“Just eat it.”
The words come through gritted teeth. To
anyone else, Emily’s father looks calm, but she sees the tightness around his
mouth and the redness of his cheeks. Of course, that could be from the amount
of wine he’s had.
It’s cousin Fran’s wedding day and Emily is a
bridesmaid. She wears a long, pale green dress and pink roses in her hair. She
estimates it’s around five minutes before Dad explodes, or implodes perhaps; he
probably wouldn’t shout at a family wedding. She feels bad about upsetting him.
“Now’s not the time Harry.”
The voice comes from Lauren, Emily’s
stepmother. Emily smiles at her slightly, without opening her mouth.
“Shall we go to the bar?”
“I’m not going anywhere until she’s eaten her
crumble.”
Nobody else at the table hears them. The
adults are taking pictures while twin boys throw sweets from their favour bags
at each other and try to catch them in their mouths.
“Come on Harry, I’ve not even finished my
crumble.”
“You ate your main.”
“For goodness sake.”
Emily looks to the other end of the room. The
waiting staff have finally started clearing plates away. After the last course
it took them approximately three minutes from one end of the room to the other.
Just a bit longer and the plate will be gone.
She puts her spoon into the melting ice cream
and swirls it around her plate. The crumble topping sinks into the warm,
cinnamon-y apples beneath. It smells beautiful and awful at the same time.
“Stop playing with it.”
“Please, just leave her alone today.”
The staff are six tables away now. Emily
scoops a tiny amount of ice cream onto her spoon, raises it slowly to her lips
and licks it with the tip of her tongue.
“What are you, a cat?”
She places the flat of the spoon on the
crumble’s surface and presses it. Pieces of apple squish out from beneath and
slide across the plate. The drop of vanilla ice cream she ate fills her whole
mouth, then body. With her spare hand, she digs false nails into her palm.
“Act normal.”
“Harry!”
“Well, what would you call it?”
Lauren reaches beneath the table and tries,
gently, to prize open Emily’s hand. “It’s because he loves you” Lauren told her
last week. “He loves you and he’s scared. And sometimes, scared people get
angry.” They squeeze each other’s hands for a second.
Emily sinks her spoon into the crumble. She
imagines eating the whole thing and it sitting on top of everything she’s
already had today, namely:
·
3 sips of champagne
·
4 mouthfuls of soup
·
a new potato
·
2 pieces of asparagus
·
4 mouthfuls of salmon
Her bowel somersaults at the thought and she
puts the spoon down.
“She’s doing it for attention.”
“You’re the one making a scene.”
It’s true – the kids at the table are still
playing their game, but Uncle Mark and Aunt Izzy have gone silent. Emily’s
father swallows half a glass of wine in one mouthful. She thinks she sees tears
in his eyes.
Cousin Adrian looks over and Emily adjusts
the shawl around her shoulders. During the photographs he stood behind her and
must have noticed the soft fuzz on her back, poking above the top of her dress,
because now he keeps calling her ‘Chewbacca’. It makes an unwelcome change from
‘Skeletor’. She begins using her spoon to neatly shape the crumble into a
square.
“Now’s not the time for your rubbish Emily!”
“I could say the same for you Harry.”
“This isn’t how we raised her.”
“I really think we should talk about this
tomorrow.”
“When I think what her mother would say right
now.”
“She’d probably tell you to keep your voice
down.”
He sighs loudly and drains his glass. The
whole table is quiet for a moment, until Uncle Mark wonders aloud when the
speeches will begin. The crumble sinks lower on the plate.
At last a waiter appears. Emily puts her
spoon down and smiles up at him.
“Is this finished, Madam?”
“Yes.”
Challenge: write a story which involves food and an argument
Nicely observed, Eve
ReplyDeleteI made the crumble in the picture too.
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