A French Wedding (19 page)

‘She felt sorry for him,' Max says, giving another laugh.

‘Give it a rest, Max,' Nina mutters. ‘Tell us, Beth,' she encourages. ‘We know everyone else's stories. We're sick of them.'

‘We met at the hair salon,' Eddie says, reaching an arm around Beth.

‘Where I work,' Beth adds.

‘I bet you get hit on all the time,' Lars says, but in a way that is kind, somehow big-brotherly.

Beth shrugs. ‘I don't pay much attention. People are different with hairdressers. They like being looked after, being listened to; it makes 'em feel good.'

‘I love my hairdresser,' Rosie confesses. ‘I'd follow him to the ends of the world. If he moved to Australia I might have to move too.'

‘Well, that's nice,' Hugo mutters.

‘I don't have a hairdresser,' Soleil says.

‘Yeah. No kidding,' Max murmurs.

Nina nods at Rosie. ‘I feel the same. My hairdresser is a gay Japanese man. I would have his babies if he asked me.'

‘Aw, Mum, that is gross,' Sophie groans. Juliette notices she has finished the lamb she put on her plate.

‘Seriously!' Nina giggles. ‘Those head massages … when he shampoos my hair … oh my God …'

‘Mum!'

Nina and Lars laugh together.

‘Do
you
give
good
head
massages?'
Max
asks
Beth,
his
voice
a
drunken
purr.
Attention
snaps
back
to
him. Rosie shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Juliette
watches
Beth.
She
gives
a
polite
smile,
then
turns
to
Eddie.
‘What
do
you
think,
babe?'

Eddie grins and mimics Nina. ‘Oh. My. God.' He squeezes Beth closer to him. ‘I was getting my hair cut once a fortnight.'

Beth admits, ‘It was pretty short.'

‘I finally worked up the courage to ask her out. To a movie. That one with …'

‘George Clooney,' Beth supplies.

‘That's right. Spent the whole movie thinking what a fool I was. Taking her to watch George bloody Clooney and then hoping she would like the look of me after!'

Beth laughs. ‘I did.' She kisses his cheek. ‘I do.'

‘That's sweet,' Nina says softly.

Lars picks up her bandaged hand and holds it gently, like it is a stunned bird, in his palm. Then he reaches out and slowly rubs her back. Helen is watching them too. She glances over to Juliette. Juliette knows what she is thinking. She wants to revise her answer about happily ever after. She has seen it. Lars and Nina.

Max gets up from his chair. It topples over. ‘Whoops!'

‘I'll get it,' Juliette says, hurrying over.

‘I'm off for a piss,' he declares.

*

‘Max is on the juice tonight, eh, Helen?' Lars asks, once Max has left the room.

‘I'm not his keeper. It's his birthday.'

‘He was rude to Beth,' Rosie says.

‘I'm okay,' Beth replies cheerfully, though to Juliette she looks a little fatigued tonight.

‘Maybe he's worried about turning forty?' Rosie asks.

‘Maybe he's just rude,' Hugo says, to which Helen shoots him a glare.

‘Max drinks too much. So? That's not news,' she says. ‘You don't know everything about his life, about him.'

‘His life's not all bad, Helen,' Lars says.

‘Maybe. Lonely, though,' she says softly.

‘I think he makes sure he isn't lonely for too long,' Nina says wryly.

‘Hey, do you remember that time with his hat of change?' Eddie says, chuckling.

‘What were we drinking?' Lars asks.

‘God only knows. What was he
making
us drink?' Helen groans.

‘Wasn't it whiskey and something? Something disgusting and creamy, like Kahlúa?' Rosie says. Nina laughs. It really is a big, beautiful laugh, Juliette notices. A pink peony in full bloom. She smiles at her.

‘That's what it looked like coming back up, if I remember,' Nina says, pointing at Rosie, who laughs too. Hugo glances between the two of them disappointedly. Juliette begins gathering up empty plates. Soleil stands to help her.

‘What did the hat change?' Juliette asks.

‘It was a hat
full of
change. As in coins,' Helen replies.

‘Oh.'

‘He was working in a pub, collecting coins as tips. He put them into a woollen hat …' Eddie begins.

‘Which he had to wear because Rosie and I had shaved off his gorgeous hair …' Helen interrupts.

