Anne Goodwin
“Oh, Dolores, thanks for coming in at such short notice, and on your birthday, too. You weren’t doing anything special, I hope?”
I reach across to hang my cagoule on the hook next to Don’s denim jacket. “Not really.” Mother had invited the vicar over for a round of bridge, just like any other Friday night. “There’s nothing to celebrate once you hit forty, is there?”
“You’re a star.” He gives me a friendly peck on the cheek. “Don’t know how I’d run this place without you. Those students keep letting me down.”
“They don’t have our sense of responsibility, do they?”
Don helps me fasten a clean apron around my waist. Lord’s Restaurant transmogrified into The Bistro about five years ago and Mr. Lord—Don to old hands like me—had us kitted out in a new uniform: plain black trousers and T-shirts with an ankle-length starched white apron that knocks against our shins when we walk. Looks stunning on the young ones.
“Let’s hope Angela lasts the night,” says Don. “I’ve given her the easier tables, mostly couples and threesomes. You’ve got tables 4, 5, 8 and 9. Okay?”
“Fine. I’ll go and look through the reservations to see what to expect.”
Don darts off to check the tables, while I consult the diary at reception. Table 4 is the biggest group: twenty people on a work’s night out. But it’s table 5 that sets my heart thumping against my ribcage; a party of seven in the name of Dudley.
One Dudley is difficult enough, Mother used to say. Two are dangerous, three diabolical. All seven of them together are deadly. I go and find Don.
He’s putting the finishing touches to the place settings on table 2 and isn’t pleased to be disturbed. “No, you can’t swap with Angela. I need someone with your experience to handle the parties. Table 5 especially. The Dudleys are regulars. They may not come often but they do come every year. A joint birthday celebration: seven brothers and sisters all with their birthdays in the same month. I need you to serve them.”
“It might be awkward,” I say. “I know the family from way back.”
Don flings down the fork he is polishing. “Give me a break, Dolores. You grew up in this godforsaken town. You can’t not know half the customers from way back. Just deal with it, can’t you?” He storms off to the kitchen.
I take the discarded fork and place it exactly an inch to the left of the charcoal-grey placemat. I can feel a headache coming on. I try to reassure myself that it might not be those Dudleys. But it’s too much of a coincidence. Even as children, they always had a joint party and it was always on the day of Natalie-Veronica’s birthday, the same day as mine.
Natalie-Veronica: not even a double name could compensate her for lacking what all her siblings had, for the loneliness of not being a twin. Especially when so many people’s tongues were too lazy to grapple with the seven syllables of her name and reverted to her initials, NV, instead. The others’ names were also problematic. Getting above themselves with their pretentious foreign names, said Mother. Even the apparently straightforward Tony was short for something unpronounceable beginning with G.
Their parties must have been a riot. Three sets of twins and Natalie-Veronica. Seven children in six years: Mother said it was a scandal. No wonder Mrs. Dudley always looks so exhausted, she said. My parents had exchanged the marital bed for a pair of singles not long after I was born.
Living as we did in the same street, I had to work hard to keep myself aloof from the Dudleys. I’d leave extra early for school to avoid meeting them on the way. I’d wait until they’d been called indoors for their tea before venturing out on a message for Mother. And if, heaven forbid, they ever caught me and called out, Dolores, come and play, I’d turn my head away and cover my ears with my hands.
But Natalie-Veronica, the youngest, was especially persistent. I was a couple of years older than her, but when she discovered we shared the same birthday she tried to claim me for her own. I did my best to shake her off, but one day, when Mother was out shopping, she slipped through my defences. She called at our house to invite me to her birthday party and Father, ignorant of the nuances of my social life, asked her in to play.
Uncertain, I led her upstairs to my bedroom. You’ve got a whole room just for you? She picked up my toys and examined them, incredulous, as if she’d stepped into a child’s fantasy of Santa’s workshop. Is this Barbie really yours? And this one, too?
Hadn’t Father told me to show her my things? I’ve got something even better than that, I said and led her into Mother and Father’s room. I scrambled about in the bottom of the wardrobe until I found where they had hidden my birthday present. Wow, said Natalie-Veronica, aren’t you lucky? I’ve always wanted a doll’s house.
Something in the way she looked at it, as if measuring up just how strong the walls were, made me uneasy. It’s mine, I said. You can’t play with it. Natalie-Veronica just shrugged and thrust the heel of one of Mother’s stilettos right through the plywood roof.
When Mother got home, Father was shouting at me and I was shouting at Natalie-Veronica and Natalie-Veronica was staring defiantly at the doll’s house, reduced to a pile of kindling on my parents’ bedroom floor. Then Mother started shouting at Father and I started crying and Natalie-Veronica was sent home. I never did go to the party. Mother and Father and I had cakes and scones at The Tower Tearooms instead.
