but happily bounded into action, ready to please as ever. ‘What do you fancy?’
‘Ooh, bit of Mariah?’
Mariah Carey has always been Mum’s ultimate hero.
As Hero came on, Mum abandoned her cleaning and started dancing round the kitchen, using a tube of Primula cheese spread as a microphone. As she sang tunelessly and gyrated her hips Martin came over and stood watching through the hatch, nodding his head and clapping, with a delighted look on his face, as if he were being treated to a private audience with the world’s greatest performer. Thankfully, this ridiculous scene was interrupted by the doorbell and the arrival of Wendy, Derek, Hayley and Gary.
‘They’re here,’ Mum clucked, signalling to Martin to switch off the music before rushing to open the door, which he did before turning the TV back on.
I followed Mum and Martin into the hallway and while everybody noisily greeted each other, I hung back, feeling tired and grumpy. Eventually Hayley broke away and we walked back through to the lounge together.
She was looking particularly gorgeous today. Hayley’s hair is naturally white blonde and hangs in a perfect sheet down her back. She has fair skin, with a pinkish tone to it so she never looks pasty, just delicate, and her features are neat and even, giving way to a full mouth – possibly due to all the exercise it gets. Like me she has a flat stomach, longish legs and a small waist, but unlike me she also has big breasts. You know how there are different versions of Barbie? Surfing Barbie, caravan Barbie, disco Barbie etc. Well, she’s ‘wannabe footballer’s wife’ Barbie, only paler. Today she was wearing skinny jeans, Ugg boots and a leather jacket with a tight t-shirt underneath. She looked immaculate, but then she always does and puts hours into getting ready even if it’s just to pop to the shops.
‘All right,’ she said, her eyes flicking me up and down in a blatant attempt to check that what I was wearing was acceptable. I must have passed the test because she didn’t say anything.
‘All right,’ I replied. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Good,’ she said, popping a crisp in her mouth. ‘What have you been up to? Still washing people’s greasy heads at Roberto’s?’
‘Yeah. Jake was asking after you the other day,’ I said slyly.
Hayley glared at me, a warning sign not to say anything else. Jake is one of her past conquests. One of the many she left broken hearted, wondering what had just happened to him.
‘Saved up enough for South America yet?’ she said, swiftly changing the subject as her husband Gary came lumbering in.
‘Another couple of months I reckon.’
‘Cool,’ said Hayley and then she smiled, a genuinely warm smile, and that was when I knew she must be pregnant.
I smiled back at her broadly and raised my eyebrows questioningly. She immediately scowled back. ‘What? Don’t look at me like that. You look like a retard,’ she added charmingly.
She didn’t say this with quite as much conviction as she usually would though, and I was on the verge of asking her whether she had anything to tell me, but then Gary piped up.
‘All right sis,’ he said, in his weird voice. The tone of his voice is really strange. It’s slightly high pitched and seems to emanate from the back of his throat, or his nose possibly. He always sounds like he’s got a cold. I guess he’s what you’d describe as adenoidal.
He patted me on the arm and I shuddered. I find Gary pretty revolting if I’m honest. He goes to the gym every day and his honed body is so muscle-bound he can barely walk. His thighs are huge and his jeans, which tend to be pale blue Levi’s 501s, permanently look like they’re straining against them. He always wears the same kind of t-shirts too. White but embellished with glittery stuff, sequins, logos or jewels, which tend to plunge into a deep V neck, which gives what I bet he thinks is a tantalizing view of his pecs, but is in fact an off-putting glimpse of his muscular man boobs. He wears a lot of chunky, silver jewellery and his hair is styled into unimaginative spikes. He has tattoos on his biceps and Hayley thinks he’s gorgeous. I’m sure she’s not alone, but I think he’s horribly beefy and the thought of having sex with him leaves me repulsed.
Not of course that I would ever want to have sex with my sister’s husband, but you know what I mean. Just to be crystal clear, I’ve only even considered it in the first place because he’s such an overtly sexual person. Gary leaves a trail of pheromones and testosterone in his wake wherever he goes and is always pawing Hayley in public. Sometimes when doing so his breath quickens and, even in a room full of people, you can tell he’s a bit aroused and that he’d like to get Hayley on her own. I know … it’s foul. Also, he looks at other women, including me, a bit inappropriately sometimes. I know he doesn’t fancy me or anything but he definitely checks me out and I don’t like it.
‘Marianne,’ said Wendy, Hayley’s mother-in-law. Today she looked a bit like the Queen, only minus the pearls. Her hair was set and she was wearing a lilac skirt suit with a navy handbag. ‘How are you? Still no boyfriend?’
‘Er no,’ I replied, wondering why this was always her first line of enquiry but reluctant to tell her about Andy. Why should I?
‘Let me get you a drink,’ interrupted Martin, leading Wendy away by the elbow back towards the kitchen and giving me a little wink. I flashed him a grateful smile in return.
Half an hour later and things weren’t going quite as badly as I’d thought they might. I’d noticed that Hayley had declined a glass of wine and was on the orange juice and it was all I could do not to start nudging people. The men were on beer and Mum and Wendy were tucking into a bottle of white. Still feeling wrecked from the night before I had a cup of tea and ate my body weight in crisps and vol-au-vents.
‘So anyway,’ Mum was saying, her face slightly flushed. The wine had gone straight to her head. ‘You said you had something to tell us Hayley and I don’t think I can take the suspense any more. So what is it? Are you going to be treading the boards you clever girl? Or have you landed some amazing modelling contract somewhere?’
‘No Mum,’ said Hayley, rolling her eyes ever so slightly but still smiling. ‘No, the reason Gary and I wanted you all here today … actually hang on a second, where’s Pete?’
‘Oh that bloody boy. Has he buggered off upstairs again? Go and get him would you Mar?’
Martin leapt up to do her bidding and we could hear him in the hall, hollering up the stairs at his son.
As Pete thudded back down the stairs Mum smiled politely at Wendy and Derek before saying, ‘S’cuse my French.’
‘Not at all,’ said Derek, a self-important, ruddy-faced man who I sometimes think fancies Mum. Like father like son with their creepy roving eyes.
Looking thoroughly underwhelmed – his default disposition in life – Pete re-entered the room, only this time he was dressed as a teddy boy, which is how he likes to dress when he goes out with his friends. Or rather, friend. He only has one friend, Josh, that any of us know of anyway.
‘Hello Pete,’ said Wendy, looking disdainfully at him as her eyes swept up and down the length of him, taking in his drainpipe jeans, creeper shoes, long coat jacket and quiff.
Pete grunted. He’s a man of few words.
‘Isn’t
