The Trouble with Pre

Sian dashed down the hallway and threw her arms around me as well. The flowers which I had brought, and which had somehow survived Jack's bear hug, this time took a real battering. She leaned back a little, and looked from eye to eye.

"You OK?"

"Yeah, I can't sit there moping all day and feeling sorry for myself. As I said, I need to get out again, and you and Jack are the best place to start. Just don't say anything, OK?"

"Of course not. I've just said that you've been busy and out of contact for a while." She gave me another kiss, and another tight hug. Words were not necessary. "You know where the loo is; come through when you're ready. I'll go and try and rescue these."

I should explain. After my experience with the Bitch from Hell, it had taken a while to settle back down. I met up with Mary, and we had a great time for two years before the stomach pains she had started suffering from turned out to be cancer. When she died last year, Sian and Jack had been among those few who were there to see me through it. Those of you who have been unfortunate enough to have been in those circumstances will know exactly what I am talking about.

Once they had determined that I wasn't going to waste away, but needed alone time, they just kept out of the way. I was sure that there was some network that kept a weather eye open, just in case, and Sian's comment on the phone had confirmed it. Now, it was time to take another step out of the dark.

I washed my eyes, checked my hair and ventured out to join the others.

Jack put a champagne flute in my hand, and made the introductions: Arthur, a golfing partner, and Julia, his wife; Jack's accountant, Jerry, and his wife, Roberta; and Pixie.

Julia reminded me a little of a young Barbara Windsor, small, but not quite so top-heavy. Roberta was pretty nondescript, Pixie was anything but. She didn't have the pointy ears that her name implied, and her hair that was long and flowing, rather than being in a bob, but otherwise her name suited her to the ground. Little snub nose, a generous mouth, medium height and slim, long fingers and a firm handshake. Casually, but very well, dressed. That her long flowing hair was going grey spoke of someone completely comfortable with who she was.

And there was further evidence in her eyes. Undisguised crow's feet in the corners and an unwavering appraisal directed back at me. Definitely, her own woman!

A line from Hotel California: "This could be heaven or this could be hell" flashed through my mind. However, Sian had invited her fully aware that I was still emotionally a bit frail, and so I really doubted that it would be hell.

"Richard, nice to meet you in person after all Sian's comments," there was a slight Welsh lilt to her voice, "but," she went on as she looked down at my clothes and then back up at me, "she was definitely right when she said not to expect 'haute couture'!"

Her eyes had a teasing glint, and the crow's feet turned out to be laughter lines. I went with the flow.

"What do you mean?" I replied. "The last time I looked, I saw one of the presenters on TV wearing something just like this!"

"Ah, but when was the last time you looked at a television? Five, ten years ago?" The laughter lines had deepened, and a big smile took any hint of a slight out of the question.

"Shit, I suppose I had better get rid of that old Black and White TV, then, hadn't I?"

We both laughed and raised our glasses in mutual acknowledgement that this was all in jest and turned to join the others. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sian give a big sigh as she went out to the kitchen. Maybe she hadn't been as confident how it would all work out as I had assumed.

The conversation turned to generalities, who does what - that sort of thing. Arthur, "don't you dare call me Daley", was a used car salesman. In fact, he must have been quite a good one, as he owned a chain of garages. He had only recently had the time to start playing golf again. By knowing the right people, and showing the right sort of appreciation, he had found himself suddenly ("and quite unexpectedly") at the top of the waiting list at Jack's club. They had since been drawn together in the monthly medal and had immediately hit it off. "We are now regular partners, but Jack keeps taking my money off me, the bugger."

Jack laughed. "Too easy, Arthur, just too easy. Don't tell me you would turn down any easy money from those mugs that buy cars from you." We all laughed: Arthur loudest of all.

"I know Jack, look at how much money you paid me for Sian's car! Why else do I let you keep playing me? I have to let you get at least some of it back!"

It was going to be a good evening: I could sense it and really started to relax. Possibly a bit gauche for Sian's taste, but at least it wasn't going to be boring.

Julia, inevitably, was from Essex - a fact I had probably deduced from the amount of gold around her neck and on her fingers. She just looked after "all ma boyz, as", and here she gave Arthur an excruciatingly loving kiss on the cheek, "he works so hard for me that I don't 'ave to." To be fair, there may have been plenty of gold, but the orange perma-tan was missing, so maybe there was some hope.

