‘Ben! Happy Christmas! How are you?’
She pulls me in and pecks me on both cheeks over the exercise ball of her stomach.
‘Oops – belly bump!’ she laughs. ‘Sorry, I can’t help it these days!’
‘Yeah, watch out, mate,’ the man grins. ‘The little bastard’s kicking like mad at the moment – you’re liable to get a boot to the chest if you go anywhere near her.’
The woman sticks her bottom lip out, mock angry. ‘Phil! Please don’t call our son a little bastard.’
‘Sorry, sorry …’ The man holds his hands up. ‘I meant big bastard – if he’s anything like his old man!’
They both bray with laughter at this, and I decide that either the standard of comedy has dropped significantly in 2023, or these people are absolutely dreadful.
‘Anyway, merry Christmas, fella,’ the man says, slapping me hard on the back. ‘Good to see you.’
Alice is standing with her hands on her hips, staring at the woman in awe.
‘Honestly, Becks, you’re glowing! Isn’t she glowing, Ben?’
‘Yes, you are,’ I say. ‘You’re glowing.’
Becks gives a satisfied squeal and flaps at our compliments with both hands. As she follows Alice through to the living room, the man – Phil – leans in to me and whispers, ‘This’ll be your life in a few months, buddy. Zero sex and constantly getting your ear chewed off about swollen ankles. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!’
He shoots me an unpleasant grin, and I’m reminded strongly of Jonno from Thump.
In the living room, we stand in a circle beside the Anna Wintour tree, which looks on disdainfully while Alice passes round a tray of vol-au-vents.
‘Oh God, you are brilliant, Ali,’ Becky says through a mouthful of pastry flakes. ‘Did you really make these?’
Alice flushes. ‘No, they’re er … they’re Waitrose, actually.’
‘Aw.’ Becky tilts her head and smiles. ‘Oh well. Still yummy!’
We all murmur in agreement, and I swear I see Alice’s left eye twitch slightly as she takes the tray back.
‘Drop of cava?’ she asks, holding up the bottle.
‘Bubbles?’ Phil smacks his palms together. ‘Fuck yes!’
Becky places a hand on her stomach. ‘Just water for me, Ali.’
‘Oh babe, really?’ Alice frowns. ‘They say you can have one little glass, don’t they?’
Becks smiles at her kindly: a primary school teacher correcting a pupil. ‘Yes, they do say that, but it just doesn’t feel very responsible, if you know what I mean? When you guys are expecting, you’ll understand.’
‘Sure,’ says Alice, through clenched teeth.
‘Well, you can fill me up,’ Phil chuckles. ‘If the missus is eating for two, then I’m drinking for two!’
This is rewarded with another gale of laughter, and I suddenly wish Harv was here so I had someone to telekinetically cringe with. But in this reality, I haven’t spoken to Harv in years. I’ve ditched my best friend for the world’s most irritating couple.
‘Well, cheers,’ Phil says, as we all clink glasses. ‘Christmas with mates instead of family is so the way forward.’
‘Mmm,’ Becky agrees. ‘A year off from listening to Phil’s granny rattle on about how much she hates everyone at her nursing home.’
Phil rolls his eyes. ‘The old bird can talk for England, it’s true.’
‘Are you guys seeing your folks at all?’ Becky asks Alice.
Alice nods. ‘We’re going up tomorrow.’
‘Oh, lovely.’ Becky pouts at me sadly. ‘Aw, you must miss your mum terribly at this time of year, Ben?’
‘Yes, I … Yeah.’ I scratch the back of my neck. ‘Christmas was always—’
‘So, how’s the wedding prep going?’ she asks, turning to Alice.
‘Good! So good!’ Alice trills. ‘I meant to tell you: we had a bit of luck with that string quartet. They’re available! Oceano Strings!’ She wrinkles her forehead. ‘I think maybe you guys were thinking about them for your wedding, weren’t you?’ She looks genuinely unsure, and despite everything, I can’t help marvelling at the performance. She’s definitely matured as an actor since The Carol Revisited.
Becky’s eyes are seething above her rictus grin. ‘Oh. Wow. Amazing! Yeah, we did consider them, but I think in the end we just felt a DJ was a bit less … showy. A bit more us. Didn’t we, Phil?’
‘Yeah,’ Phil agrees through a mouthful of vol-au-vent. ‘He was a bloody good DJ, too, wasn’t he?’
‘Amazing,’ says Alice.
‘You know he did Dermot O’Leary’s wedding?’
‘Yes! Becks mentioned that. A few times.’
I watch Alice closely as she continues this passive-aggressive rally against the woman who is supposedly her best friend. And all the time, I can’t help thinking: was she like this in Paris? Or at Marek’s wedding?
I’m positive she wasn’t like it at uni, when we both lived in scruffy hoodies and subsisted on roll-ups and sausage sandwiches. But having just relived Paris, I could definitely see glimpses of this new side of her: the snarkiness, the competitiveness, the fixation on work and money. But I guess, first time around – just like at the wedding – I was so totally, dumbly preoccupied by the fact that she seemed to fancy me. Everything else had just been background noise against all her arm touches and smiles.
Now, though, that attraction seems to have been replaced by irritation and frustration and boredom. She’s marrying me – she wants to start trying for a baby with me – but she doesn’t seem to actually like me.
It makes me long for Daphne in a way that is physically painful. For her goofiness and her genuineness and her … Just her.
We all sit down on the Mad Men sofas – girls on one, boys on the other – and as Becks and Alice continue their game of fixed-grin verbal tennis, Phil asks me, ‘How’s work then, mate?’
‘It’s, erm …’ I think of the swarm of red exclamation marks in my inbox. ‘Stressful.’
Phil snorts loudly. ‘Fuck off. You’re shagging the boss’s daughter! You could take a dump in the boardroom and probably still be in line for a promotion.’ He reaches across me to top up his glass. ‘You know, I’ve got mates who’d kill to work at Wyndham’s. You should see their faces when I tell them you just breezed in there with sod-all experience.’ He clinks my glass with his. ‘Jammy bastard.’
I nod. ‘Yeah. I suppose I am.’
‘I’ve heard they’re a pretty mad bunch over there. Big sessions at lunchtime and all that. Is it a laugh? I bet it’s a fucking good laugh.’
‘Yes, it is,’ I say. ‘It’s a really great laugh.’
I can feel myself starting to sweat with anxiety now, because what am I going to do if he keeps probing? I have no idea what I even do at this Wyndham’s place, much less the names of my apparently mad and hilarious co-workers. If I can’t provide answers to the most basic questions about my job, it’s going to look more than a little odd. I’m going to have to feign some sort of recent head injury or something.