you arrived.’
‘Now you listen to me,’ Dad starts. But before he can really get going, Prue appears at the door that divides the kitchen from the living room.
‘Everyone having fun?’ she says, her smile so brittle it looks like it might fall off and shatter on the floor. ‘Dinner is served.’
Here is a piece of advice for you. Don’t try sushi at home. And especially don’t try it on your parents, however gamely adventurous they may be. Cold fish, glutinous rice and wads of
slithery seaweed do not make for a comforting, relaxed family meal. Especially when Dad keeps asking, ‘Is it
supposed
to be like this?’ And if everyone’s a little too
afraid of the food to dig in with gusto, it stands to reason that they’ll dig into something else instead. Namely the alcohol. I’d imagined the four bottles I’d brought were more
of a gesture – we’d drink one, and the other three would probably be set aside for another time. But we are already halfway down the fourth bottle before Prue accepts defeat and clears
the half-eaten leftovers from the kitchen table. She tops up my glass before she leaves – is it my imagination or have she and Ben made sure I drink more than anyone else tonight? Oh well,
I’m not driving, so I don’t suppose it really matters.
At least we’ve all been too busy comparing chopstick techniques and attempting to convey Prue’s California rolls from mouth to plate without incident (again, Minnie’s help here
would have been most welcome) to engage in much more discussion about Ben coming to work with Mum and Dad.
Prue reappears from the kitchen with a tray of ramekins filled with a burned green sludge that she declares to be green tea crème brûlée. I hear Dad groan as he reaches for
the wine again.
‘Shh, David,’ Mum whispers. ‘I’ll make you a sandwich later.’
‘Before I pass round dessert,’ says Prue, reaching out for Ben’s hand. ‘We have some news we’d like to share with you.’ She nods at Ben, as if giving him a
cue.
He stands up alongside Prue and clasps her close to his side; she gazes up at him with a kind of surrender that I’ve never seen on her face before. As if, for once, she is prepared to let
him speak for both of them. But only, I think meanly, because she has probably already written the script.
‘Mum, Dad, Kate,’ he says, nodding to each of us in turn. ‘I’m very, very happy to let you know that Prue and I are getting married.’
‘No!’ exclaims Dad in a strangled voice. He manages to recover himself quickly. ‘No! What a wonderful surprise!’
‘Oh Prue, love,’ says Mum, her eyes filling with tears. ‘My baby, getting married. I can’t believe it.’
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ asks Dad, his eyes narrowing.
‘Dad!’ exclaims Prue, scandalized. I’m not even sure if she has ever even shared a bed with Ben, although surely she must have done. They’ve been on holiday together, I
know that much. But she’s the most puritanical twenty-something I’ve ever encountered, and that includes the evangelical Christian ones at the Jesus Rocks! event in Colorado in
2002.
‘Just joking!’ Dad insists, though the relief on his face suggests this is not strictly true.
‘Prue, that’s amazing news, congratulations,’ I say. I’m horrified to feel a tear sliding down my face as I hug her; it must be all the wine I’ve drunk. I manage to
wipe my cheek surreptitiously on Ben’s jacket as I hug him too. This is not the time for me to lose it. It’s Prue’s moment.
The disaster of Prue’s dinner is forgotten in the triumph of her news. ‘We haven’t got a ring yet,’ she says, her face shining with excitement. ‘Ben’s granny
wants me to have hers but it’s too big for my finger, so we’re having it resized. It’s a family heirloom.’
Ben looks down at his future wife admiringly. ‘Worth a pretty penny, I can tell you. Prue’s going to have to take very good care of it.’
‘I will,’
‘Now you listen to me,’ Dad starts. But before he can really get going, Prue appears at the door that divides the kitchen from the living room.
‘Everyone having fun?’ she says, her smile so brittle it looks like it might fall off and shatter on the floor. ‘Dinner is served.’
Here is a piece of advice for you. Don’t try sushi at home. And especially don’t try it on your parents, however gamely adventurous they may be. Cold fish, glutinous rice and wads of
slithery seaweed do not make for a comforting, relaxed family meal. Especially when Dad keeps asking, ‘Is it
supposed
to be like this?’ And if everyone’s a little too
afraid of the food to dig in with gusto, it stands to reason that they’ll dig into something else instead. Namely the alcohol. I’d imagined the four bottles I’d brought were more
of a gesture – we’d drink one, and the other three would probably be set aside for another time. But we are already halfway down the fourth bottle before Prue accepts defeat and clears
the half-eaten leftovers from the kitchen table. She tops up my glass before she leaves – is it my imagination or have she and Ben made sure I drink more than anyone else tonight? Oh well,
I’m not driving, so I don’t suppose it really matters.
At least we’ve all been too busy comparing chopstick techniques and attempting to convey Prue’s California rolls from mouth to plate without incident (again, Minnie’s help here
would have been most welcome) to engage in much more discussion about Ben coming to work with Mum and Dad.
Prue reappears from the kitchen with a tray of ramekins filled with a burned green sludge that she declares to be green tea crème brûlée. I hear Dad groan as he reaches for
the wine again.
‘Shh, David,’ Mum whispers. ‘I’ll make you a sandwich later.’
‘Before I pass round dessert,’ says Prue, reaching out for Ben’s hand. ‘We have some news we’d like to share with you.’ She nods at Ben, as if giving him a
cue.
He stands up alongside Prue and clasps her close to his side; she gazes up at him with a kind of surrender that I’ve never seen on her face before. As if, for once, she is prepared to let
him speak for both of them. But only, I think meanly, because she has probably already written the script.
‘Mum, Dad, Kate,’ he says, nodding to each of us in turn. ‘I’m very, very happy to let you know that Prue and I are getting married.’
‘No!’ exclaims Dad in a strangled voice. He manages to recover himself quickly. ‘No! What a wonderful surprise!’
‘Oh Prue, love,’ says Mum, her eyes filling with tears. ‘My baby, getting married. I can’t believe it.’
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ asks Dad, his eyes narrowing.
‘Dad!’ exclaims Prue, scandalized. I’m not even sure if she has ever even shared a bed with Ben, although surely she must have done. They’ve been on holiday together, I
know that much. But she’s the most puritanical twenty-something I’ve ever encountered, and that includes the evangelical Christian ones at the Jesus Rocks! event in Colorado in
2002.
‘Just joking!’ Dad insists, though the relief on his face suggests this is not strictly true.
‘Prue, that’s amazing news, congratulations,’ I say. I’m horrified to feel a tear sliding down my face as I hug her; it must be all the wine I’ve drunk. I manage to
wipe my cheek surreptitiously on Ben’s jacket as I hug him too. This is not the time for me to lose it. It’s Prue’s moment.
The disaster of Prue’s dinner is forgotten in the triumph of her news. ‘We haven’t got a ring yet,’ she says, her face shining with excitement. ‘Ben’s granny
wants me to have hers but it’s too big for my finger, so we’re having it resized. It’s a family heirloom.’
Ben looks down at his future wife admiringly. ‘Worth a pretty penny, I can tell you. Prue’s going to have to take very good care of it.’
‘I will,’
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