Page 87 of Oz
He bends over my hands, the sweet scent of his shampoo wafting around me. His hair shines and his eyes are intent and focused as his large fingers paint black sparkly polish very badly onto my nails.
The polish is smudged and my cuticles are painted nearly as much as the nails but I swallow hard, feeling tears in the back of my throat. I’d thought the moment when I fell in love would be dramatic and full of noise and energy. Instead, it’s in a quiet bedroom where a soft song plays and the light dances on the man’s hair and the planes of his face as he makes me back into me. The only man who’s ever valued that person.
I hold that knowledge tight to me, examining it and waiting for the fear to hit me. It doesn’t take long. This will never work. I’ve always known that. At the moment he likes the way I am, but how long will it be before the enchantment fades on his side and I disappoint or embarrass him? It seems almost inevitable lately, and I don’t know how I’ll bear to see the letdown in his eyes. All I can see ahead of us is a prolonged goodbye. Then I’ll crawl back to London, and at some point I’ll pick up a newspaper and see a picture of him with another man. One who will look like he belongs next to him.
I flinch and inhale slowly and he looks up. “Alright?” he asks quietly.
“I’m fine,” I say. And I try to hold onto that feeling of love rather than the fear. It feels as fragile as a spiderweb in my hands.
I manage it for as long as it takes us to leave that quiet bedroom and right up until he insists I join the welcoming line. Henry and Ivo are waiting along with Olivia and a portly red-faced man who I presume is her husband, Martin. Ivo looks slightly resigned and Henry just looks cross as his mother talks to him.
As we walk up, she catches sight of Silas first. “Where have you been?” she scolds. “The first guests will be here soon and–” Her voice dies away as she sees me behind Silas and the way he’s holding onto my hand.
“Problem, Mother?” Silas says in a slightly challenging voice.
“You know very well there is a problem. What ishedoing here?”
I go to move back but he stays me. “No,” he says firmly. “Oz is joining us because he’s with me. I want him standing by my side.”
She turns to her husband. “Martin, talk to him. He’s making a mockery of the family.”
“Yes, Martin,” Silas drawls. “Please do try and talk to me about something that is quite patently none of your business.” Martin huffs and puffs but obviously decides that discretion is better than a stand-up row which I now see that Silas is spoiling for. He and his mother glare at each other.
“This is epic,” Henry whispers happily and Ivo smiles at him.
Milo darts up. “First guests are on their way.”
Silas moves into position at the top of the line and pulls me after him.
“Oh no, I am putting my foot down,” Olivia says querulously. “He isnotstanding in front of me.”
“Oh really?” Silas says silkily, but I’ve abruptly had enough.
“I’m actually going to help Milo,” I say firmly and tug my hand away. I feel unsettled and cross like I’m a toy that’s being tugged between the two of them. I know Silas is standing up for me, but I’m getting fucked off with her constant asides and the speaking about me as if I’m below her notice.
Ignoring the hurt look on his face which makes me feel like shit and even crosser at the same time, I pace over to the back of the marquee and duck in next to Milo.
“What are you doing here?” he hisses. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the receiving line?”
“And why the fuck would I want to be there?” I snap, and he shakes his head.
“Don’t let her get under your skin.”
“She’s already there and I must say I’d rather have a fucking tapeworm than that witch.”
He rubs my arm, but at that point one of the groundsmen comes up with a problem in the carpark and he dashes off to sort it.
I edge to the side of the room and watch unnoticed as the family greet their guests. The late afternoon sun falls on them, gilding them as if they’re on stage. I examine them. Silas and Henry and Ivo’s suits are obviously hand tailored as they cling to their lean figures, while Olivia looks expensive in a long silver-coloured dress and pearls. They look expensive and refined, greeting their guests and within seconds putting them at their ease. Even Ivo, who has maintained a conspicuous distance until now, looks practised at this and part of them.
I look down at my off-the-rack suit and my fingers, and for a second I want to hold my hands out of sight. I look wrong here. Out of place and tacky, like neon tinsel on a designer’s Christmastree. I look up and Olivia is watching me. Her thin lips are tight with disapproval but as she looks at me, a smile twists them that I’m sure doesn’t bode well. I raise my chin, but she shakes her head and dismisses me as she turns to the next guest.
The next hour passes quickly and I’m ashamed to say that I’m undertaking avoidance manoeuvres. Every time Silas gets close to me I dart off to check something else. I think it’s fair to say that I’m getting on the caterer’s nerves and pretty soon a member of staff is going to lynch me.
I watch as the last hors d'oeuvre tray comes back past my hiding spot behind a large plant. All around is the sound of happy and lively conversation accompanied by the smooth sound of the jazz band playing.
Milo pops up next to me, muttering into a walkie talkie.
I eye him. “Haven’t we got anything more modern? You look like you’re auditioning for a role onThe Professionals.”
