that things go rapidly downhill.
We are all seated around our six-seater, scrubbed-wood dining table. Sal has gone all out and provided a linen tablecloth, a small vase of flowers acts as a centrepiece, and even the silver cutlery set has been dragged down from the loft and polished. We are sipping our wine and making small talk when Sal bustles in with the starters. The starters, which are made up of angels on horseback.
Oysters. For the guest with the seafood allergy.
Mr Hunter,
Stan
, opens his mouth to say something. I jump in quickly. ‘Sal? Did you not remember what I told you about Mr Hunter’s, sorry
Stan’s
, allergy?’ Sal looks confused and slightly hot and sweaty from leaning over the oven.
‘Sorry, Charlie, what allergy? I don’t know anything about an allergy.’ I feel a wash of hot rage sweep over me.
I don’t believe this.
‘I called you earlier, to remind you.
Remember?
’ Sal’s face flushes red, and before I can speak again Stan pipes up. ‘Charlie? It’s fine, honestly; I know Anita didn’t give you the message. I’m happy to go without; the main course smells delicious.’ I bestow a gracious smile on him and grip Sal by the elbow.
‘It’s no problem, Stan. I’m sure Sal can whip you something else up. Seafood free, of course.’ Stan gives a little chuckle and I steer Sal into the kitchen.
‘Jesus Christ, Sal, are you doing this on purpose? Just when I think you’re taking stuff on board and actually listening to what I say you pull a stunt like this.’ I keep my voice low, so as not to disturb Stan and Stella in the next room. My hands are shaking with rage and I feel like I need to take a deep breath. Sal won’t look at me, making me even more furious.
‘Honestly, Charlie, I didn’t know – but I can fix it, OK? I can make him something else, something better. Please, Charlie, please don’t be angry.’ I tug my arm away from Sal’s outstretched hand.
‘Don’t think that I’m letting this one go; I’ll deal with you later. I suggest you sort something out for Stan to eat, and stop being such a fucking loser.’ Leaving Sal standing forlornly next to the steaming hot oven, looking
pathetic
, I storm out of the kitchen, pasting my false smile on before reaching Stan and Stella, who are talking between themselves and sipping at their wine. Please, God, don’t let them be talking about what a shit time they’re having. ‘My apologies again, Stan. I don’t know what Sal was thinking.’ I pick up the bottle of red and top them both up. Maybe if they’re a bit pissed they won’t realise what an actual fuck-up this whole dinner party is.
Sal returns ten minutes later with the starters and a baked Camembert for Stan. The rest of the dinner party goes off without a hitch – I am witty and charming, entertaining and intelligent. Stan has laughed at all my jokes and I am hopeful that Sal hasn’t ruined my chances of a promotion. In the hallway, Stan is shrugging his jacket back on while Sal retrieves Stella’s from the bedroom. He turns to me, straightening his collar as he says, ‘Charlie – about the Otex deal. It’s not too much for you, is it? I know it’s putting a lot of pressure on you.’
‘What? Goodness me, no. It’s all fine. Honestly, I am one hundred per cent certain I can pull this off without a hitch.’ Sweat prickles in my armpit – I have to be one hundred per cent confident I can pull this off. It’s imperative to me that I make partner, that I am a success. There is no room for failure when you’re Charlie Trevetti. I’ll have the perfect job, the perfect home, the perfect family – everything will slot into place.
As we close the door on the Hunters, Stella a bit pissed and waving madly from the back of the taxi, I feel Sal’s hand creep quietly into mine.
‘Really, Sal? I don’t think so.’ I snatch my hand violently away. ‘You nearly fucked this whole evening up for me entirely. Are you completely stupid? Who serves oysters
We are all seated around our six-seater, scrubbed-wood dining table. Sal has gone all out and provided a linen tablecloth, a small vase of flowers acts as a centrepiece, and even the silver cutlery set has been dragged down from the loft and polished. We are sipping our wine and making small talk when Sal bustles in with the starters. The starters, which are made up of angels on horseback.
Oysters. For the guest with the seafood allergy.
Mr Hunter,
Stan
, opens his mouth to say something. I jump in quickly. ‘Sal? Did you not remember what I told you about Mr Hunter’s, sorry
Stan’s
, allergy?’ Sal looks confused and slightly hot and sweaty from leaning over the oven.
‘Sorry, Charlie, what allergy? I don’t know anything about an allergy.’ I feel a wash of hot rage sweep over me.
I don’t believe this.
‘I called you earlier, to remind you.
Remember?
’ Sal’s face flushes red, and before I can speak again Stan pipes up. ‘Charlie? It’s fine, honestly; I know Anita didn’t give you the message. I’m happy to go without; the main course smells delicious.’ I bestow a gracious smile on him and grip Sal by the elbow.
‘It’s no problem, Stan. I’m sure Sal can whip you something else up. Seafood free, of course.’ Stan gives a little chuckle and I steer Sal into the kitchen.
‘Jesus Christ, Sal, are you doing this on purpose? Just when I think you’re taking stuff on board and actually listening to what I say you pull a stunt like this.’ I keep my voice low, so as not to disturb Stan and Stella in the next room. My hands are shaking with rage and I feel like I need to take a deep breath. Sal won’t look at me, making me even more furious.
‘Honestly, Charlie, I didn’t know – but I can fix it, OK? I can make him something else, something better. Please, Charlie, please don’t be angry.’ I tug my arm away from Sal’s outstretched hand.
‘Don’t think that I’m letting this one go; I’ll deal with you later. I suggest you sort something out for Stan to eat, and stop being such a fucking loser.’ Leaving Sal standing forlornly next to the steaming hot oven, looking
pathetic
, I storm out of the kitchen, pasting my false smile on before reaching Stan and Stella, who are talking between themselves and sipping at their wine. Please, God, don’t let them be talking about what a shit time they’re having. ‘My apologies again, Stan. I don’t know what Sal was thinking.’ I pick up the bottle of red and top them both up. Maybe if they’re a bit pissed they won’t realise what an actual fuck-up this whole dinner party is.
Sal returns ten minutes later with the starters and a baked Camembert for Stan. The rest of the dinner party goes off without a hitch – I am witty and charming, entertaining and intelligent. Stan has laughed at all my jokes and I am hopeful that Sal hasn’t ruined my chances of a promotion. In the hallway, Stan is shrugging his jacket back on while Sal retrieves Stella’s from the bedroom. He turns to me, straightening his collar as he says, ‘Charlie – about the Otex deal. It’s not too much for you, is it? I know it’s putting a lot of pressure on you.’
‘What? Goodness me, no. It’s all fine. Honestly, I am one hundred per cent certain I can pull this off without a hitch.’ Sweat prickles in my armpit – I have to be one hundred per cent confident I can pull this off. It’s imperative to me that I make partner, that I am a success. There is no room for failure when you’re Charlie Trevetti. I’ll have the perfect job, the perfect home, the perfect family – everything will slot into place.
As we close the door on the Hunters, Stella a bit pissed and waving madly from the back of the taxi, I feel Sal’s hand creep quietly into mine.
‘Really, Sal? I don’t think so.’ I snatch my hand violently away. ‘You nearly fucked this whole evening up for me entirely. Are you completely stupid? Who serves oysters
Similar Books