Jerry, was ... well, he was just Jerry, the 'grey' accountant. (I do love these stories, you can hit every stereotype going, and get away with it!!). If you ever saw John Major's puppet in Spitting Image, you'll know exactly what I mean. I couldn't quite work out why they had been invited. Jerry had possibly found a good tax reduction plan for Jack and this was the pay-off.

Roberta, "Bertie to my friends," made sure that everyone knew how difficult it had been to find an evening when they could get out. Her Amateur Dramatic society was rehearsing for their new production: the performances were to be at the Hall next month. She, of course, was the female lead, and it was SO exciting, because it was the first time she had had the honour.

"Sian is going to die for this," I muttered under my breath.

They may not be pointy ears, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing.

Pixie leant towards me. "I take it you're not a fan of AmDram, then?"

"Understatement of the year!" I whispered.

She looked at me, and there was a definite mischievous look in her eyes. "Don't worry. This is going to be fun."

Turning back to the group, she waited for a pause and said, "Oh Roberta, that sounds fabulous. I think these local groups are so interesting - the way they interact, and get on. You must tell us all about your fellow members. I'm sure you've got lots of stories to tell us."

I looked askance at Pixie.

We were saved from imminent boredom by the dinner gong. I exaggerate: it was just Sian telling us to shift our butts. We shuffled through to the dining room and to our assigned places at the table. Dinner party protocol - where would we be without it? I found myself between the two female guests, and opposite Pixie, who was between the two male guests: husbands were not opposite wives - except for Jack and Sian who were at the ends of the table. But with 8 people, and the host and hostess at the ends of the table, the male / female /male ... progression never works, does it?

The first course was already on the table. Sian hadn't been joking when she said she was now into Hestor's cuisine. Cold purple soup with a blob of ... clotted cream? A lot of furtive glances around the table, and a huge smirk on Sian's face.

"Beetroot Gazpacho with Pumpkin Icecream".

Jack was obviously in on the joke: he too was smiling. The rest of us were looking at each other to see who would be brave enough to take the first taste. It reminded me of one of those old childhood games where the winner was the one who came last: in this case, the winner would be the last one to pick up the spoon, and dip it into the bowl.

Finally, with an "Oh Sod it! Sian, if you poison me, I'll never talk to you again," Pixie stuck her spoon into the ice cream, and lifted the spoonful of the soup towards her mouth. With a scowl at Sian, she closed her eyes, opened her mouth and deposited the food there. We could see her tongue moving the soup around, letting her palate absorb the tastes. She screwed up her face, hunched her shoulders and swallowed.

"Interesting..." she looked across at me. "Go on, don't be such a wuss!"

I took my own spoonful, and gingerly tried it, trying to look like a judge on Masterchef. As soon as I had ostentatiously gulped down the mouthful, I reached into my pocket and brought out a packet which I put on the table in front of me so that the label was directly facing Sian.

"I told you I would need them," I said.

Sian just threw back her head and howled. "I told you you were a bastard, Richard - just you wait!" She picked up her bread roll and made as if to hurl it at me.

The rest of the table looked at us in complete bemusement: even Jack looked confused. I was smiling from ear to ear, happily taking another mouthful of the soup, Sian was chuckling away and all the while, the packet of indigestion tablets just sat there on the table ignoring everything that was going on around it.

Once everyone realised that there wasn't going to be a bread fight, and noticing that neither Pixie nor I looked to be suffering, they all started to eat. Once you got used to the different textures and the odd colours, it was quite delicious. Sian had done a really good job creating her own version of one of Blumenthal's recipes. As everyone settled down, and tucked in, Sian explained my joke about the tablets, promising me that the next time I came to dinner, I would get my very own special meal of mixed shoe leather all served up as an Irish Stew - which again only caused looks of incomprehension from the others.

Julia thought it was "absolutely laaaaaarvly" and asked Sian for the recipe. "I'm gonna give it to yer Mum and Dad the next time they come over," she told Arthur. Arthur, thinking either about the state of the kitchen after Julia's attempts at making it, or, if she did succeed, quite what her father would do when the bowl was placed in front of him, suggested that may be this was Sian's own secret recipe and she wouldn't want to share it. The beseeching look in his eyes as he looked at Sian when he said this was a clear cry for help.