‘Then, when it was full,' Eddie continues, ‘he invited us all to the pub and dropped it in the middle of the table and told us we were going to spend it until we were all …'

‘Eddie,' Nina warns, tipping her head at Sophie.

‘Helen danced on the tables, do you remember that?' Lars says. ‘Had half the pub mesmerised.'

‘Oh, please,' Helen replies, rolling her eyes.

‘Especially you three,' Nina adds, looking pointedly at Eddie and Lars, clearly imagining Max with them.

‘Max gave us horsie rides home, didn't he, Rosie?' Helen says.

‘That's right. God, he was funny. All that neighing and falling over on the grass. How did we ever drink that much? I can't drink that much anymore.'

Eddie snorts. ‘Speak for yourself. I have the stamina of a racehorse.'

Beth is rubbing her boyfriend's shoulder. ‘Oh, darlin' …' she says so apologetically that everyone laughs.

Lars slaps the table. ‘Stamina of a what, Beth? Tell us the truth.'

Helen and Nina join in. ‘Yeah, tell us, Beth, stamina of what?'

Rosie takes a big drink from her glass and glances away.

‘A lady doesn't like to say –' Beth murmurs.

‘Hey, hey!' Eddie interjects. ‘That's enough. You're badgering my girl.'

‘I'm not bothered, honey,' Beth says, teasing. Eddie scoops her into his lap and puts a hand over her laughing mouth. When Eddie pulls his hand away they are both giggling and Beth's lipstick is smudged.

‘We're not giving up on you,' Helen warns Beth, winking.

The music starts up again. ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart' by Joy Division. Juliette hums along. Nina leans back in her chair. ‘I think we can blame Max for the folly of our youth,' she says wistfully. Everyone around the table nods.

‘He always had money for booze,' Eddie says admiringly.

‘And nothing else,' Helen says, shaking her head.

‘Didn't you have to pay his rent once?' Rosie asks.

‘More than once.' Helen turns to Juliette. ‘He's changed since then.'

Hugo gives a small grunt. Helen swivels to face him. ‘Did you want to say something, Hugo?'

‘Hugo,' Rosie hisses, warning.

‘No,' he replies, clearing his throat, returning Rosie's glare.

Helen says to Juliette, ‘He wasn't great with money; he'd never had any. He has it sorted now.'

‘He always spent it on us,' Nina says.

Helen nods. ‘He'd use his last pound on us – buying us something to make us happy. Dinner. A book –'

‘A beer,' Eddie adds, raising his glass.

Hugo stands up. ‘I'm going to bed.'

‘There's dessert … the birthday cake –' Juliette says.

Hugo raises his palm. ‘Thank you, but I'm full.
C'était délicieux
.'

Juliette nods. Helen looks down at the table.

‘Goodnight,' Rosie says as Hugo bends to give her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I'll be up later.'

‘Yes,' he replies briskly.

The music changes and everyone seems to drink at the same time. Juliette watches Sophie eat a few beans off her plate. Nina asks Helen, ‘What
were
you dancing to on the tables that night?'

‘Pulp,' Eddie answers for her.

‘Oh was I? I don't remember –' Helen starts to reply but dissolves into laughter.

‘That's right,' agrees Lars. ‘“Common People”.'

‘Don't judge me!' Helen pleads to Juliette, laughing so hard she is crying.

‘Classy,' Rosie says, grinning.

‘That's me.' Helen nods, with mock earnestness. They laugh and look down at their drinks. Pause. Listen to the music, get lost in memories.

Then there is a horrible noise. The smell reaches Juliette. Sharp and acidic. Everyone turns at once to Beth. There is a mess on the floo
r.

‘Sorry,' Beth says in a small voice.

Everyone is out of their chairs. ‘I'll get a cloth,' Soleil says. Juliette goes to Beth, who looks a little grey. Eddie is rubbing her back. Nina passes her a glass of water. Lars and Helen try to mop up the mess with some cloth napkins. From down the end of the table there is a disgusted sigh. Juliette glances across the detritus – wine and beer glasses, a candle shoved into an empty bottle, stained napkins screwed up into balls. Sophie is standing with arms crossed.

‘Grown-ups …' she mutters.

Nina straightens. ‘Sophie?'

