The Reunion (11 page)

“Yes. Thank you, sir,” Sam added.

“I will go if that’s all right with you. Good luck, Sam,
hope to see you back in school tomorrow.”

The wait was a long one, almost another hour before the
X-ray then a further thirty minutes before being seen by the enthusiastic,
moon-faced doctor who looked far too young to be a medic. Fortunately there was
no break, just a bad sprain, resulting in another wait until a nurse applied a
bandage. David’s concern grew as it got nearer and nearer to Bridget’s arrival
time. They got home well after 5.00 pm and it was clear he wouldn’t have time
to get food before she arrived.

There was a ring of the doorbell on the dot of 5.30, by
which time Sam was sitting on the sofa in the lounge with his left leg propped
up, watching TV. Rachel was in her bedroom listening to Jay-Z and doing
homework. David had searched kitchen cupboards in the futile hope that Jane,
and ardent carnivore, had a hidden supply of vegetarian delights. A tin of
baked beans and a packet of frozen chips was all he would be able to offer.

The guests stood in the hall while David called up to
Rachel. At the third attempt she came downstairs to be introduced,
disappointing David with an ice cold greeting. They trooped into the lounge to
meet Sam who was cheerful enough in explaining what had happened.
Neighbours
was on and David suggested the children remain viewing while he and Bridget
went to the kitchen to sort things out. Once alone with her, he explained the
dilemma.

“Not a problem,” Bridget said. “You stay here with the
kids and I’ll go and get the food.”

“But I’m meant to be the host.”

“Well you didn’t count on Sam’s accident. It’s no big
deal, we passed Waitrose round the corner. I’ll nip out.”

“If you’re sure you don’t mind. I’ll get some money.”

“No need. You got the fireworks so it’s only fair I get
the food.” She turned and headed out the room before he could protest.

He called after her as she stood by the front door. “I’ve
made a list, it’s in my coat pocket by you there. The brown one.”

Bridget took the sheet of paper from his coat and dropped
it into her handbag. “Got it. Tell Andy and Kay I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

David went into the lounge where stony faces and silence
prevailed except for the piercing shrieks of the animals featured on
Michaela’s
Zoo Babies
. “Bridget’s popped out to get some food,” he informed them.

“What are we eating?” Sam asked.

“Hummus, couscous, pitta bread.”

Rachel reddened. “I hate stuff like that. Why can’t we
have proper food?”

“What do you mean by proper food?” the until now silent
Andy asked.

“Stuff that tastes good and has lots of protein.”

“And you’re the judge of that are you?”

“Yes, I know what’s good and what isn’t.”

“Well, I don’t think you do. Go on, define good.”

If looks could kill, Andy was close to death as Rachel
growled “meat of course, sausages, bacon, ham, chicken satay, anything except
bloody veggie stuff.”

Andy held his ground. “Well isn’t that a healthy diet. Before
you know it you’ll be as fat as the pigs you eat. And riddled with cancer, too.”

Rachel stood up. “Fuck you, veggie boy,” she muttered as
she exited.

A concerned David hoped Bridget would get back quickly. It
was Kay who took on the role of peace maker, breaking the icy silence by
chatting to Sam about his leg. She was a pretty girl, resembling her mother
with high cheekbones, blue eyes and light brown hair. It would be hard to
identify Andy as from the same family. He was tall and thin with a narrow face,
piercing eyes and longish jet black hair that was wild and uncontrollably curly.
Soon the three youngsters were chatting civilly and the crisis seemed over, at
least until Rachel reappeared.

The door bell rang and Bridget was back balancing
cardboard boxes of pizzas in one hand and three plastic bags in the other.

“Here, let me help,” David offered. He took hold of the
pizzas and they went into the kitchen, followed by Kay and Andy with Sam
limping after them.

Rachel joined the group as the boxes were being opened. “I
thought I smelt pizzas. What happened to the Greek stuff?”