"I would need to show you, Julia," Sian replied. "It's not that straight forward and took me quite a while to get right. But, if you really want to, the next time we can both find an afternoon free, you're welcome to come over and we can make it together. Then you can try it out on Arthur and see what he thinks."

Arthur's expression turned from one of gratitude to one that expressed very clearly what he would think of it. Somehow, I didn't think that Beetroot Gazpacho and Pumpkin Icecream was going to figure on the dinner menu in their house at some point in the near, middle or even distant future.

The plates were cleared, and the main course placed on the table, along with the accompanying vegetables.

"Salmon en croute", ventured Sian, in response to my raised eyebrow. "I know you're a complete softy for pastry - and, before, you ask, the pastry is a straight forward, ready made, out of the packet job, as it always is, so no smart-arse comments, and the salmon was straight from the fish counter. Now, just EAT IT!" she added with a glare.

"Didn't we have this last year at Glyndebourne, Arthur?" Julia asked.

While the implications of the question went straight over one person's head, five sets of eyes swivelled around to look at her, astonishment writ large on all faces. Dreadful things, stereotypes, aren't they?

"Takes me every year for my birfday treat, don't you, luvva?" she continued, smiling broadly at him. "I really wanted to see Ronaldo as I've never seen it, but the dates clashed with our cruise. So we went to see La Traviata. I can't remember how many times we've seen it, 'cos I luv it so much, but I can watch it for ever: it's so magic."

While Jerry just carried on eating as though nothing had happened, Roberta looked disbelieving: disdain visibly dripping from her nose like a piece of snot. Her middle-class pomposity didn't allow for Essex women to like anything so high-brow as the AwPERA and she clearly didn't believe a word Julia had said.

Pixie and I just stared at each other in disbelief, and to cover my own confusion, I raised my glass to take a long drink.

"Arthur's such a philistine," Julia continued.

Caught mid-swallow, I started coughing as some of the wine went down the wrong way. I couldn't help but wonder if the description of an Essex-based user car salesman as a philistine was a tautology or not: it certainly wasn't an oxymoron, I was sure of that!

Through the tears streaming down my cheeks, I could see Pixie struggling to contain a fit of hysterical laughter behind her serviette.

"Well, he is," said Julia, slapping my back. "If they didn't have those surtitle fings, he wouldn't 'ave a clue what was going on. I try to make him listen to the CD before we go, but he always cries off, saying 'e's playing golf with Jack."

Arthur just looked down at Jack. "Want me to teach you the finer arts of opera and bel canto next time we are on the course?" he smirked. Jack at least had the grace to blush slightly.

Giving Jack the evil eye, she turned on Arthur. "As if you'ld know, luvva! I 'ave to keep nudging you to keep you awake: they don't like it when you snore!"

"I should imagine they don't - probably not in tune" Pixie remarked, still trying to regain her composure. "Was it any good?"

"Seen better," she said. "Christoyannis was great, but it was all a bit wooden fer me. I did like the modern costumes, though, that was fun."

By now, I was staring openly at Julia.

She turned to look at me, and burst out laughing. "Your face! You need to shut yer gob or that salmon's gonna jump right out! You think just 'cos I'm a good old Essex girl, I don' know what 'culcher' is, don't you? You should stop watching TOWIE and get out more." Sian gave a very unlady-like guffaw, while Pixie no longer pretended not to laugh and was giggling. "Carol, she's my best mate, we goes to Covent Garden at least once a monf during the season. Anyway, she's lookin for a man to get her claws into and I don' mind givin' up my seat for your 'culcheral' enlightenment. Now shut yer gob, I told you."

What could I do? I just burst out laughing and most of the rest of the table (you can work out the exceptions for yourself) joined in. "Julia," I said, "you really are something else! I think I'm in love with you!" We high-fived (yes, I know it's very infra-dig, but this had turned into something very unlike the usual dinner party!)

"That'll teach you to judge a book by its cover, won't it?" chimed in Pixie, looking across the table at me.

