As Good As It Gets?. Fiona Gibson
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over there? Lots of potential … Christ, what is Tommy doing with that food?’
We all turn to watch as he squirts lighter fuel over blackening sausages on the barbecue. ‘What are you doing that for?’ Sabrina shouts, leaping up and rounding on her husband like a ferocious bird.
Tommy frowns. ‘They weren’t cooking fast enough. They’re burning outside but the middles are raw …’
‘That’s because it’s not hot enough yet, idiot! You say I’m impatient?’ She snatches a cooked sausage with her bare hands, stuffs it into a roll and bites into it. ‘Tastes like petrol, you bloody nutter. God, Tommy, we’ve got forty-odd people here and they’re all pissed and need something to eat. What’re you gonna do now?’
He shrugs and sips from a can of lager. ‘We’ll have to get them something else.’
‘Like what?’ Sabrina snorts. ‘There’s nothing in the house. Just some dried spaghetti and a packet of Club biscuits. What d’you plan to do with that, Barbecue Man?’
She strides back to rejoin us on the cushions. ‘Damn fool. He can’t cook, he’s never done a barbie before, but of course Mr-bloody-Masterchef had to buy a top-of-the-range barbecue and then fuck it up.’ Brian and I try, unsuccessfully, not to laugh.
‘Is everything ruined?’ Will asks, appearing at Tommy’s side.
‘Er, yeah, mate. It just squirted out of the can really fast.’ Now the teenagers have gathered round, clearly enjoying the spectacle as Sabrina delivers another barrage of abuse.
‘Could Dad help?’ Rosie murmurs.
I turn to Will with a hopeful smile. ‘Do we have anything we could bring over?’
‘Um … maybe. I could see what we could do …’
Sabrina smiles squiffily. ‘No, it’d be far too much trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble at all,’ he says. ‘But, um, I don’t want to get in the way of your plans …’
‘What plans?’ Sabrina cackles. ‘We don’t have any, apart from Tommy planning to poison us all.’
Will’s face breaks into a grin – a proper, relieved-to-be-useful grin – as he turns towards the house, summoning Ollie and Saul to join him. ‘C’mon, boys, give me a hand and we’ll see what we can rustle up.’
Sabrina and Abs watch them leave. ‘What a man,’ Abs breathes. ‘So he’s your new neighbour, Sabs?’
Just as I’m just processing this – that the friends are called Sabs and Abs – Sabrina tosses her flame-coloured hair and giggles, ‘Mmm, and isn’t he hot? Wonder if Charlotte loans him out?’
Will, Ollie and Saul return laden with enough delicious offerings for everyone. There are lamb and chicken kebabs with a minty marinade, a huge bowl of spicy slaw and an impressive array of salads. Guests gather around the barbecue, entranced by the mouth-watering aromas (or perhaps my hot husband). ‘Christ,’ Tommy marvels, slapping Will on the back, ‘this is a bit better than a jumbo packet of Iceland sausages.’
It’s truly impressive, and I watch from the sidelines as everyone fusses around Will and hands him drinks. I know I’ve tended to focus on his rather prickly, defensive side these past few months. In contrast, everyone here seems to appreciate what a brilliant all-round human being he is. Of course, they’re not hovering around him, tentatively asking how the job search is going. They haven’t over-ridden his decision that Rosie shouldn’t have gone to the model agency. Without intending to, I seem to have been stressing him out lately – cranking up his grumpiness – whereas everyone here is just raving about his spectacular cooking. I feel proud, actually. Proud that my husband has saved the day and appears to be mingling happily.
Music pounds from the kitchen, guests start dancing on the lawn and I find myself installed, a little fuzzy myself, next to Sabrina on a rickety wrought iron bench. ‘So how long have you two been together?’ she asks.
‘Fifteen years,’ I reply, to which she darts a quick glance at Rosie, who’s laughing at something Zach has said. ‘Will isn’t Rosie’s real dad,’ I add.
‘Oh, right! I just assumed—’
‘I mean, I hate that term. Of course he is. But she was a toddler when I met him.’
Sabrina smiles. ‘She looks like Will, though …’
‘Yes, I know. Everyone says that.’
She pauses. ‘So, er … d’you have any contact with—’
‘Her real father?’ I shake my head. ‘No, not since before she was born.’
‘Really? God!’
We break off to thank Will for platefuls of barbecued deliciousness, and wait until he’s resumed his position as head chef before continuing. ‘I met him when we were Inter-railing,’ I add, ‘and he’s never even seen her.’
‘Bastard,’ Sabrina splutters.
I shrug. ‘You know, I don’t really feel like that. Not anymore. He obviously couldn’t cope with the idea of being a dad. At least, he put on a great show pretending he could, but then …’ I nibble a chicken skewer before adding, in a brisker tone, ‘He just disappeared when I was pregnant. There was a terse letter from his mother, warning me off, then nothing.’ And of course, I haven’t thought about him at all …
Sabrina frowns, processing this. ‘But that’s outrageous, Charlotte. What an absolute dick …’
‘I know, and of course, I did try to get in touch. I tried calling his parents’ place, where he lived, but they’d changed the number and any letters were sent back to me. Anyway, my parents stepped in, and were fantastic – and then I met Will and it’s all worked out.’ I beam brightly to show how precisely fantastic everything is.
‘You mean he’s never even contributed?’ Sabrina checks herself. ‘Sorry, Charlotte, that’s so nosy of me. Tell me to shut the hell up …’
I smile, enjoying her lack of restraint. She is fun and refreshingly honest, and I think – I hope – we’ll be friends. ‘It’s fine, honestly. There was a cheque from his mum, but …’ I tail off as a bunch of men burst out through the back door, hooting with laughter and carrying a life-sized blow-up doll. She is a vision in marshmallow-pink plastic with a mass of bouncy red hair, rather lethal-looking pointy breasts and a circular, red-lipped mouth. ‘Who invited her?’ I exclaim, laughing.
Sabrina cackles. ‘Oh, that’s Chloe. Friend of Tommy’s gave her to him for Christmas.’ I catch Will’s startled expression and laugh even harder. ‘Classy, huh?’ she adds. ‘She always makes an appearance at parties.’
Ollie and Saul appear at my side. ‘What’s that?’ Saul asks, eyes agog.
‘It’s, er, a sort of doll.’
‘A doll?’ He guffaws and nudges Ollie.
I glance at Sabrina, who’s in hysterics now, with her blow-dry mussed up and her lipstick worn off, bar the pencilled outline. ‘It’s Tommy’s,’ I explain as Chloe is paraded past us, as if about to be given her birthday bumps. Even Will is creasing up with laughter now.
‘But what’s it for?’ Ollie wants to know.
‘It’s, er, a sort of pretend girlfriend,’ Sabrina replies, trying to keep a straight face.
Saul looks incredulous. ‘What does he do with her?’
She smirks and takes a big swig of wine.
‘What’s she for, Mum?’ Ollie demands.
‘Er,