let me get this straight. You’re in hospital because you ate too many space cakes and overdosed on marijuana?’ I just wanted to be clear.
‘I know, I know,’ he giggled. Brilliant. He was still high. ‘You’d think it was the Seventies.’
‘Dad, you know we don’t discuss anything that happened before I was born,’ I reminded him. As far as I was concerned, my parents came into existence in the early Eighties, my mother already pregnant with me and my father just a lovely, middle-aged Ken doll. They didn’t have sex and they certainly didn’t do drugs. He was really killing my champagne buzz. I was not beyond seeing the irony in that. ‘Just get lots of rest and I’ll call you tomorrow. When we will discuss the concept of “Just Say No”.’
‘Your mother wants to say goodnight,’ he said, giving me a huge yawn and ignoring my sanctimonious tone. It was a shame, really, because if I was being honest, I was quite enjoying it. ‘Call tomorrow, love.’
Even though my mum couldn’t see me, I took a moment to put on my best ‘Would you like to explain yourself to me, young lady’ face.
‘So, I’ve got to let your Auntie Sheila know if you’re going to be back for Boxing Day dinner at hers, because she’s buying the beef next week and needs to know.’
I was actually quite impressed at her attempt to get on with business as usual.
‘And obviously she’ll want to know how much weed to score,’ I added. ‘For dessert.’
‘Oh, very funny, Angela.’
‘Or will we be going straight on to the crack, what with it being Christmas?’
‘Angela, are you coming home or not? I’m sick of asking.’
‘I can’t.’ I tried to say it without whining, but it was difficult. ‘The flights are so expensive. Next year, I promise.’
I didn’t feel like explaining that next year I could be back for good. She didn’t deserve a shot of Schadenfreude: she would just love to hear all about my general failure as a human. I hadn’t been entirely honest with my parents about my professional status for the last few months, and by ‘not entirely honest’, I mean I’d been flat-out lying.
‘Oh, Angela Clark, you worry me sick,’ she moaned. ‘All the way out there, no money, spending Christmas on your own.’
‘I’m not on my own,’ I replied. ‘And I’m not broke.’ Only half of that was a lie. Pretty good going for a conversation with my mother.
‘Of course, this boyfriend of yours. When are we going to be meeting him? Is he back from gallivanting around the world without you?’
‘He was on tour, and you’ll meet him when you meet him,’ I said. The sound of Jenny shrieking in the other room reminded me I wasn’t in the middle of a very odd Nineties anti-drug after-school special but actually at a party. ‘I’ve got to go, I’m at Jenny’s – we’re having a Christmas party. Without any drugs.’
There was no way I could know that statement was true.
‘Fine, you go off and have your party and I’ll sit in the hospital with your father. Don’t worry about us.’
I paused and counted to ten before I spoke. ‘He’s not dying, Mother, he’s as high as a kite.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Love to Jenny.’
And she hung up.
I looked out at the busy Manhattan street below me. How was it that my father was in hospital after having an adverse reaction to a vast quantity of an illegal substance of which my mother had also partaken, and yet I was the one being made to feel like the irresponsible teenager? I watched someone come out of Scottie’s diner across the street and my stomach rumbled. Brilliant. I had sympathy munchies.
Only ten minutes in real time had passed since I’d left the room, but that equated to about three hours in party time. There were at least another dozen people squished into the front room, perching on windowsills and poking their heads into the fridge, and no one was where I had left them. Instead of finding my lovely friend, my wonderful boyfriend and his regrettable band mate on the sofa, it was populated by some very drunk male models and the man who swept the lobby every other morning. He seemed to be enjoying the male models. Who knew? The apartment wasn’t big enough for me to lose anyone, so if they weren’t in the front room and they weren’t in the kitchen, that left the bathroom or my old bedroom. Sure enough, while the rest of the flat was overrun with beautiful strangers, my old bedroom was populated with all of my friends. Erin and her husband, Thomas, Vanessa, Sigge, Alex and Jenny were all draped across the bed, laughing like loons. It was a fairly wonderful sight.
‘What did I miss?’ I asked, forcing my way into the throng. Everyone shuffled up and rolled around until we all had our own bit of bed. ‘Why are we in here?’
‘Because I just remembered I hate everyone I invited,’ Jenny said with delight in her eyes. ‘So we’re hiding.’
‘In that case, I propose we go over the road and get some chips – I’m starving,’ I said, resting my head against Alex’s chest and trying not to purr as he ran his hand through my hair. ‘I just talked to my mum and dad. Booze won’t be enough – it’s time to bring out the big guns.’
‘Ooh, I want a chilli dog.’ Jenny kicked me from across the bed. ‘Are they good? Are they coming over?’
‘Dear God no.’ Perish the thought. ‘My dad is in hospital because they went to a party and he got stoned and had a “funny turn”, and my mum is my mum. Apparently weed has absolutely no effect on her whatsoever.’
‘Your parents are awesome,’ Vanessa said to the ceiling.
‘My parents are dickheads,’ I replied.
‘Is he going to be OK?’ Alex asked.
‘He is.’ I was suddenly sober and shattered. There was only one cure.
‘Let’s get you something greasy,’ he said, sliding off the bed and holding out a hand.
‘I love you.’ I let him pull me off the bed. I wanted chips. I wanted chips so badly.
‘Angela?’ Sigge’s tone was innocent. ‘Were your parents at a swingers’ party?’
His question was not.
I turned to Alex with pursed lips and a glare that meant business. ‘I need to be eating right now.’
‘We have to do gifts before we leave.’ Jenny bounced up off the bed, bumping Thomas onto the floor and Erin onto her face. ‘Wait right here.’
‘Presents?’ I looked at Erin and Vanessa, alarmed. ‘We’re doing presents?’
Quite aside from the fact that I hadn’t bought any presents yet, it wasn’t Christmas, and I had very strict rules about opening presents before the twenty-fifth. This was only acceptable if the gift giver was going to be either out of the country or dead by Christmas morning. Clearly Jenny didn’t fall into either of those categories. In theory.
‘You
