Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (3 page)

I didn’t dare linger. Grabbing a handful of toilet tissue I dabbed my eyes, blew my nose, flushed the tissue and opened the door, stepping out onto the landing, my stomach lurching as I saw Shane who had just come out of the bedroom.

He looked grim and I hastened to offer an excuse for still being upstairs. “I needed the toilet. Pissing is still permissible isn’t it, or shall I insert a catheter and strap a bag to my leg?”

He stabbed a finger towards the stairs.

There was a hubbub of noise coming from below. People’s voices were raised in animated conversation in the lounge, while music poured from the study. I couldn’t face going into either room. I looked at Shane, lifting my chin. “I’m going in the kitchen to make tea, okay?”

He nodded and I edged past him, running down the stairs, conscious of the prickling hot spots his hand had left on my backside. He had slapped full force, intent on showing me he wasn’t messing around.

The kitchen was occupied. There was a foursome at the table in the breakfast nook, three males and one female. I didn’t know them. Two of the males were engaged in a geeky conversation about Dr Who, while the other male and female were engaged in a bout of mutual tonsil washing. What they really needed was a room, but I wasn’t about to offer them one of ours. I had enough housework to do without washing sheets shagged on by strangers.

I couldn’t be arsed making tea. I cracked open yet another can of cola and stood sipping it, trying not to stare at the couple eating each other’s faces. Somehow it was more graphic than watching muff munching porn. The human face has around thirty-four muscles in it and a passionate kiss uses every single one of them. That being the case, the kissing couple were having one hell of a workout. If they weren’t careful they’d end up with pecs bulging out from under their cheekbones.

Matt, Cheryl’s bland husband came into the kitchen looking for some ice for his whisky and ginger. The ice bucket in the dining room was empty. I got him some from the freezer. He thanked me. He hadn’t spoken much during dinner, but alcohol seemed to have loosened his tongue and made him more inclined to converse. To my surprise he offered an apology for having gatecrashed the evening.

“I was embarrassed to be honest, especially when I saw how young you are and how much it mattered to you that everything went right.” He grimaced. “Much as I love her, I’m afraid my wife is a lot like her sister and not the most sensitive of women. They never see what pressure they put on people.” He gazed at me. “Strange set up you have here, ménage a trois, you don’t mind me saying that do you? I mean it as an observation, not a criticism. No offence.”

I could have said something along the lines of him not knowing the half of how strange our set up was, but instead I shrugged. “None taken. I suppose it does seem an odd arrangement to people on the outside. I like it though.”

“Having one partner is hard enough. I couldn’t cope with having two to please.” He raised his glass. “You’re a legend. I take my hat off to you.”

I laughed and chinked my can to his glass. He nodded towards the kissing couple. “Young lust, eh. It’s a wonderful thing. Shame it doesn’t last.” He gave me a wink and left to rejoin the party in the lounge. As I watched him steer a slightly erratic path out of the kitchen I found myself liking him far better than I thought I would.

A member of Shane’s office staff, a pretty girl with glitter dusted pink hair and thick black eyeliner popped into the kitchen entreating the geeks to come and dance with her and someone called Jill. Their movement disturbed the snoggers causing a break in the suction hold they had on each other’s lips. Holding hands, they followed the geeks in the direction of the dance studio. I had a sudden longing for a boyfriend my own age, someone to hold hands with and dance with, and someone who didn’t have any kind of authority over me.

I got a bag of ice out of the freezer and took it into the dining room to top up the ice bucket on the drinks tray. There were a few cliques of people standing around chatting while picking at the food on the table.

Cheryl came in. “Hello.” She directed a bright smile, walking over to the table to help herself to some of the fancy chocolates. “Where have you been hiding yourself?”