“I reckoned you’d all prefer pizzas,” Bridget said
brightly. “There’s a roasted veg and a margarita for us, which you can share of
course, and I’ve got a ham and a pepperoni for you lot. And there are crisps
and cokes in the bags.” She had gained an instant giant brownie point and
before long the youngsters were tucking in.

“Can we watch
The Simpsons
before the fireworks?”
Rachel asked as they munched the last slices of pizza.

“Yeah, I’d like to,” Andy added, the antagonism between
the two children hopefully in remission.

“Is that OK with you, Bridget?” David asked. “We could do
a quick clear up then get started in about half an hour.”

The four youngsters headed back to the lounge, leaving
the adults to dispose of empty cartons, load the dishwasher, and drink a glass
of wine.

“That was a big hit,” David said. “An inspiration to
ignore my list.”

“I’m not sure I took the right piece of paper,” Bridget
replied with an expression of absolute serenity. She opened her bag and handed
David his now unfolded action plan, not altering her demeanour as David blushed
more than he ever imagined would be possible.

Escape was the only thought on his mind. “I need to check
the fireworks,” he mumbled. Bridget was left standing alone in the kitchen as
David fled out the back door and into the garden. Once inside the shed where
they were stored he had little desire to ever step out again. But there was no choice
because the audience was assembling outside.

“Can I light the first one, dad,” Sam asked. He had a
plastic bag over his slippered foot.

“OK, as long as you’re careful. What do you want?”

“A rocket of course.”

David went back in the shed to get one and brought it out
together with an empty wine bottle and the box of extra long matches.

Kay stood next to Sam as he placed the rocket inside the
bottle then lit the match and held it against the twist of paper until it
caught. “Quick. Run!” he called out to Kay as he hobbled towards the others. In
her rush to escape, Kay’s foot clipped the bottle which fell to the ground. The
resting position couldn’t have been more accurate if she’d tried. The rocket
took off at a shallow angle and with a piercing whistle and sparkles of red and
green light, shot straight through the open shed door before bouncing around in
a vain attempt to escape the confines of the building. There was a brief pause
before the rat-tat-tat of bangers. Then the whole shed was illuminated by a
shower of pastel pink sparks as a fountain ignited.

All this was happening in seconds, enough time for a range
of possible remedial actions to rush through David’s mind, but insufficient
time to get up and do anything. Finally he edged towards the shed. Before he
had taken more than a few steps there was an almighty explosion as the whole
collection of rockets was set off. One came flying through a window with an
almighty crash, sending a shower of glass onto the lawn. Another shot out the
shed door, staying low as it headed towards the spectators. They scattered to
dodge the missile.

“Wick-ed!” Rachel yelled.

“This is so cool,” Andy added.

By now in addition to a cacophony of noise and an
explosion of colour, the shed itself was alight.

“Have you got a hose, David,” Bridget called out.

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“In the shed, I’m afraid.”

“What about buckets?”

“There are a couple in the kitchen, under the sink.”

Rachel and Andy ran in to collect them, but their feeble
attempts to throw water from too far a distance did little to diminish the
flames which were now coming through the roof. The last fireworks to go were
jumping jacks which scuttled out the shed, bouncing along the lawn. A
discussion ensued about whether to call the fire brigade, David deciding
against it as the shed was well away from their own and their neighbours’
houses so couldn’t spread to other buildings. They watched transfixed as the
fire waned and the light dimmed.

“Well, that was the best firework display I’ve ever
seen,” Andy exclaimed as they made their way indoors.

“Good, I’m glad you enjoyed it. I never much liked that
shed anyway,” David said, making light of the incident, but aware of the
problem to come.

“What made you decide on having fireworks here? We always
used to go to the park.”

“I thought it would be nice for the children to have a
quiet event at home,” David suggested.

Jane stood and walked across to the fridge where she took
out a carton of milk. She inspected the label. “Since when have you been
drinking this?”

“It’s called milk, you’ve seen it before.”

“Not red top.”

“It’s healthier. And safer to go organic, too.”

“Have you got a heart problem?” she asked.