‘Grown-ups are fucked up,' she says forcefully, leaving the room.

Max passes her on his way in. His eyes are red-rimmed as he studies the mess on the floor and the people gathered to clean it up. He claps his hands and guffaws. ‘Beth! Ha ha!'

To which everyone looks over to him and Soleil then returns with two cloths; one for Beth and one for the floor.

Chapter 12

Max

M
ax and Eddie remain in the dining room when Beth is tidied up and decamped to the lounge.

‘Sorry. About your floor,' Eddie says.

Max shrugs. ‘It's just a floor.'

‘But it's such a classy house. I mean, really … sorry,' Eddie repeats.

Max remembers Soleil's comments. About the house and about The Jacks. He tips the glass in his hand from side to side and feels that itch bloom and deepen. More of a rash than an itch. It's making him edgy. It's making him feel too much like his father.

Max isn't going to do drugs this weekend. He had promised himself. The stuff he'd taken in the car was to take the edge off. That was the last. He could go a weekend without it. He didn't want the others to think he had a problem. Besides, he didn't have a problem.

‘Did you ever think you'd be here?' Eddie asks, leaning back in his chair.

‘I never thought I'd leave Grahame Park, mate.'

Max hasn't said the words ‘Grahame Park' for a long while. He usually tries not to think of them. It's easier that way. Because when he does the images of the place, the lines of bricks and lines of houses, everything in lines and the sky like a wet rag and the faces of the people that had lived there too long, flashed in his mind. ‘Didn't think I'd get to forty either.'

Eddie nods. ‘You make forty look pretty good, Max.'

‘Thanks.' Max shifts in his chair. He hates this kind of talk. Eddie often wants to compliment Max and it makes him feel uncomfortable. ‘I'll let you know if I change my mind about not being into blokes,' he jokes. Eddie laughs and that shatters it. The images of Grahame Park, the faces, scattering.

Max really wants some coke.

He changes the subject. ‘You did well with her,' he says, nodding towards the lounge, towards Beth.

‘Yeah. You said that,' Eddie smirks. ‘Batting above my average.'

‘Hey, I call it how I see it,' Max replies.

‘Yeah, I know,' Eddie says ‘She's young, she's sexy and she's not a nutcase. I mean, she's actually really nice.'

‘Not many of those.'

‘We have a laugh. She gets my humour.'

‘Ah. That's what's wrong with her.'

Eddie grins. ‘Fuck you.'

Max raises his glass as though it is a toast.

‘'Spose you've got the girls on tap, eh, Max? It's not as easy for blokes like me.'

Juliette comes into the dining room and nods at the two men. She is carrying a tray. They watch her pile it high with plates and glasses and dirty napkins before leaving.

Max is jiggling one leg. The itch-rash is still bugging him. He puts his hand against it. He turns to Eddie when Juliette is out of the room. ‘What do you think about Soleil?'

Eddie shrugs. ‘I don't know.'

‘She's a bitch, right? Nina wouldn't agree with me, but she's a bitch.'

Eddie looks blank.

‘She told me my house was a monstrosity. Ha!' Max's laugh is short and bitter.

‘Well, that's not right …'

‘And she hates The Jacks.'

‘Oh.' Eddie considers and takes a drink. He has almost finished the glass. ‘But she's Helen's sister.'

‘Not really. Not technically.'

‘No, you're right. Not technically,' Eddie agrees.

‘She's …' Max tries to think of a way to explain what he means.
Caustic. Venomous.
‘Nasty,' he concludes, inadequately. Not even Hugo has bothered Max as much as Soleil over the last couple of days. Which is unusual considering how much Max dislikes Hugo.

‘I don't know,' Eddie says, testing. ‘I mean, she's kind of … hot?' He looks at Max. ‘In her own way. I mean, not my type, but you know …'

Max nods, reluctantly conceding. ‘Yeah, I know. Not my type either, but there is something.'

Eddie holds up his glass. ‘You want another drink? I'm going to get a drink.'

Max stares at his friend, now getting to his feet. Good old Eddie. Eddie had been getting Max drinks for years. Decades. They'd had some fun times. At college. Travelling around Australia together. Eddie had driven Max a bit crazy during that trip; there was such a thing as being too agreeable. But they always had fun, they always had a laugh. Not the deep and meaningful chats Max had with Helen but then guys weren't like that. Max only ever had those kinds of conversations with Helen. She is something else, a different category.

