Page 14 of Seven Reasons to Murder Your Dinner Guests
“Wait,” he pleads, in a voice that is clearly unused to pleading. “You misunderstood me. Remember, I loved her too.”
“Oh, yes, you showered her with gifts, sent her off to that ridiculous boarding school, but you nevershowedher love, nevertoldher you were proud of her. She lived for your approval, and all you did was criticize,” Stella’s mother snaps back, walking a few steps ahead.
“You never told me that. Why did you never tell me that?” he yells at her back, his grief seeming to fuel his anger.
As they both disappear into the church, Matthew recalls Stella talking about her father that night with a curious mixture of sarcasm and pride.
“Perhaps going inside would be an intrusion too far?” Vivienne says quietly. “There’s a nice wine bar around the corner…”
“Yes, I need a drink,” Janet says, nodding effusively.
“Did someone say ‘drink’?” Melvin asks, suddenly appearing next to them with Dr. Gordon trotting behind.
“This way,” Vivienne calls once she’s greeted Melvin and Gordon.
As they walk, Matthew notices that the rain has finally abated, so he takes down his umbrella and gives it a little shake. He’ll be happy to get a whiskey to steady his nerves. It hasn’t been the best week for him.
The day after the dinner party, he met Robyn in town. They’d been dating for a few months, and she hadn’t yet refused any of his requests. He had something particularly depraved in mind for that night. Three mojitos in, and Robyn was giggling as his handslowly worked its way up her long leg when…he heard it… The name he thought he’d consigned to history.
“Matty Mucus?” the voice said a second time. “Is that really you?”
Think, think, how to get out of it…But he found his brain strangely sluggish…
“You’ve got the wrong person,” was the best he could come up with, turning away from the bloke with slicked-back hair and a familiar toothy grin.
“It’s me, Gareth Atkinson. We were at St. Mary’s together,” he persisted. “You look so different. No mucus or jam-jar-bottom glasses now. Mate, we were so horrible to you in school…”
For once, Matthew was lost for words; all he could do was stare dumbly between Gareth and Robyn. From Gareth’s faux-leather biker jacket to Robyn’s vintage Louboutin heels. Two worlds he’d never imagined would collide. Finally, Gareth got the hint and sidled off, but the damage had been done.
“Matty Mucus?” Robyn chuckled.
“Erm… I had allergy problems as a kid…”
“I thought you’d be the bully at school, not thebullied,” Robyn cried, her eyes wide with astonishment. “And I didn’t know you werenorthern. Did you used to talk like him?”
And just like that, Matthew’s power over her had seeped away. It no longer mattered that he was an investment banker with a two-million-pound flat; that his eyesight was perfect thanks to laser surgery, his body was a sculpted masterpiece, and his accent as artificially smooth as his chest. Now every time she looked athim, Robyn would see the bullied kid at school, snotty and shortsighted. The evening should have ended with Matthew bending Robyn over his coffee table for a spank. Instead, she mumbled something about an early-morning meeting, and they went their separate ways.
That night his sleep was haunted by characters from his childhood he thought he’d forgotten, moments he’d hoped he’d left behind forever. Acne-ridden bullies chanting, “Matty Mucus,” every time he put his hand up during class. Sweating under his bed covers, the sound of his bedroom door creaking open, his mother’s unnaturally sweet tone.
“Matthew, dear, Uncle Nigel’s come to see you…”
Every weekend she’d introduce a new “uncle,” each bringing their own particular horrors.
At sixteen, he’d escaped his mother’s house for a tiny studio flat and began an accountancy course at the local college. His GP had sorted out his sinus problems, he’d gotten contact lenses, and he’d opened his eyes to the possibility of reinvention. So Matty Mucus had walked away from his past and become smooth, sophisticated Matthew. His new life had been perfect, just as he’d designed it. And now this, this…resurfacing of his past.
The following morning, he felt like hell, and so called in sick to work. Usually, his weekends were crammed with back-to-back dates, but predictably Robyn had gone quiet, and he couldn’t face the date he’d planned with a new girl whose profile picture had been promisingly sexy.
On Monday morning, he forced himself back into the office.
“You look awful.” His boss chuckled, giving Matthew a wink. “Busy weekend?”
“You could say that.” Matthew attempted his cat-that-got-the-cream grin but feared it was more like a hyena-with-a-hernia grimace.
While his computer was starting up, he pulled out his phone and opened Facebook. That was where he contacted his dates before he felt ready to upgrade them to swapping-numbers status. That name again, at the top of his inbox: Gareth Atkinson. He swallowed and clicked on the message:
Sorry we didn’t get to talk properly the other night. Let’s meet up for a drink to discuss old times. Don’t say no, Matty. I’ve got an old class photo here and would hate your colleagues to see it…
Followed by two laughing emojis.