I slip out to the cloakroom and swallow a couple of aspirins. When I return to the restaurant, Don is showing a barrel-bellied man to table 5. Tony, the eldest Dudley: I don’t like to judge, but the man has a serious weight problem. I take a deep breath, smooth down my apron, and go over.
“Good evening, sir. Can I get you a drink while you’re waiting?”
Tony grabs a breadstick and mutters his order. He hardly looks at me. Of course not, none of the diners notices the waitress unless she’s young and blonde, like Angela. I almost float to the bar for Tony’s gin and tonic. Why was I so worried about meeting the Dudleys again after all these years? They’re going to be so wrapped up in each other, I’ll be invisible, except as the automaton that brings them their food and drink. I feel the thrill of anticipation. Like a fly on the wall, I can spy on them all evening, watch them without them seeing me, Dolores Goodchild, their thirty-years-ago schoolmate and neighbour. It’s going to be interesting to see how they’ve all turned out. Not all that well, I reckon, by the look of Tony.
I’m kept quite busy running around my tables, but not too busy to notice how, in their different ways, each of the Dudleys has fulfilled Mother’s prophecy. Look at them all, doing exactly as they please, she said. They’ll come to a bad end. Slov, consistent with his complete absence of get-up-and-go as a child, turns up looking like a down-and-out in a faded T-shirt and ripped jeans. At the other extreme, Pryth, in her hat and fox-furs, is embarrassingly overdressed for the informal Noughties. She looks quite as ridiculous as when, first in the school to get a peacock haircut, she put up posters of herself all along the corridors advertising her fan club. Her twin, Inge, seems as ready to pick fault as ever, insisting the wine is corked. Quite as indignant as that time she tried to get our class to go on strike, bullying us to stay in the playground when the bell rang for the end of break. I can’t remember what her grievance was, but it can’t have been much. As Mother said, What can school children possibly have to strike about? As for Averiss, I realise I’m surprised she’s here at all, and not in prison, after all the scams she had going as a child. As I pass Don on the way to the kitchen for their starters, I wish I had time to tell him about when she bought up all the multipacks of Bonzo bars from the school tuckshop and then sold them on individually at one hundred percent profit. She got a week’s detention for that.
Of course, Natalie-Veronica is the one who causes me most anxiety, but I need hardly have worried. With her double chin and middle-aged spread, not even Father without his glasses would invite her to play tonight. Her behaviour, however, is quite as petulant as ever. When I bring the starters, she suddenly decides that she wants what Lustig is having, so I have to take away her prawns and come back with another plate of oysters. As for Lustig, I must confess I do find myself blushing when I see how good-looking he still is. But he looks rather less attractive receiving a slap from Angela after he reaches out to try to touch her bottom as she squeezes between the tables with the pepper grinder.
When I’ve cleared away the starters, Don joins me in the kitchen. “You seem to be doing okay. Got over your demons from the past?”
I laugh. “It was silly to get myself all worked up about the Dudleys. The playground bullies lose their power when they grow up, don’t they? I’m quite enjoying myself, actually.”
“I’m glad,” says Don. “I always thought they were such a nice family. They certainly know how to enjoy themselves.”
I’m about to ask him what he means, but Angela comes in and commandeers him to explain to table 2 that we only serve the paella if it’s been ordered a day in advance.
The next hour is particularly hectic, delivering the main courses to all the different tables and trying to remember who ordered what. Someone wants tomato ketchup and someone else didn’t realise that the garlic mash would taste of garlic and everybody needs their glasses topped up. Just when I think things might be settling down, table 9 is calling for the dessert menu. I’m describing the iced lemon parfait for the third time, when a cacophony of laughter drags my attention back to the Dudleys. Pryth has just finished telling a joke. She glows with the pleasure of her performance, while her siblings are united in their appreciation. They certainly know how to enjoy themselves, them Dudleys! And I didn’t even get to hear the punchline.
On the way to the kitchen with table 9’s dessert order, I pause to observe the family from a distance. The women are chattering away excitedly, as if they have a whole year’s worth of gossip to catch up on. But it’s the three brothers, each of them only half attending to the conversation, who intrigue me. Tony’s attention is directed primarily towards his Thai-style fishcakes. Instead of gobbling his food like the stereotypical overeater, he takes dainty forkfuls to savour the experience as long as he can, closing his eyes with each orgasmic mouthful. I doubt I’ve ever seen anyone enjoy a meal so much. Except … except when he and I were kids and climbed over our neighbour’s fence to steal cherries from the garden. So long ago, I’d quite forgotten, but now the memory is so vivid I can almost feel the juice dripping down my chin. We paid for it afterwards, of course, with stomach ache. At least, I did. The fruits were so delicious I couldn’t stop eating.
Across the table, Slov seems entranced by his inner world, as if the latest Hollywood blockbuster is being premiered on a private screen in his head. He had exactly that air of tranquil self-containment as a child, the day the two of us bunked off school to go fishing. He had such patience, whereas I could hardly be bothered to bait my line properly. Only he had fish to take home for tea that day.
