The sour miniatures of cooking wine the grotty pub sold were almost undrinkable after the quality lunchtime tipple in the wine bar, and Alison was relieved to be in the back of the taxicab with the Birch brothers. It dawned on her she was with two men she didn’t really know, yet she was heading for their mother’s birthday party. And they seemed so competitive with each other. — You stink, Russell gracelessly said to Michael.
— Spilled some petrol down my leg at work. I’ll get cleaned up properly at Mum’s.
They reached Corstorphine, and a prodigious, red sandstone villa. Its enormous gravel driveway was already full of cars, with more parked outside on the street. When they got round to the back garden, a large space with a stone perimeter wall and established bushes, trees and flower beds, people had assembled awkwardly on the patio and lawn in small groups. Alexander and Russell’s father, a weary-eyed man with grey hair and loose folds of skin hanging around his face and neck, stood barbecuing sausages, burgers, chicken parts and steaks.
As Russell circulated among the clusters of neighbours, relatives and friends, Alexander introduced Alison to his father, Bertie, who responded with perfunctory manners. Leaving him to his task, Alexander explained that his dad was fifteen years older than his mother. Alison discerned an isolated old man, work contacts frayed, a busy Rotary-Club-and-coffee-mornings wife off involved in her own activities, preoccupied children hitting the hectic self-absorption of middle age, with elderly golfing partners dead or dying. His eyes, shifty and flinty, seemed to indicate a spirit looking to escape the ponderous residue of its body.
Bored by the crowd, Alison instead enjoyed the assortment of kids running around a paddling pool, growing increasingly feral in each other’s company. Of the adults assembled, one couple stood out. A full-mouthed woman with ineptly dyed blonde hair threw her head back in raucous laughter at something said by her companion: a big, muscular, shaven-headed man in a badly fitting suit. Then her face froze in silence as she punched him squarely in the chest, before breaking up into hysterics again.
Bringing her over a glass of wine, Alexander saw where Alison’s gaze was, and introduced her to the blonde, who was his sister, Kristen. — Nice tae meet you, she grinned. — This is Skuzzy, Kristen announced, turning to Alexander. — You’ve no met Skuzzy, eh no?
— No. Alexander warily shook the man’s hand.
— Our Alexander’s in horticulture, she said, making a face.
— Well, not exactly –
— Ye can take a whore tae culture, but ye cannae make her read a book, Alison said, then added, — That was Dorothy Parker that said that.
Kristen gave her a bamboozled look for a second, then a high cackle flared from her, as she turned to Alexander, — I like her! Good tae see ye wi a lassie wi a sense of humour for a change!
— Alison works beside … he began in protest, but Kristen was already running down his absent wife, as their mother arrived, nodding curtly in pucker-mouth acknowledgement at Alison, as she pulled Alexander aside.
In Rena Birch, Alison saw a hawk-faced woman with bulging eyes, trained with some potency on her eldest son. — You bring a young girl to my birthday party when your wife is at home with your children, broken-hearted! What kind of a man are you?! I’ve had Tanya on the phone, and the children, begging for their daddy to come home, and you bring along a drunken — her eyes swivelled to Alison, — young woman to my party …
— Ah’m no, Alison protested, then immediately had to put hand to mouth in order to silence a hiccup.
— … instead of my grandchildren, Rena barked at her son. — How does it look, Alexander?!
Alexander responded with a louche shrug. — I couldn’t give a toss how it looks. He glanced at Alison, who realised she’d taken a backward step towards Kristen, his gesture conveying exasperation and mild apology. — Firstly, Alison’s a colleague. Secondly, Tanya kicked me out of the house. It was her idea that I leave, in order to, and Alison felt herself cringe as Alexander made a quotes sign in the air with his fingers, — give her space to sort things out. So I did. Now I’m supposed to be at her beck and call? Not a chance. She said a lot of hurtful things about wanting me out of her life. Well, be careful about what you wish for, cause that’s exactly where I am. And I’ll tell you something right now, for you to tell her, if you so wish: I’m in no hurry to go back into it, because I’m having the time of my fucking life!
— You have children! Rena cawed.
Alison, her arms folded, glass in her hand, was starting to enjoy herself. She smiled as Kristen ranted on to her, though she strained to listen to her boss face his mother’s scorn.
— Ken what he sais tae me? Kristen was asking Alison, while shooting a malevolent gaze in the direction of another crusty-looking relative. Perhaps it was her mother’s brother. — He goes, ‘What do you do?’ Ah felt like sayin back tae him, ‘What? What d’ye mean, what dae ah do? Ah make love. Ah watch telly. Ah go for a drink.’ How dae people eywis huv tae assume that when they ask that, that it hus tae mean a career?
Alison shifted her gaze to the barbecue, watching the flames rise and lick at the grease around the sizzling sausages. Enjoying the frown of concentration on Bertie’s face, as he loaded chicken breasts onto the grill with his tongs. Though her senses were pleasantly dulled, she was aware that Alexander was raising his voice, cognisant of those assured, workplace tones. — And you think it’s better for my children to live in one house with two parents who hate each other, or live in two normal households with sane people?
As Bertie Birch turned his bangers, the flames slithering around the hissing, spitting meat, Alison sensed he was quietly savouring the public spat between his wife and eldest son. For him, Kristen’s lowlife suitors and relentless downward mobility, Russell’s fatuous but wounded demeanour, and Alexander’s ecological arrogance had probably come to embody exotic, mystical qualities.
Even Kristen had fallen silent, now also engrossed in the swelling disputation, inching closer, compelling Alison to follow suit, as Rena raised her voice shrilly: — So this is really about me and your father, is it? Well, have the spine to say it! Poor little you; the Stewart’s Melville fees we could barely afford, the summer camps in Bavaria and Oregon to look at your precious trees –
A high shriek suddenly erupted from Alexander. It alarmed everyone. It seemed to have no context, even within the growing storm of his argument with Rena. To Alison, it looked as if he was having some kind of seizure; his hands started flailing wildly in the air and he ran, stumbling into his father and the barbecue. Just as she realised that Alexander had been stung or was at least being pursued by a bee or a wasp, the next thing Alison saw was a sheet of flame flashing in ignition up the back of her boss’s legs.
People froze in the gaping horror of disbelief as Alexander ineffectually flapped at his blazing trousers. Russell reacted first, dragging his brother over to the paddling pool, which Alexander fell gratefully into, rolling in a way that reminded Alison of a child at the beach. He sat up in the water, gasping, a black, charred patch visible up the back of his jacket. As if suddenly realising where he was, he quickly stood up, and stepped out of the rubber pool, in mortification rather than shock. He resisted all attempts to call an ambulance. — I’m fine, he asserted, and though his suit was ruined, he miraculously seemed not to have suffered any significant burns.