‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes. I mean, I’m not resentful. Not now. Not really.’
It was no wonder if her parents did prefer Simon, thought Jenny. He’d always been the perfect son. Never a hint of rebellion. It was entirely typical of him that he should walk past at this very moment, right on cue.
‘Oh, hello, Mother,’ he said. ‘Hello, Jenny. You look nice!’
‘There’s no need to sound so surprised.’
‘Well … you’re my sister.’
‘I mean not that I want gracious compliments, anyway. They’re so sexist.’
‘Simon?’ said Liz. ‘Would you say I favoured you as a child, at Jenny’s expense?’
‘Good Lord, no! You were absolutely fair.’
‘You see!’ said Jenny triumphantly, when Simon had moved on.
‘What?’
‘If Simon thinks you were fair, you must have been favouring him outrageously. Which isn’t surprising, really.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well … you’ve always been a man’s woman, haven’t you?’
Jenny had never seen the blood rush to her mother’s cheeks before.
‘You bitch!’ said Liz.
‘Mum!’ said Jenny, as Liz stormed off. ‘I didn’t mean … I only … Oh!’
Paul and Laurence returned with Ted’s scotch, Rita’s gin and tonic, dry white wine for Liz and Jenny, and a pint of bitter for Paul – a pint of bitter as an apéritif at a dinner dance! Were these Simcocks deliberately uncouth or merely ignorant?
‘Where’s your mother?’ said Laurence, and Jenny burst into tears and ran from the room.
‘She does that a lot,’ said Paul proudly, and he set off to follow her.
‘Paul!’ said Laurence. ‘Sometimes, a woman needs to be alone.’
‘Not Jenny,’ said Paul. ‘Our marriage is a totality of shared experience.’
‘Berk,’ said Laurence softly to Paul’s back, and then Rodney and Betty Sillitoe were bearing down on him. Rodney looked as if he’d slept in his suit for a week. Betty was wearing a mauve dress and a string of real pearls.
‘Rodney and Betty Sillitoe,’. said Rodney. ‘Ted and Rita’s friends. We met at the wedding.’
‘I do remember,’ said Laurence drily. ‘What a pleasant surprise! What brings you to these festivities?’
‘Timothy Fincham invited us,’ said Rodney Sillitoe, and felt obliged to add, ‘He isn’t our dentist.’
‘Rodney’s provided the chickens,’ said Betty Sillitoe, who was over-powdered as usual.
‘Funnily enough,’ said Laurence, ‘I was listening to Radio Gadd this morning … for the news, I can’t stand their … well, you can’t call it music … and I heard an advert for your Cock-A-Doodle Chickens.’
‘“Which chickens give the best value? Cock-A-Doodle Do.”’
‘That was it. I suppose it must be a bit of a problem finding decent copy writers for local radio.’
‘I wrote that myself,’ said Rodney Sillitoe.
‘I must go and check the seating arrangements,’ said Laurence Rodenhurst.
‘Where’s my pint?’ said Paul, when they returned after Jenny had washed the tears away, and they had kissed passionately in the corridor.
‘You’re not going to forget to check that the chickens are free-range, are you?’ said Jenny.
‘Bloody hell!’ said Paul. ‘Do you want me to die of thirst?’
He went off, with slightly bad grace.
‘I didn’t mean straightaway,’ Jenny called out, but it was too late.
As Paul reached the door, he met Percy Spragg hobbling painfully in.
‘Hello, Grandad,’ said Paul, surprised. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Mr Mercer invited me. He’s not my dentist, but he’s a friend.’
‘How’s Grandma? I’m coming to see her tomorrow.’
‘The doctors say she’s satisfactory. It seems a strange description to me.’
The bow-legged Percy Spragg moved on, seemingly unabashed by the great crush of dentists and their guests. You might have thought he went to dinner dances every night.
He came face to face with Rita.
‘Dad!’ said Rita. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I’m glad you’re so pleased to see me,’ said Percy. ‘Mr Mercer invited me. He drinks at my pub. He drives me to the football.’
‘He invited you here? Why?’
‘Incredible though this may seem, Rita, he likes me. He thought I might be lonely, with our Clarrie in the General. Unlike some people, he seems to think I know how to behave in public. Des O’Connor! What’s he got to look so pleased about?’
‘What do you mean – “unlike some people”?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Well, don’t let him down. Don’t drink too much.’
‘I’ll try not to fart too often an’ all.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Paul. ‘They’re free-range.’
‘Amazing,’ said Jenny. ‘I mean, I could just have had the veg, but …’
Rodney and Betty Sillitoe bore down on them. The big wheel behind Cock-A-Doodle Chickens gazed with frank admiration at Jenny’s legs. He kissed her enthusiastically and said, ‘Mmm! Pregnancy suits you!’ Jenny recognized the disinterested quality of his admiration and kissed him back, warmly. Betty Sillitoe beamed. Paul spotted his pint. Everybody was happy. Rodney Sillitoe said, ‘Well, the moment of truth approaches.’ Betty said, ‘It’s the first time he’s been to a do where they’re using his chickens. He’s like a cat in a hot tinned soup.’ Jenny said, ‘I didn’t realize you did free-range chickens.’ Rodney said, ‘I don’t.’ Paul, about to take his first sip, froze.
‘Paul!’ said Jenny. ‘You lied to me.’ And she rushed off again.
‘Jenny!’ said Paul. ‘Oh heck!’ He put his pint down sadly. ‘I haven’t even had a drink yet.’
Jenny, halfway to the door, swung round. ‘I’m really learning about your priorities tonight,’ she said. ‘First, drink. Second, me,’ and she picked up Paul’s pint and poured it over his head.
There was a momentary faltering in the buzz of conversation, and then it burst forth with renewed, excited vigour.
Paul rushed out in pursuit of his weeping wife.
Ted, who was trapped with Larry Benson, of fitted kitchen fame, and his lady wife, who was actually no lady, had watched this scene with some alarm. But at least it gave him an excuse to escape from the Bensons. He stepped forward to intercept the youngsters, but they were gone before he could reach them.
Now he found Liz at his side. ‘Don’t worry about them,’ she said. ‘A good row will do them good. We can have that talk on the dance floor later.’
‘Are you mad?’ said Ted. ‘We can’t be seen dancing together.’
‘We’re