Time: after 5pm, Thursday 15 March 1990
Context: Victoria Park, South Hackney, E9
A gigantic crow stood sentinel over a landscape which had darkened rapidly on the two of them, its perch the slick rail of an open-sided bandstand. She readjusted her position, attempting to press further into the gritty stone of the large Victorian monument. In vain she sought the optimum spot though, in whichever direction she leaned, Gothic arches allowed a fine spray of water to gust her way. In resignation she retreated deeper still into her long coat.
|| I see you standing fiddling with your olive parka. Is that the one I watched you buy from your favourite army surplus store near Mornington Crescent? Don’t you look miserable today, no umbrella, keeping your forehead and cheeks covered without muffling your ears? ||
With the perseverance of a novice tap-dancer, drizzle continued to strike the shrubbery as she grimaced at the irony of arranging to meet at a fountain. Outdoor rendezvous in poor weather always requires sacrifices to personal comfort. The flip side was that they should have the park to themselves, as even dog walkers seemed to have talked themselves into early suppers and curling up together in front of the fire.
Re-crossing her arms she was unable to prevent her mind triple jumping through, of all things given she was at work, relationship failures. It was her sister recently probing her extended, barren run which had triggered the brain’s initial hop. It then skipped swiftly over how last Friday night had ended, before jumping feet-first into the pit of despair which had been the latest dinner party she’d been invited to.
‘Everything’s fucked’ was all the greeting Eileen had offered when she’d arrived.
Unusually for her Margo was first guest there, courtesy of doing a job not far from Richmond that afternoon. And as she let the front door rebound off her toecap to prevent it from squashing her nose, she immediately knew the evening wouldn’t disappoint.
‘Only nipped out for a moment to score some vino’ explained Eileen as she reversed up her entrance hallway. ‘Turns out our off doff’s got none of my usual plonk. Dunno what that’s about. So anyway I’m forced to spend a couple of extra minutes deciding between crisp finish or rounded palate. Fuck should I know? Meanwhile fat bastard over there couldn’t stop himself. By the time I got home he’d went and helped himself to the main course. Yes I’m talking to yee’ she concluded with a yell ‘… you greedy good for nothing spawn of Satan.’
At this point, as she recalled events, Margo peered around the corner desperately hoping to be faced with the self-satisfied grin of Eileen’s flatmate.
‘Stretched out, farting like the frigging Roman at the feast. Well you could at least have the bloody decency to put on a toga.’
With that the lady of the house ripped off her apron and hurled it towards the rear of the sofa. The garment missed everything although the accompanying movement and violent shriek did succeed in startling awake not Paul but an equally indolent cat. Shooting sideways with an impassioned squeal, it managed to send flying a candlestick, thankfully not yet lit.
With a groan Eileen slumped into a chair. Slurping regularly at the contents of her glass, the red-head’s breathless account continued.
‘Totally forgot I’d opened the side window for a ciggie. Gonna nail that bugger shut for good, soon as that fur lined fucker exits from it.’
A brief pause.
‘No, rewind that. Gonna nail it closed while the hairy arsed has-been is in the process of stepping out of it.’
Margo could only laugh at the sight of her friend earnestly hammering at her left fist with a now empty tumbler.
‘Any of that wine left?’
‘Some yeh. Help y’self.’
Tracing Eileen’s floppy wave she gauged a bottle less than half-full. Which was nudging up against a second one, uncorked and horizontal. Approaching the galley kitchen Margo decided it would be best not to mention the casserole dish sitting dolefully there; with is tin foil canopy ripped like a toddler’s gift, lumpy white sauce and footprints formed an archipelago across the navy polyurethane counter.
Dropping down the small backpack she’d arrived with, Margo switched off the oven and went to open the overhead cabinet. Turning to offer a top-up, she decided that bringing over some water would be kinder in the long run.
Levering the existing glass from the other’s grip she replaced it with a new one. As she straightened from her Good Samaritan act, she noticed the state of the dining table.
‘Eileen?’
‘Mmm.’ Still sulking.
‘What’s numbers?’
‘Hmm?’
The button nose which blokes appeared to find irresistible was scrunched in bewilderment.
‘How many people you expecting?’
‘Shitloads’. Then hard on the heels of this succinct if numerically vague response came a mournful rider.
‘Fuck all dinner for them though.’
Margo waited.
‘Not unless somebody’s game to carve the cat that is.’
‘Righto …’
Seeking to cut through the self-pity, she adopted her finest nursery school tone.
‘What say we lay menu plan aside for now. So. Total quantity invited equals one shitload. And of them, ʼow many acceptances did you get?’
‘Me.’
‘Ra-ayt.’
In what she hoped was encouraging fashion, Margo flicked out a vertical thumb from one bunched-up hand. Eileen narrowed her eyelids.
‘You.’
‘Ye-ess.’
The adjacent index finger sprang into the air.
‘That Ben I’ve been telling yee about. Feller who picked me up recently, that evening when you needed to bugger off back into work. Real whiz kid. In all senses if you get my drift.’
Middle finger next, ignoring the over-theatrical wink.
‘U-huh, that’s three.’
‘Roddy. Don’t know him.’
Warily, she eyed her squiffy friend.
‘Let’s just press pause there for a sec. You got an RSVP off someone called Roddy despite ʼaving no idea who he is?’
‘Don’t be bloody dense, it’s you that hasn’t met him. I know young Roderick, I can assure yee of that. And soon enough I plan on getting to know every last inch of him. Least that was the general idea before tonight went tits up.’
