from the landing outside Danila's room.
Mix shambled home through the close humid night. Colder air might
have sobered him up a bit but this was like a lukewarm bath. Otto was
on the stairs again, washing his face as if he'd just been eating
something. To Mix there was something odd and perhaps not pleasant
about the cat being up here on the stairs so much. It never happened
when he first came. Their dislike was mutual, so he wasn't the
attraction. What was?
Chapter 8
Nerissa was having a party. None of her own friends was invited,not
Rodney Devereux or Colette Gilbert-Bamber or the model whose ankle
had ended up thicker than the other one, but only her own family and all
its extensions. The onlyoutsiders she asked were the Joneses from next
door to her parents. She sent one of her beautiful purple cards, lettered
in gold, to Mr. and Mrs. Bill Jones and Mr. Darel Jones, and at the foot
she wrote in white ink: Do come, love, Nerissa.
A nice enough, but rather cold, letter came back from Sheila Jones. It
said they couldn't come and that she was sorry, but not why they
couldn't. Nerissa had no very high opinion of her own intelligence but
even she could read between the lines that Mrs. J ones thought the party
would be too grand for them with too many smart people attending, too
much fashion on show and too much talk about things they wouldn't
understand. Nerissa was disappointed and not just because the refusal
included Darel. The senior joneses were the sort of people she liked,
straightforward, unassuming, and down-to-earth.
If only they understood the sort of party it really was, given for her dad's
birthday (which she'd said on the invitation) and that his brothers would
be there with their wives, the seven children they had between them, his
cousin who was a leadinglight in the Transport and General Workers'
Union, her mum's younger sister, elected last year to Tower Hamlets
Council, her mum's elder sister who met and married the sweetheart she
hadn't seen for a lifetime, her mum's auntie from Notting Hill, her three
baby nieces and her three-year-old nephew, and her grandma, the
matriarch born just ninety-two years ago inAfrica.
It was the Joneses' loss, Nerissa said defiantly to herself as she and
Lynette handed round cups of tea to those who didn't want champagne
cocktails. But she admitted silently that it was her loss too, and when
Lynette and the TGWU cousin had moved some of the furniture back and
dancing began, she imagined the happiness she might have had in
Darel's arms, drifting gently round the floor. To make things worse, just
as her grandma was telling her an enthralling tale about her own mother
and a witch doctor, the phone rang. It was Rodney. Nerissa took the
phone into the study and listened impatiently while he asked her why he
hadn't been asked to the party and was she mad, entertaining all those
relations?
"It's a well-known fact that everyone hates their parents," said Rodney.
"You know what what's-his-name said. 'They fuck you up, your mum and
dad.' "
"Mine didn't. And whoever it was said it, they were sick."
"For God's sake, leave them to it, and I'll pick you up in five minutes."
"I can't, Rod," said Nerissa. "My dad's just going to cut the cake."
She went back to the party and fed the little ones chocolate biscuits and
ice cream because none of them liked fruitcake.
"You'll have one like that yourself in a couple of years," said her Tower
Hamlets auntie.
"I wish." Nerissa thought of Darel, out somewhere with his girlfriend, no
doubt. Maybe even getting engaged to her now, while she spoke. "I'll have
to get married first."
"Most of them don't bother anymore," said her auntie from Notting Hillwell, great-auntie really.
"I would," said Nerissa, wiping a small mouth, open, birdlike,for more.
She put on Johnny Cash singing "I Walk the Line," turned up the CD
player, and went to dance with her dad.
Gwendolen would have been horrified and
Mix shambled home through the close humid night. Colder air might
have sobered him up a bit but this was like a lukewarm bath. Otto was
on the stairs again, washing his face as if he'd just been eating
something. To Mix there was something odd and perhaps not pleasant
about the cat being up here on the stairs so much. It never happened
when he first came. Their dislike was mutual, so he wasn't the
attraction. What was?
Chapter 8
Nerissa was having a party. None of her own friends was invited,not
Rodney Devereux or Colette Gilbert-Bamber or the model whose ankle
had ended up thicker than the other one, but only her own family and all
its extensions. The onlyoutsiders she asked were the Joneses from next
door to her parents. She sent one of her beautiful purple cards, lettered
in gold, to Mr. and Mrs. Bill Jones and Mr. Darel Jones, and at the foot
she wrote in white ink: Do come, love, Nerissa.
A nice enough, but rather cold, letter came back from Sheila Jones. It
said they couldn't come and that she was sorry, but not why they
couldn't. Nerissa had no very high opinion of her own intelligence but
even she could read between the lines that Mrs. J ones thought the party
would be too grand for them with too many smart people attending, too
much fashion on show and too much talk about things they wouldn't
understand. Nerissa was disappointed and not just because the refusal
included Darel. The senior joneses were the sort of people she liked,
straightforward, unassuming, and down-to-earth.
If only they understood the sort of party it really was, given for her dad's
birthday (which she'd said on the invitation) and that his brothers would
be there with their wives, the seven children they had between them, his
cousin who was a leadinglight in the Transport and General Workers'
Union, her mum's younger sister, elected last year to Tower Hamlets
Council, her mum's elder sister who met and married the sweetheart she
hadn't seen for a lifetime, her mum's auntie from Notting Hill, her three
baby nieces and her three-year-old nephew, and her grandma, the
matriarch born just ninety-two years ago inAfrica.
It was the Joneses' loss, Nerissa said defiantly to herself as she and
Lynette handed round cups of tea to those who didn't want champagne
cocktails. But she admitted silently that it was her loss too, and when
Lynette and the TGWU cousin had moved some of the furniture back and
dancing began, she imagined the happiness she might have had in
Darel's arms, drifting gently round the floor. To make things worse, just
as her grandma was telling her an enthralling tale about her own mother
and a witch doctor, the phone rang. It was Rodney. Nerissa took the
phone into the study and listened impatiently while he asked her why he
hadn't been asked to the party and was she mad, entertaining all those
relations?
"It's a well-known fact that everyone hates their parents," said Rodney.
"You know what what's-his-name said. 'They fuck you up, your mum and
dad.' "
"Mine didn't. And whoever it was said it, they were sick."
"For God's sake, leave them to it, and I'll pick you up in five minutes."
"I can't, Rod," said Nerissa. "My dad's just going to cut the cake."
She went back to the party and fed the little ones chocolate biscuits and
ice cream because none of them liked fruitcake.
"You'll have one like that yourself in a couple of years," said her Tower
Hamlets auntie.
"I wish." Nerissa thought of Darel, out somewhere with his girlfriend, no
doubt. Maybe even getting engaged to her now, while she spoke. "I'll have
to get married first."
"Most of them don't bother anymore," said her auntie from Notting Hillwell, great-auntie really.
"I would," said Nerissa, wiping a small mouth, open, birdlike,for more.
She put on Johnny Cash singing "I Walk the Line," turned up the CD
player, and went to dance with her dad.
Gwendolen would have been horrified and
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