“I’ve been around. I’m a trained ninja so I can pretty much blend into the wallpaper and make myself invisible.” She looked blank. Some people have no imagination. I offered to refill the empty champagne glass she was holding. The blank look vanished and she accepted. I took it into the kitchen. There was an open bottle of champagne in the fridge. I got it out and topped up the slender tulip glass with the golden fluid. It smelled delicious, its biscuity crispness making my mouth water. I adore champagne, well,
used
to adore it before houseboy prohibition was ushered in.

“What are you doing, Gilli?”

Dick’s voice sounded from behind me. I glared at him. “You scared me, sneaking up like that. I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. I’m getting a drink for Cheryl.”

“Where is she?”

“In the dining room, shoving chocolates down her neck.”

“Do you want me to take it to her?”

“Why, do you think I might give in to temptation and take a sly sip?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“Aren’t I lucky having you around to save me from myself.” I set the glass of fizz down on a worktop. “Take it to her then, seeing as you don’t trust me. I’d hurry if I were you, before she overdoses on rum truffles. We don’t want a hit squad from Weight Watchers swinging in to take out her out for going over her calorie count. They’ll do an on the spot detox. I’ll never get the stains out of the rug.”

He gave me a narrow eyed look, but didn’t get a chance to follow through with pithy comments. The girl with the pink hair lurched into the kitchen. She looked panicky. “Excuse me, sorry to bother you, but where’s your loo? It’s Wayne, my boyfriend. He doesn’t feel well.”

I hurried into the hall, fearing the worst on the poison prawn front. One of the kitchen geeks was slumped against the wall outside the study. He was ashen faced, his skin waxen with a fine sheen of sweat. I could almost hear the pre-puke saliva gushing into his mouth.

“Come on, mate, let’s get you to the bog. It’s just along here.” Grasping his elbow I steered him down the hall and into the downstairs toilet, in the nick of time. I grimaced as he hawked and christened the lavatory bowl with a deluge of sick. I recognised the perfume of my old girlfriend, that golden temptress, Stella of Artois. The slut. I was still sore over our break-up, but she had obviously gotten over me.

“Is he all right, Gilli?” Dick opened the door and looked in, his nose wrinkling at the smell.

“He’s fine, Dick. He’s just had one too many. We’ve all done it at some point. I’ll look after him.”

“Good boy.” Dick nodded and closed the door. I opened the window to try and freshen the air. Folding my arms I leaned against the wall waiting for the geek to finish spewing his guts. It was coming out of him in streams. He was a viable contender for the title of Chunder King, a title I’d competed for a time or two. Listening to the horrific noises he was making made me almost glad I didn’t drink anymore, almost. I envied his freedom to make the choice. I didn’t want to get stinking drunk. I just wanted to enjoy a glass or two and be part of the party.

At last he stopped retching and heaving and raised his head from the bowl.

“How are you feeling?”

He gave a shaky thumbs up. “Loads better, ta. I shouldn’t have had that last vodka chaser. Grey Goose, man. I’m not used to posh vodka like that. It upset my stomach. I usually drink the cheap shit that makes you go blind.” He wiped a hand across his mouth and gave me a grin. “Reckon I’m good to go again now.”

“You telling me that was a tactical chunder then?”

“Well, maybe not tactical as such, no fingers, but the result is the same, room for more booze.”

“You’re going to have the hangover from hell tomorrow.” I clapped him on the shoulder and reached over him to flush the toilet, taking a moment to check the grisly deposit for any sign of a rogue prawn. There were none. It was an open and shut case of alcohol poisoning. My prawns were innocent.

“It wouldn’t be Christmas without a hangover.” He staggered to his feet. “Getting off your face is part of the fun. I bet you’ve had your share of hangovers.”

“Yeah, but they’re a thing of the past now. I’m a reformed character.”

“You poor sod.” He gave me a comical look. “You haven’t gone and got religion have you?”

“Something worse, an allergy.”

“Jeez, I hope I never get allergic to booze. My fucking social life will be over.”