Max knows that when Eddie is around he will have a good time. Eddie will drink with him till whatever hour, will agree to any misadventure, any hijinks. He is his wingman.

‘How about something stronger?' Max says, before Eddie leaves the room.

Eddie hesitates. ‘I don't know … Beth, sick … I –'

Max laughs. ‘You do like her.'

‘Yeah. I like her.'

‘Come on, mate,' Max urges.

‘I've been laying off the –'

‘Eddie? Seriously?'

‘She is never sick,' Eddie replies, uncomfortably.

Max gestures towards the lounge. ‘She's being looked after by about a thousand people. Including Nina and Rosie and Helen and Juliette. She's got a crew. She'll be fine.'

‘Yeah,' Eddie says, slowly.

‘Hey, mate …' Max starts. He shouldn't say it. He promised himself. Eddie is saying no, Max should leave it at that. But damn if that itch isn't getting stronger and making him feel crazy. Feel like his father. Standing on the balcony at Grahame Park, his face pale and furious. Waiting for Max. Waiting to give Max a beating.

Max feels wrong before he says it. But he says it anyway.

‘Come on. It's my birthday.'

*

Standing on the deck, before he lights his cigarette, Max smells
kouign-amann
cooking. If the scent were a colour it'd be honey, the yellow of summer afternoon sunshine, if it were a sound it'd be
The National
, played loud. Fuck, he feels better. He had needed to lighten up. See? That's what Nina had said and Nina was always right.

Max hears a cough below him. Out on the grass Soleil is standing with a drink in one hand. She's looking out, even though it's dark and there's nothing to see. She is a shadow, a black paper cutout, of a woman with a glass in her hand. Max feels pretty buzzed. He feels tall, ten feet tall, like he is a magician.

He walks down the steps towards her.

‘Nice night for it,' he says, sounding old. It makes him laugh. The black paper cutout of her doesn't turn.

‘Full moon,' she says, lifting her glass to the sky. Max nods and offers his cigarette. Soleil takes it. It reminds Max of when Helen was that age, when they were both that age, lying in bed sharing a smoke between them.

‘Happy birthday, Max.'

‘Thanks,' Max replies. She passes the cigarette back.

‘You can hear the sea.'

Max nods. ‘Thought you hated the place.'

‘I never said that,' Soleil disagrees. ‘I said I don't like what you've done with the house. There's a difference.'

‘Ah.' Max drags on the cigarette.

‘Douarnenez is nice. The sea, the garden, Juliette, the birds … I like all of that.'

Max doesn't reply. He is looking up at the moon and studying its shadows. He can see shapes, he can see a face. A woman's face, maybe. Soleil shifts her weight. Max passes her the cigarette again.

‘Your hair looks like snakes.'

‘Sorry?'

Max laughs. He didn't realise he'd said it out loud. Soleil glares at him. He can't really make out the glare in this light, but of course she is glaring. Max doesn't care.

‘I was trying to be nice,' Soleil mutters.

‘What's not nice about snakes?'

Max's body isn't complying now. It doesn't want to stand up straight. He falls from one leg to the other. He's just steady enough not to fall over completely.

‘You're wasted,' Soleil accuses. Max laughs again.

Closer up and in the moonlight, Soleil's skin is something to behold. Dark, shining and smooth. A conker. Unmarked. Taut. Firm and silk, both. The sequins on her dress wink and sparkle. They are little stars, they are little scales. She could be a sprite, a mermaid, a reptile. A wish, an illusion.

‘You know, if you really want to be nice …' Max offers, ‘you could try harder.'

‘Yeah?'

Soleil's voice is tinged with challenge.

‘Yeah,' Max murmurs, reaching for her.

Women like that. They want to be told. They want to be shown. Led, like in a waltz. Max's lips are on that pretty skin. It is as smooth as he thought and it tastes of something. Maybe sea salt. Maybe patchouli.

‘What are you doing?!'

Max runs his tongue across it. It tastes like something he remembers and feels like the skin of a fruit, of an apple. Cool and tender both. Makes Max want to bite in.

‘Get off me!'

