Stop it!
In his fifty-eight years, Melvin has often found himself wondering about certain men who crossed his path. It was to be expected,he’s told himself. He spent his teen years on a rugby pitch—and in the communal baths afterward—then joined the police force, working predominantly with men and spending weekends watching rugby or football and drinking in the pub with his male friends. But the appearance of Christian ramped this up. Now Melvin’s “wonderings” last for hours, epic daydreams while he sits next to Mary watchingAntiques Roadshow, torturous nightmares that leave him drenched in sweat and shaking all over with an all-consuming ache for this man. Christian’s earnest brown eyes are the backdrop to his every waking moment.
“Oh, yummy,” Janet’s voice cuts through his daydream.
Melvin looks up to see the waiters reappear, presenting plates of something chocolaty, sending Janet into apparent ecstasy.
“Not sure my belly can take much more,” Melvin says, but picks up his spoon anyway. As he digs into the sponge, dark, shiny chocolate sauce comes oozing out, mixing with the vanilla ice cream, reminding him of the yin-yang sign. Years ago, Mary taught him what it meant—a little bit of good in every bad person and a bit of bad in every good person. Right now, Melvin feels all bad because his daydreams about Christian are teetering on the edge of reality. Yes, unbelievably, Melvin has started to think that Christian might have feelings for him too. The way he holds his gaze for a second too long, the casual touch to his knee as they sit side by side in their patrol car, the charged air between them.
And so, every nice thing that Mary does for him is now infused with guilt, his home is no longer the refuge it was. Melvin pictures himself balancing on the edge of a cliff, filled with paralyzingfear. In order to avoid both his guilt and his temptation, he’s been hiding out at the Dog & Partridge every day after work. Five pints at the pub, getting home after Mary has gone to bed, then wrestling a hangover to be up at 6:00 a.m. and in the office by 7:00 a.m.
Last week, when the black envelope had appeared on his desk, he tossed it on top of the ever-growing pile of paperwork that he’d never gotten around to looking at. It was only that afternoon, as he sat at his desk fighting his heavy eyelids, that he actually opened the envelope and decided to go along. Leaning back in his comfy office chair, Melvin pictured Christian, excitedly pointing out restaurants as they’d patrolled the streets together, asking Melvin about the sorts of food he liked. As daydream gave way to real life, Melvin smiled to himself. He wondered if Christian had planned an intimate date for them disguised as a dinner party.
Now he sees how ludicrous that thought was and reflects that he might have been better off in the pub after all. At least he’d just have himself to put up with. This is a mixed bunch, that’s for sure. As well as handsome Matthew and sex-obsessed Janet, Vivienne is a lady of around his age and seems to have elected herself the headmistress of the group, looking offended at every turn. Melvin finds there’s always someone who makes a daft comment about his color, and that award has gone to uptight Dr. Gordon. If looks could kill, the Scottish doctor would have dropped dead thanks to young Stella, but Melvin just laughs these things off. He’d heard it all on the rugby pitches around Cardiff and found humor was the best reaction. The younger generation don’t see it this way; you just needed to look at Stella’s face to know that.
Now that Melvin thinks of it, he realizes he’s met Stella before. Over the summer, he’d been called to a nice flat in Kensington to a report of burglary. He got there and found a very well-dressed, well-spoken chap in a three-piece suit, who introduced himself as a barrister (putting Melvin firmly in his place) and announced that some “extraordinarily expensive jewelry” had been stolen from his daughter’s flat. When Melvin started to take down the details, it became clear that Stella was too inebriated to give a statement, telling her father to “just buy me another one.” Melvin then had to act as a referee as father and daughter yelled at each other about the diamond-encrusted necklace. Watching them, Melvin felt an almost overwhelming urge to put his hands around both their necks and squeeze the life out of them. He’d had enough of privileged people wasting police time. At least Stella is more composed tonight. Not only that, she appears to be wearing a diamond necklace just like the one they’d described. Good thing he never got around to filing that police report.
After polishing off his dessert, Melvin picks up his glass and downs the lot. Then he forces himself to tune back in to the conversational tennis match flying over the table. The guests, now a little worse for wear, are sending balls in all directions.
“Oh, come on, you can’t beat snogging a stranger on a sweaty dance floor!” Janet screeches.
“It’s just not an efficient method,” Matthew replies, his tie now slightly askew. Melvin can also detect a bluntness to his vowels that weren’t there earlier. Surely perfectly polished Matthew couldn’tbe northern?
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a harem on the go, with all their attributes written up on a spreadsheet,” Vivienne says.
Melvin notices that Matthew starts at the mention ofharem. Has tipsy Vivienne stumbled across a truth?
“As if I’d be so disrespectful, Vivienne! I’m a gentleman,” he cries.
“I have to agree with the ladies,” Melvin cuts in. “I met my wife, Mary, at a wedding, and our first kiss was to “Dancing Queen” at midnight. We’ve been married for more than thirty years.”
Janet and Vivienne grin, and Matthew shrugs his shoulders in defeat. Then a lull falls over the table. Vivienne turns to Tristan to ask about his IT work, and Matthew talks to young Stella over Janet’s head.
“What’s this?” Janet suddenly cries, clutching a tiny black envelope, a mini version of the one that contained the dinner party invitations. Melvin glances around the table and sees they all have identical envelopes by their wineglasses. Where on earth hadtheycome from?
Conversation at the table grinds to a halt as the other guests watch Janet open the envelope. Clearly enjoying the attention, she slowly peels it open, pulls out a small black card using the tips of her red nails, and looks at it. Then her smile freezes.
“Is this some sort of joke?” she splutters, the card in her hand shaking.
“What is it?” Vivienne snaps, her recent comradery with Janet now apparently forgotten.
“Issomeone filming us?” Janet cries, looking frantically around the room.
“What are you talking about?” asks Gordon. “What does it say?”
“Get it away from me!” she yelps, throwing it toward the center of the table.
“Take it easy, Janet, love,” Melvin says.
Vivienne reaches across and picks up the card. She pulls her glasses from her handbag and squints as she reads the letters in the dim light.
“It says:You will die aged forty-four.” She gasps and drops the card as if it’s on fire. The guests all look at each other. In an instant, the atmosphere in the room turns from warm and pleasantly tipsy to suffocating and disorientating.
“Take no notice. It’s probably just a silly PR stunt,” Matthew says, putting his hand on Janet’s.
“It’s not silly—it’s downright cruel,” cries Vivienne, standing up. “I’m going to speak to someone about this.”
“Hold up, Vivienne,” Melvin calls, but before he can do anything, Vivienne has marched toward the door through which the waiters disappeared. They all watch as she abruptly stops, her hands pushing in vain against the solid wood.