Margo decided to let the innuendo slide for the time being in the interests of continuing her information gathering.
‘So who else?’
‘Who else am I gonna shift?’
‘No Eileen dearest. I’m not asking for a list of everyone you intend one day to shag if you get your wicked way. Time is ticking and I’d really rather get ʼom before dawn. What I mean is, who else is coming this evening? To your lovely flat? Which if I’m not much mistaken percolates with the fragrance of never-to-be-cooked chicken fricassée.’
‘Sit.’
From the terse tone Margo concluded she wasn’t being invited to take the weight off her feet. Instead, it appeared she had now confirmed why only two extra places were set at the dinner table.
‘That’s it? A measly four of us?’
‘Charlie said to tell you she’s cried off. Date in the city, the tart. Rosie rang half an hour ago. She’s going to stay in and wash her hair or some bollocks. Rest of ʼem are probably staying home to wash their bollocks. Don’t care.’
‘And Mr. Peebles has already eaten of course.’
It was unnecessarily provocative of Margo to reference the pet again, however it had the hoped-for reaction. Eileen’s chin jerked up as she went to scan the room for the offending animal. Not seeing him, she spoke in a slow but gradually rising voice.
‘Yes. Mr. Bastard Whiskers has already wolfed down both his entrée and his main and for his dessert he’s gonna be getting a very special family recipe …’
By now she’d reached peak bellow.
‘By which I mean, one six inch nail right up his jaxy.’
‘You said entrée?’
‘What?’
‘Starter. Y’know, traditionally served before main dish.’
‘S’right. Prawn cocktail.’
‘So ʼow many?’
‘Never ate any of them did he? Not like a real cat. Frigging freak of nature more like.’
‘I’m not talking about the seafood habits of Mr. Peebles.’
‘The fuck yee on about then?’
Margo inhaled deeply through her nose and tried again.
‘What sum total of humanoids did you prepare prawn cocktails for? And please don’t say shitloads.’
‘Eight. Plus some left over. Why, what’s that gotta do with the price of eggs now all is fucked?’
‘One touch to control. She scores!’
Celebrating her make-believe goal Margo dashed over, deposited a quick kiss on top of the other’s head then capered to the fridge and flung it open.
‘Ta-daaa. Just point us to a bowl and you, my lucky lass, shall be the proud server of one seafood salad. To be followed by Irish Coffees, which you will conjure up using your abundant Gaelic charm. That and the Baileys which I so cleverly brought with.’
As Eileen focused on the neck of the bottle peeping out from the bag recently deposited on her floor, a slow dawning of delight creased her face.
‘Saved. Come here and give me a snog you gorgeous thing you.’
However Margo was keen to revisit one of the hostess’ previous comments.
‘So you’re planning on setting us up tonight with this lad Roddy?’
It wasn’t an accusation as much as a request for clarity so she could be prepared for the evening ahead.
In an instant Happy Eileen had vanished.
‘Hand over Roderick? Hell no.’
‘Well now you’ve really got us confused. ʼCos as I understood things from our last phone call, you’ve been all over Ben more than a pair of Dallas shoulder pads?’
‘Ah, well, y’know how it is.’
‘The baby faced waverer strikes again. Barely has she cuddled one new toy than she tosses it out of the pram in favour of the next.’
‘That’s very hurtful. I’m fond of Ben I really am. Very fond indeed.’
Eileen’s expression slipped seamlessly between mock-outrage and coyness, to being unable to restrain a smirk bordering on the downright lewd.
‘Bullshit’ Margo laughed. ‘You’re off Ben already?’
‘Well have yee seen Roddy?’
‘Err, not yet obviously. I can hardly believe you Eileen, you’re incorrigible.’
‘I am bad aren’t I’ exclaimed her still-grinning friend. ‘Nonetheless the good news is I’ve decided to give Ben to you.’
‘You what?’
‘The Great Blondini is all yours girly.’
‘Hey, you can’t just make pronouncements about another person without their say so. Take decisions without ʼem even knowing. You can’t simply take control of someone else’s life for ʼem and …’
The longer Margo talked the more her volume tapered. Not that there was any danger of her thoughts being read in present company.
‘Don’t care. I saw Roddy first.’
‘Fucking hell Eileen. How old are you again?’
But the girl merely sat there, hugging both knees to her chest and smiling broadly. ‘Tag, he’s mine.’ Then, in a sing-song voice, “Bye bye Benny. Benny, bye bye.’
‘Well thank you Donny Osmond. Thanks for nowt.’
‘Margo got Be-en! Margo got Be-en!’
A bell cut in before she could find something to hurl across the room.
‘Oh I gotta go change. Let ʼem in would you my dear? And if it’s Roddy, don’t yee dare give him the full Margo treatment. Course, if it’s Benjamin you’re welcome to make as many eyes as yee want at him. He’s yours.’
And with that Eileen scurried into her bedroom, chanting ever louder, ‘Margo got Be-en! Margo got Be-en!’
The two guys arrived in short succession so, with Eileen still down the corridor, Margo found herself effecting introductions between people she’d just met. She did her thing oiling wheels however and, soon enough, both were holding a drink, chatting happily on the other side of the counter. For her part, she busied herself scraping prawns and sauce onto some floppy lettuce leaves which she’d also managed to locate. Combining some leftover ingredients and the original garnishing she attempted to make the dish appear vaguely palatable, but wasn’t kidding anyone by describing herself as piss-poor in the kitchen.
After a brief time, pleasantries were crudely interrupted.
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