“Absolutely not, I’m fine.” He glanced at Jane, did she look
disappointed? He didn’t like the way she came in as if she owned the place,
though admittedly she did own half of the part not held by the mortgage
company. On arrival, using the key without ringing the bell, she’d entered with
the merest of nods to acknowledge his presence before walking into the kitchen
and turning on the coffee machine.

She’d found out about the shed fire from Sam and had come
to see the damage.

The day before this visit another letter from her
solicitor had arrived, advising David that he needed to get an estate agent to
value the house ahead of making any financial settlement. Jane was there to
assess the impact of the accident ahead of the valuation. “It’s a complete
wreck, you must have had a hell of a lot of fireworks.”

“It is wooden, Jane.”

“Was wooden, David. What else was in it, apart from
fireworks?”

“Just the usual stuff.” David fought off panic.

“If insurance doesn’t cover it you’ll have to pay since
you burnt it down. That’s only fair.”

Jane tilted her head back to catch the last dregs of
cappuccino. She replaced the cup on the saucer and looked across at him. There
was a thin line of frothed milk above her upper lip, it made her appear less
threatening, comical. She looked down at the cup. “We’ve got four of these,
haven’t we? I think I’ll take them, they’re rather nice. You use mugs so they
won’t be missed.” She got up, opened the unit above the dishwasher and removed
the three remaining cups and saucers. She set them down on the table then
opened a base unit to get a plastic bag.

“The Times now,” she remarked as she wrapped a cup using
the travel section of the newspaper lying as yet unread on the kitchen table. She
carefully placed it in the bag and began to wrap a saucer. “Mail not good
enough for you?”

“I quite like a newspaper to have some news in it,” he
sniped, watching with discomfort as she moved around the kitchen knowing where
everything was. He resolved to rearrange things as soon as she’d left.

“I didn’t just come over to see the burnt shed. I need to
collect some warmer clothes now that the weather’s turning.”

David’s panic intensified. This was it.

She moved towards the hall. “Are the kids upstairs?”

“Jane.”

“Yes?”

“I found it impossible to keep your clothes in our
bedroom. The thought of them in the wardrobes near our, my bed, was upsetting. So
I took them out and bagged them up. I was going to let you know so you could
come over to collect.”

“Well, I’m here now so I’ll take them, but I wish you’d
left it for me to pack. I could have sorted them out the way I wanted and made
sure they were properly folded, which I’m sure you haven’t done. Where are
they?”

“I’m sure you can appreciate that I was pretty angry
about what’s happened.”

“I don’t want to go through all that again. Where are
they?”

“I didn’t want them in the house, I took them out. I put
them in the shed.”

There’s often a moment of silence before an explosion,
the calm before the storm. The streak of lightning before the clap of thunder. The
release of the missile before the explosion on impact. The…

“You absolute bastard, David!” she shrieked. “You
absolute fucking toss head bastard.”

“I didn’t burn them on purpose.”

“You make me sick. You’re a pathetic creep, do you know
that. A pathetic moronic creep.”

Rachel was by the door. “Well I rather like him.”

Jane spun round. She managed to change tone. “Rachel
dear, it’s nice to see you. Do you know what your father’s done? He’s burned
all my clothes.”

“Oh dear, how sad,” Rachel said with a broad grin.

“And I can see that he’s completely corrupted you. You
haven’t even tried to understand how I feel.”

“How’s Uncle Jim, mummy?” she asked, emphasising the last
word.

“He’s fine thank…you’re being sarcastic, aren’t you.”

“Of course not, my sweet considerate mummy.”

Jane turned to face David. “Every penny of damage you’re
going to have to pay for and still more for the stress you’ve given me.” She
turned, ignoring Rachel as she stormed past her, heading towards the front
door.

“Don’t forget your cups and saucers, Jane,” David called
out. He adopted a calm and pleasant tone, one that might be used if he was
suggesting it would be prudent to take an umbrella on the off chance that it could
rain. He lifted the bag and lobbed it high in the air towards her, though
taking care not to hit. The bag landed with an almighty crash on the wooden
floor.

Jane exited, slamming the front door shut.