gonna really set the mood and make it all massively, extremely fun! Look—party poppers!”
She skipped past Andrew down the corridor.
“Um, Alex, when you say ‘massively, extremely fun’—obviously I want it to be fun but I don’t want anything too extreme or . . . or massive.”
“Sure, gotcha, don’t worry about it,” Alex said. Andrew followed her into the dining room in time to see her enthusiastically scattering glitter onto the dining table.
“Shit,” she said suddenly, slapping a hand to her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” Andrew said.
“Just realized I’ve left a whole bag of stuff at the shop. I’ll have to go back.” When she took her hand away there was glitter in her hair.
Back in the kitchen, Jim was indiscriminately hacking at a butternut squash with a cleaver as if he were hastily dismembering a corpse.
“Everything all right?” Andrew said, hovering nervously.
“Yes, yes,” Jim said. “Ah, that’s what I was going to say: Rupert, do you have anything that we could use as a trolley to transfer the food to the dining room on?”
“A trolley? Can’t I just carry it?” Andrew said.
“Yes, but I thought it might look quite fancy if you were to prepare the last bits and pieces of the main next to the table, gueridon-style, you see?”
“Gueridon?” Rupert said. “Didn’t he play left-back for Leeds?”
The doorbell warbled again. Andrew was wondering about what else in the way of party decorations Alex might have returned with, but when he opened the door it was with horror that he found Cameron standing on the step.
“Hellooo!” Cameron said, stretching the word out as if he were calling into a tunnel to hear the echo. The smile disappeared from his face. “Oh, crumbs, I’m not mega-early, am I?”
Andrew just about managed to regain his composure. “No, no, of course not, come in, come in.”
“Something smells good,” Cameron said after he’d stepped inside. “What’s a-cookin’?”
“It’s a surprise,” Andrew said.
“How intriguing,” Cameron said with a knowing grin. “I’ve brought some vino rouge, but I’ll probably stick to the Adam’s ale this evening after my—how shall I put it—overindulgence last time.”
“Right, sure,” Andrew said, taking the bottle and guiding Cameron into the dining room.
“Clara and I had sort of clear-the-air talks when I got home that night, truth be told—unpacked everything and really drilled down. It always helps to talk things through, doesn’t it?”
“Absolutely,” Andrew said, realizing with some concern that Cameron looked even paler than earlier.
“Well, I like the glitter,” Cameron said. “Very jazzy.”
“Thanks,” Andrew said. “Take a seat and I’ll be back with your water in a sec. Don’t move!” he added, making a gun with thumb and forefinger. Cameron raised his hands meekly in surrender.
Andrew sprinted into the kitchen and closed the door. “Okay, we have a very big fucking problem,” he said. “One of the guests—my boss, in fact—has arrived and is just sitting there in the dining room. So you need to keep as quiet as possible—and don’t let anybody through this door who’s not me.”
Rupert was swiveling back and forth on a tall chair, looking completely unfazed. “Can’t we pretend to be staff or something?” he said.
“No,” Andrew said. “Too weird. They’ll ask too many questions. Right, what am I doing? Ah yes, water.”
Andrew turned to the cupboards, looking for a glass.
“Hmm, slight issue,” he heard Rupert say.
“What? And where do you keep your glasses?”
“Top-left cupboard. And the issue is there’s a woman just outside, staring at us.”
Andrew nearly dropped the glass as he spun around to look at the window. Thankfully, it was Peggy. And as she caught his eye and smiled, one eyebrow slightly arched in amusement, it was then that Andrew was overwhelmed by now happy and relieved he was to see her—that this was how he felt whenever she came into the same room as him.
He walked over and slid the French windows open.
“Hello,” Peggy said.
“Hello.”
Peggy widened her eyes slightly.
“Shall I come in?”
“Oh, right, yes,” Andrew said, quickly stepping aside. “Everyone, this is Peggy.”
“Hello . . . everyone,” Peggy said. “I think your doorbell’s kaput.”
Andrew started to garble an explanation but Peggy put up her hand to stop him. “It’s fine, it’s fine, you don’t have to explain. I’ll go through, shall I?”
“Good idea,” Andrew said. “Cameron’s already here, actually.”
“Spectacular news,” Peggy said. “Down here, is it?”
“Yep. Second—no, third—door on your right.”
Andrew watched her leave, then turned back to the countertop, leaning on it for support and taking some steadying breaths.
“She seems nice,” Jim said.
“She is,” Andrew said. “So nice in fact that I think there’s actually a very good chance I’m in love with her. Anyway, how’s the butternut whatever coming along?”
When Jim didn’t answer, Andrew looked around to see that Peggy had reappeared without him realizing it. There was a moment when nobody did anything. Then Peggy stepped forward and reached past Andrew, avoiding his eye. “Glasses in here, are they? Lovely. Just getting Cameron’s water.”
She filled the glass from the tap and left, whistling softly.
“Oh great,” Andrew said. He was about to follow this up with some less family-friendly words when there was a knock at the front door.
“I’ll get it,” Andrew said, heading off down the hall. He opened the door to find a panicked-looking Alex bookended by a confused-looking Meredith and Keith.
“Just picked up those things you asked for,” Alex said robotically.
“Ah. Right. Yes,” Andrew said. “Thank you very much.”
“No problem . . . neighbor.”
Andrew took the bag and ushered Meredith and Keith into the hallway, gesturing to Alex that she should go around to the French windows.