‘Bit much for a kitchen supper, isn’t it?’ Rhys says, when they trip downstairs. Literally, in the case of Felicia, who’s borrowed Yasmin’s heels.
‘We’re going out,’ Tabby says.
‘No, you’re not.’ Yasmin’s in tight black jeans and sneakers, her sparkly top the only festive concession. ‘We’re having supper with the Charltons.’
‘But—’
‘No buts. It’ll be nice.’
It isn’t fucking nice. Neither Felicia nor Tabby are the sort to throw tantrums – they know exactly how many presents are under the tree right now, and they also know their parents aren’t above removing a few to teach them a lesson – but both girls are expert sulkers. They give monosyllabic answers until the adults give up.
Felicia messages Tabby. Pub afterwards? Seren says there’s always a lock-in. Her sister nods furiously. Woody and Hester are being brattish, as usual. Blythe got them to sing ‘Jingle Bells’ and they literally did it ten times without stopping. Now they’re chasing each other around the table.
‘If you don’t go to sleep,’ Yasmin says, ‘Father Christmas won’t come.’
Felicia and Tabby exchange glances. Mum’s not taking any shit tonight, they can tell from her voice.
Blythe puts a hand on her husband’s arm. ‘Jonty, darling, could you put the children down? You’re so much better at it than I am.’
Jonty swoops down on the brats, who could be crying or laughing, Felicia can’t tell. ‘Come on, you horrors.’
Mum’s gazing at Jonty as if he’s the fucking Messiah. It’s still going on, then. She wants to cry, or hit something, or run around screaming, like Woody and Hester.
Felicia had found a text from Jonty on her mum’s phone, back in the summer. I can’t wait to fuck you. She’d deleted it, then dropped the phone as if it had bitten her, shaking with fear and confusion. What had she just read? She’d wanted to tell Tabby, but talking about it would make it real, and Felicia didn’t want it to be real. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe Jonty thought he was texting someone else.
Felicia had watched her parents closely over the next few days, but they seemed the same as they’d always been. Not lovey-dovey – which would be gross – but they didn’t seem to hate each other, either. Mum wasn’t acting as if she was having an affair. Three days later Felicia snuck Yasmin’s phone out of the bedroom, when her mum was in the shower.
You taste as good as I imagined.
Felicia thought she was going to be sick. Jonty Charlton and Mum. Mum and Jonty Charlton. It was disgusting. And poor Dad! He’d be devastated if he knew – he mustn’t ever, ever find out. Felicia had clung to the thought that it was a one-off, or that her mum had gone temporarily insane – some sort of menopausal crisis – and that everything would go back to normal soon. In the meantime, she’d stuck to Yasmin like glue, doing her best to make sure she was never on her own with Jonty.
There were no more texts on Yasmin’s phone, after The Shore closed at the end of the summer, and Felicia could have cried with relief. But the look in Yasmin’s eyes just now . . . if there isn’t still something going on between them, it’s obvious she wants there to be.
‘Why can’t we be at the party?’ Tabby is saying. They’re talking about New Year’s Eve. Felicia’s torn between not wanting to be anywhere near the Charltons, and knowing it’s going to be an awesome party. Like, an Instagram gold kind of party.
‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to hang out with us old people,’ Jonty says. Felicia glowers at him. He’s not wrong there. She imagines the vibe, right now, at the Frog & Hammer, and wants to be there so badly she can almost taste the Porn Star martinis she’d be ordering with Esme’s dad’s money. Her mum starts arguing with Blythe about who’s hosting the party, and Felicia just can’t be fucked with any of it.
‘We should invite some of the locals,’ her dad is saying, and now Jonty’s back from putting his kids to bed and rubbing Blythe’s shoulder like he’s not fucking someone else’s wife. God, she doesn’t know how Mum can sit there next to Dad as if nothing’s wrong.
Blythe says something about having diverse representation within your friendship circle, and Felicia gives her a supportive look. Like, that’s a bit of a wanky thing to say, especially when Felicia knows for a fact the only ethnic minority in Blythe’s circle is her Korean masseuse, but the woman’s married to a shit, so.