“Tell me about it. I don’t miss hangovers, but I do miss having the option of getting there.” I dampened a flannel with cold water and handed it to him to wipe his face. “Do you want some water or a cup of tea, get rid of the puke taste?”

“Nah, thanks, mate. I’m fine. He glanced around. “Nice gaff this. Wouldn’t mind being a penny or two behind the owners. They’re gay you know.”

“Sorry?”

“The blokes that own this place, they’re gay. My girlfriend works for one of them, that big scary one. You’d never guess from looking at him that he’s gay, or the other one, the upper crust one. They’re married you know, kind of, one of them civil things.”

I opened the bathroom door. “I’d heard rumours to that effect.”

“Not rumours, mate, true, but,” he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “rumour has it they have a boyfriend they share, a bit on the side, and he’s young enough to be their son.”

“Never?” I widened my eyes in mock surprise.

“It’s true. My girlfriend reckons it must be a gay thing. Having your cake and eating it. Do you work for one of them?”

“Both of them.”

“How come?”

Mischief prompted me to confirm the workplace rumour. “I’m their bit on the side. I live in.”

“Shit…really…I didn’t mean…sorry.”

He looked so horrified, I laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You won’t mention what I said to your,” he swallowed, “boyfriends, will you? I don’t want my girlfriend getting in bother for gossiping. She likes her job.”

“I won’t say a word. I promise.”

“Thanks, mate.”

I don’t know whether embarrassment was a factor, but he and his pink haired flame decided to call a taxi and head home for a nap before going out clubbing. Lucky buggers. No doubt they’d be revelling into the early hours.

I bleach bombed the loo and squirted lavender freshener to scent the air for other users and then resumed wandering with a can of cola as a companion. Parties are poop with Pepsi. The fizz doesn’t exhilarate or mellow you out. It just makes you want to burp and fart, often simultaneously.

The night dragged from then on. The party more or less split into two camps, older ones in the lounge talking and the younger ones in the study dancing. I didn’t feel a part of either camp, perhaps because I made no real effort to be. I made sure Shane clocked me from time to time by popping into the lounge to exchange snippets of chat with various people before disappearing again. I went into the study a couple of times, but I wasn’t relaxed enough to dance and seeing people who were only made me more uptight.

Julie, Dick’s secretary, came into the dining room as I was tidying the table. She made a comment about me looking fed up. I raised my can of Pepsi by way of explanation. She understood.

“Dick mentioned you’d gone on the wagon for your health. He said you were struggling with it a bit. I don’t blame you. It isn’t much fun being sober when everyone else is tanked up, especially when it isn’t by choice or natural inclination. When I was married I was always the designated driver. It used to piss me off having to drink mineral water when everyone else was knocking back the booze because my husband was too tight arsed to pay for a taxi and too selfish to take his turn at the wheel.”

“I just feel a bit left out, like I’m not really part of the party. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, it’s like being a spectator instead of a participant. It was a relief when Dan went off with another woman. I flung a party to celebrate. I had a hangover for a week.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

She patted my shoulder. “Having to stay sober is shit, especially at this time of year, but if it keeps you well, it’s worth it. It will get easier over time.”

“I guess. Thanks, Julie.” I smiled, appreciating her sentiments, but not believing them. She helped herself to a chocolate, topped up her gin and tonic and headed back to the lounge. I resumed tidying the table and rearranging what was left of the food, transferring it between plates.

Cheryl cornered me before I could escape. She put on her inquisitors hat again, saying she’d noticed I wasn’t drinking and asking why. I had no doubt she already knew. After all, her horrible sister had once biffed me round the chops for spilling wine on her when I was in the throes of an episode. It seemed inconceivable she hadn’t told Cheryl I was a buzz brain. She was looking for a hook to draw other things out of me, probably information about my relationship with Dick and Shane. Some people want far more than they have a right to. It isn’t enough to be invited into someone’s house. They want to poke around in the drawers, open the cupboards and read private letters. It’s like they want to take a part of your life and own it for themselves.