"Well," drawled Sian, clearly loving Julia's put-down, "as his autobiography is the only book he's got, I guess he's got an excuse!"

My host and hostess were going to pay for this humiliation, I muttered to myself.

Being the good hostess that she was, Sian tried to draw the ever-silent Jerry into the banter. "What do you think, Jerry?"

"Have you really written your autobiography?" Jerry asked me across the table. "You must have led a frightfully exciting life."

Sian and Jack just bellowed out in laughter.

"Well, yes, you could say that," said Jack when he had composed himself a bit, "it's one of those plain cover ones that they keep on the top shelf out of the reach of innocent arms!" and collapsed in laughter again.

Squirting Chilli oil up his nose was beginning to look like a reasonable payback.

"That's anover fing," Julia was clearly on a roll. "I can never reach those mags. Arthur and me really enjoy them, don' we luvva? I have to get one of the assistants to help me. It's real embarrassing to 'ave to ask. It's discrimination against us short people, that's what it is. There are laws against discrimination aren't there - well they should enforce 'em."

Anyone looking into the dining room just then would have thought that someone had drained all the water out of a fish tank.

I looked at Arthur who just sat there po-faced, and without a glimmer of embarrassment or unease. I turned back to Julia and stared at her. Just as I was about to turn away, I caught a slight upward curl to her lips.

"Damn, Julia - you're good! No, that's wrong, you're far better than just good!" I said, shaking my head and bursting out laughing.

"Gotcha all, didn't I?" she gloated.

Pixie just looked at her in total admiration. "You don't sell Arthur's cars as well, do you?" she asked.

The twinkle in her eyes lit up the room. "Who do you fink taught 'im?"

I had been laughing so much that my sides were hurting, and it was almost quite painful to finish the salmon. This was most definitely not your usual, suburban dinner party! While we all tried to settle down, and regain some composure, Jack quickly made the rounds topping up glasses while Sian cleared the dishes.

As Sian started serving desert, a choice of a chocolate roulade or "tarte tatin", Pixie picked up the earlier conversation with Roberta. "So tell us, what pay are you rehearsing for?"

"Bedroom Farce."

"Ayckbourn?"

"That's right. I play Jan."

"Interesting casting: how's it all going?" Pixie enquired. I too found the role slightly out of character for the person Roberta seemed to be, but perhaps the talent pool at her group wasn't that large.

"Oh, really well," Roberta enthused. "We start our dress rehearsals next week."

I turned to look at Jerry. "How do you feel about your wife kissing another man, Jerry?"

Jerry looked a bit flustered by the question, but whether that was because of the subject or just that someone had actually asked him a direct question, I couldn't be quite sure. "Well, it's only acting, isn't it? It doesn't really mean anything, does it," he said.

"Are you sure?" Pixie chimed in. "I read quite a salacious short story about that play."

"Oh no, the play's not dirty at all," replied Roberta.

"I know, I've seen it before. But the story I read was more about what went on around the play and in the Drama group - that was the salacious bit. It was really quite suggestive in parts! 'I Never Heard the Comma', that's what it was called. I bet Jerry's read it, haven't you, Jerry?"

It was a good job that she had turned to look at Jerry and hadn't seen the surprised expression that appeared on my face as she named the story.

If Jerry had seemed only a bit flustered before, now he looked downright shifty. "No, can't say I've ever heard of it," he quickly replied, but the growing glow to his cheeks had nothing to do with the wine we had been drinking.

Both Pixie and Roberta noticed, and it was a question of which of them was going to get in first and make Jerry squirm even more. Jack, being the perfect host, decided to leap in and save his accountant from any further blushes.

"You can't leave it there, Pixie! Where did you come across it?" adding the emphasis intentionally.

"Oh, it was on one of those short story sites on the web."

I decided to stir the pot a bit.

"If it was salacious, do you mean one of those that you have to sign in to, Pixie? You know, 'confirm that you are over 18 and don't have a nervous disposition' type of website?"

She didn't bat an eyelid, just batted it straight back at me.

"Yes. Probably one of the many you've got as a favourite bookmarks," she replied with a smirk.

The gleam in her eye confirmed that battle had been joined!

"Quite possibly," I replied. "And just how many have of those have you got bookmarked, then?"