Then there’s Lustig, his twin. I notice Angela wink at him as she walks by with a tray of glasses, as if she’s actually enjoying his dirty-old-man flirtation. It’s shocking how some women indulge such behaviour. I can see the temptation; didn’t I feel proud to walk home with him from my first school disco? Fortunately I had the sense to leave it at that. Half the girls in our school lost their virginity to him. They didn’t have mothers to support them to save themselves for someone special. Someone like Don, perhaps, when he’s ready.
Most of the diners have left now, and my varicose veins are aching, but the Dudleys still require the services of a waitress. They’ve had their desserts, and then coffees and brandies, and a supposedly surprise birthday cake with seven candles. Now they want more brandies.
“And one for yourself,” says Lustig.
“No thanks, not while I’m on duty.”
“One little drink won’t harm you,” says Slov.
“I can’t believe it!” Natalie-Veronica has discovered the woman behind the waitress and I’m no longer a fly on the wall. “It’s Dolores Goodchild, isn’t it?”
All seven Dudleys stare at me in astonishment. Lustig grabs my hand. “My first love!” Are those tears in his eyes?
“Dolores Goodchild, you were such a prankster,” says Tony. “Remember making me climb into the neighbour’s garden to get at the cherry tree?”
I’m astounded. “It was the other way round. You were the ringleader.”
The Dudleys aren’t listening. “So full of yourself, you were,” says Pryth, laughing. “They said I was confident, but I was nothing to you. Remember your fan club when you got that peacock haircut? I was your first member.”
“So fearsome,” says Inge. “If the slightest thing annoyed you, you wouldn’t let it go. You even made our class to go on strike.”
“I always admired your determination to get what you wanted and bugger everyone else,” says Averiss. “Your scam with the Bonzo bars from the tuckshop was sheer genius.”
They’re still at it: naughty children will always try to pin their misdemeanours on someone else. “It wasn’t me.”
“So, what are you up to now?” Natalie-Veronica asks. “Have you taken over the restaurant from Don?”
“Oh, no, I’m just a waitress.”
Pryth claps her hands. “I knew it! You’re an actress! Waitressing between jobs.” She turns to Inge, her twin. “Didn’t I always say Dolores Goodchild would have a glamorous career. She had such self-belief as a child.”
“No, I’m a waitress. That’s my job. Nothing else.”
“So you’ve prioritised your family over your career,” says Pryth. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“How many children do you have?” says Lustig.
“I don’t have children. I never found the right man.”
“Your hobbies are your passion, I presume?” says Slov.
There’s not much passion in partnering the vicar at bridge on a Friday night. “Never mind me, what about yourselves? Jobs? Children? I’m curious.” Mother said them Dudleys would come to a bad end. Mother was never wrong.
Pryth smiles. “Eleven children between us. Not counting those Lustig doesn’t know about”
Lustig digs his sister in the ribs. “She’ll get the wrong impression.”
“I’m a buyer for a department store,” says Natalie-Veronica. “It’s like Christmas every day.”
“I’m in advertising,” says Pryth. “Showing off as ever. And Inge’s still trying to put the world to rights. She’s a campaigner for Social Justice.”
I can feel my headache starting up again. This isn’t how Mother said it would be.
“I’m a property developer,” says Averiss. “Don’t do too badly. And Tony loves his food so much he’s become a restaurant critic.”
“Don’t worry,” says Slov, “he’s off-duty tonight. As for me, I’m still dreaming.”
“He means he’s a poet,” says Lustig. “While I, for my sins, am a sex therapist.”
I feel the blood rush to my face. “I’d better get your bill.”
I find Don in the kitchen. Helping Angela wind down after the evening’s work. With her top off. And his hands on her breasts.
“How could you?”
At least the girl has the grace to cover herself with an apron. He just glares. “She’s over sixteen.”
“What about me? Is this what I get for my years of loyalty?”
“I don’t owe you anything,” says Don. “Ours is just a working relationship.”
That’s when something takes over me, something weird I’ve never felt before. I pick up a plate and let it drop to the floor. I do it again. And again. The shattering crockery makes a sound like a chorus of undisciplined church bells. Don stands with his arm around Angela’s shoulders. At first I can’t decipher their expressions. Then I realise: they’re terrified.
Lustig appears in the doorway. “I thought you were getting our bill.”
Don hurries him back towards the restaurant. He cocks his head back at me and mouths: “You’re fired.”
It isn’t fair, Mother. I was the good girl.
I follow the men back to table 5. Don is apologising to the Dudleys for the disturbance. He hopes it won’t put them off coming next year.
I put my arm through Natalie-Veronica’s. “That was fun,” I say. “The evening’s still young. How about we all go off to a nightclub?”
© Copyright 2009 Anne Goodwin