‘Home sweet home, Lou.’
It was only over the next few days, as the hangover haze had begun to lift, that Lou realised he didn’t recall once giving Gabe any directions to his home that night.
‘Mum, Dad, Marcia, Quentin, Alexandra!’ Lou announced at full boom, as soon as the door had been pulled open by his startled-looking mother. ‘I’m ho-ome,’ he sang, embracing his mother and planting a smacker on her cheek. ‘I’m so sorry I missed dinner, it was such a busy evening at the office. Busy, busy, busy.’
Even Lou couldn’t keep a straight face for that excuse, and so he stood in the dining room, his shoulders moving up and down, his chest wheezing in a near silent laugh, watched by startled and unimpressed faces. Ruth froze, watching her husband with mixed feelings of anger, hurt and embarrassment. Somewhere inside her there was jealousy too. She’d had a day of dealing with Lucy’s uncontrollable excitement that had been channelled in all the positive and negative ways a child could possibly behave, and then later dealt with her nerves and tears as she wouldn’t go on stage until her father had arrived. After returning from the school play, she’d put the kids to bed and run around the house all evening in order to get the dinner ready and bedrooms ready for guests. Her face was now bright red from the hot kitchen and her fingers burned from carrying hot dishes. She was flushed and tired, too, physically and mentally drained from trying to stimulate her children in all the ways a parent should; from being on her knees on the floor with Pud, to wiping the tears and offering advice to a disappointed Lucy, who’d failed to find her father in the audience despite Ruth’s attempts to convince her otherwise.
Ruth looked at Lou swaying at the doorway, his eyes bloodshot, his cheeks rosy, and she wished that that could be her, throwing caution to the wind and acting the eejit in front of their guests. But he’d never stand for it – and she’d never do it – and that was the difference between them. But there he was, swaying and happy, and there she was, static and deeply dissatisfied, wondering why on earth she had chosen to be the glue holding it all together.
‘Dad!’ Lou announced. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages! It’s been so long, hasn’t it?’ He smiled, walking towards his father with an extended hand. He sat down in the chair beside him, pulling it closer and scraping the floor so that their elbows were almost touching. ‘Tell me what you’ve been up to. Oh, and I wouldn’t mind some of that red wine, thanks so much. My favourite, honey, well done.’ He winked at Ruth, then proceeded to spill most of it on the white linen as with an unsteady arm he poured it into an unused glass.
‘Steady there now, son,’ his father said quietly, reaching out to help him steady his hand.
‘Dad, I’m fine.’ Lou pulled away from him, splashing wine over his father’s shirt sleeves.
‘Ah, Aloysius,’ his mother said, and Lou rolled his eyes.
‘It’s fine, love, I’m fine,’ his father said, trying to make light of it.
‘That’s your good shirt,’ she continued, reaching for her napkin, dunking it in her water glass and dabbing at her husband’s white sleeves.
‘Mum,’ Lou looked around the table, laughing, ‘I haven’t killed the man, I just splashed wine.’
His mother threw him a look of scorn and looked away again, continuing to help her husband.
‘Maybe this will help.’ Lou reached for the salt and began shaking it over his father’s arms.
‘Lou!’ Quentin raised his voice. ‘Stop it!’
Lou stopped, then looked at Alexandra with a childish sheepish grin.
‘Ah, Quentin,’ Lou nodded at his brother, ‘I didn’t notice you there. How’s the boat? Got any new sails? Any new equipment? Won any competitions lately?’
Quentin cleared his throat, and tried to calm himself. ‘We’re actually in the final in two wee—’
‘Alexandra!’ Lou exploded, mid Quentin’s sentence. ‘How can I not have kissed the lovely Alexandra?’ He stood up and, bumping against the backs of everybody’s chairs, he made his way over to her. ‘How is the beautiful Alexandra tonight? Looking ravishing, as always.’ He reached down and hugged her tight, kissing her neck.
‘Hi Lou,’ she smiled. ‘Good night?’
‘Oh, you know, busy, busy, lots of paperwork to get through.’ He threw his head back and laughed again, loud like a machine gun. ‘Ah dear. Oh, what’s the problem in here? You all look like somebody’s died. You could do with rockets shoved up your arses, come on.’ He shouted a little too aggressively and clapped his hands in front of their faces. ‘Boring.’ He turned to look at his sister Marcia. ‘Marcia,’ he said, followed by a sigh. ‘Marcia,’ he repeated. ‘Hi,’ he simply said, before making his way back to his chair, smiling childishly to himself.
Gabe hovered awkwardly by the dining-room door in the long heavy silence that followed.
‘Who have you brought with you, Lou?’ his brother Quentin interrupted, holding out his hand and moving towards Gabe. ‘Sorry, we weren’t introduced. I’m his brother, Quentin, and this is my wife, Alexandra.’
Lou wolf-whistled, then laughed.
‘Hello, I’m Gabe.’ Gabe shook Quentin’s hand and entered the dining room. He made his way around the table, shaking hands with all the family.
‘Lou,’ Ruth said quietly, ‘perhaps you should have some water or coffee, I’m about to make some coffee.’
Lou sighed loudly. ‘Am I an embarrassment, Ruth, am I?’ he snapped. ‘You told me to come home. I’m home!’
There was a silence around the table as people awkwardly tried to avoid each other’s gazes. Lou’s father looked at him angrily, the colour rising in his face, his lips trembling slightly as though the words were rushing out of them yet weren’t making any sound.
Gabe continued to make his way around the table.
‘Hello, Ruth, I’m very pleased to finally meet you.’
She would barely look him in the eye as she limply took his hand.
‘Hi,’ she said quietly. ‘Please excuse me while I just take all this away.’ She stood up from the table and began carrying the leftover cheese plates and coffee cups into the kitchen.
‘I’ll help you,’ Gabe offered.
‘No, no, please, sit down.’ She rushed into the kitchen with a load in her arms.
Gabe disobeyed and followed her anyway. She was leaning against the counter where she had placed the crockery, her back to him. Her head was down, her shoulders hunched, all life and soul of the woman gone at that very moment. He made a noise placing the plates beside the sink so that she knew he was there.
She jumped now, alert to his presence, composed herself, life and soul returning from their time-out, and she turned around to face him.
‘Gabe,’ she smiled tightly, ‘I told you not to bother.’
‘I wanted to help,’ he said softly. ‘I’m sorry about Lou. I wasn’t out with him tonight.’
‘No?’ She folded her arms and looked embarrassed for not knowing.
‘No. I work with him at the office. I was there late when he got back from the … well, from his coffee meeting.’
‘When he got back to the office? Why would he …’ She looked at him with confusion and then, ever so slowly, a shadow fell across her face as realisation dawned. ‘Oh, I see. He was trying to drive home.’
It