Max hears but doesn't hear at the same time. Soleil's voice is like the muffled sounds of a party in another room.

Just like an apple, Max thinks, testing it with teeth. And then there is a memory of Helen that floods his brain, bright and vivid. Helen in bed, Helen laughing, Helen passing him a bottle of whiskey …

‘Get away from me, arsehole!'

Max is stumbling and falling now, his legs jelly, his will misplaced. His mouth is open when he drops down onto the grass. That's what Max can smell now. Grass. Sweet, good grass, his face pressed into it, laughing. Then Soleil is close to him, above him. He cannot quite recall where she came from.

‘You fuckwit. You fucking …
fuckwit.
' Soleil is so close to Max's face he can feel the spray of her words.

‘What's your fucking problem?' Max says, the words coming out in a jumble. Soleil upends her glass, all over Max's head. Max feels the wetness and then the bitter, quinine taste dripping down his lips. He wipes it away from his eyes. He cannot see properly. It's too dark. But there are stars, coming closer.

‘I'm not stupid, fuckwit. I see the way you look at my sister.'

Max blinks, still unseeing.

‘I know you think you love her. Everyone knows. Well, guess what? You are never, ever, going to be good enough for her. Think you're some big shot rock star? You are nothing.
Nothing
.'

Max feels his father's voice in his head. Like smashing saucepan lids together. Hard and metal and mean.
Nothing. You are nothing.
Max reaches out for the stars, swipes at them and finds an arm. He pulls it towards him.

‘Fuck you, arsehole.'

He growls, reaching out with the other arm and belting whoever is at the end of it. He hears a groan before he falls back down again, off balance. There is movement against the grass. Footfalls. He opens one eye to see two figures on the deck. Someone made of stars and someone else reaching out for her as she runs past.

Max presses his head against the soft blades of grass, breathing in their damp greenness. All he needs is a nap. That always does the trick. As for his father, he had it coming. That'll teach him, Max thinks, that'll teach the fuckwit.

*

‘Max?'

Someone is gently pressing his shoulder.

‘Max?'

Max lifts his head. Someone helps him roll over.

‘
Merde.'
The person swears, now trying to sit him up.

‘Hey Juliette.'

‘I was looking for you. The others thought you had gone to bed. What are you doing out here?'

‘I came …' Max rubs his face, trying to remember, ‘I came for a smoke.'

Juliette helps Max to his feet.

‘Let's get you inside.' Juliette slings Max's arm over her shoulder and they hobble together up the deck stairs. Juliette is strong and steady, despite her size.

‘Juliette, you are a gem.'

‘Thank you, Max,' she says, distracted and huffing.

They get up the stairs and into the house. Max stands on his own while Juliette shuts the doors. It's much warmer inside. Max steadies himself. Juliette goes to the kitchen and when she returns she is holding a cup of coffee and a piece of baguette, stuffed with ham and cheese.

‘Have this,' she instructs. ‘It will sober you up.'

Max nods and backs into a chair. Juliette puts the coffee and food on a small side table. Max reaches for the coffee.

‘Food first,' Juliette says. ‘The coffee is too hot.'

Max does as he is told. He is still unsure of the day, of the time, but he's always found it best to let the details come to him. No need to kill the buzz too soon looking for things to feel guilty about.

‘Is it still my birthday?' Max asks, chewing on his sandwich. Juliette has spread it quickly with mustard. It tingles his nostrils. Juliette checks her watch and shakes her head.

‘A few hours past, I'm afraid.'

‘So I am officially forty.'

‘Officially,' Juliette says. She is watching him carefully. The sandwich is making Max feel better. They sit in silence for a few minutes while Max chews through it. Juliette passes him the coffee when he is finished. Max sips it slowly.

‘Did you have a good birthday?'

Max nods. Though he can't quite remember most of it. That will come later. He'll sleep it off and then remember things tomorrow. Max gives Juliette a thumbs-up. ‘All to plan, my friend. Thank you.'

Juliette blinks and frowns. ‘About that … I have a confession.'

Max feels a pinch of day-after guilt. It's too early, or late, for confessing.

‘I burned the
kouign-amann
.'

‘Oh.'

‘Sorry, Max.'

Max puts his coffee against his knee and laughs. ‘Is that all?'