Page 17 of Five Gold Rings

Oh, shit.

‘Great,’ I say, putting a thumb in the air. We turn the corner to find an ice palace contraption on wheels, and I glance beyond it to see a room of about one hundred people milling about with champagne flutes and canapes who in a minute are going to see a grown man elf playChopsticks.I may be ill. I hope Eve has a better plan.

‘Well, get in…’

How do I do this? Maybe I can say I need Eve. She turns the pages on my music… but headset man is having none of it and pushes me inside, closing the walls of ice around me. Dry ice wafts around my feet.

‘You and you, come and help me push this…’

Oh my Christ, we are moving.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, can we have your attention please?’ someone announces on a microphone. ‘We are so happy to have you here tonight, but I just wanted to interrupt the evening’s proceedings with a little musical interlude.’

Fuck.

‘My darling wife, happy anniversary.’

A spotlight turns towards me, the ice sculpture opens, and I stand there, not really knowing what to do so I wave at the room. There’s a backing track. I may pass out. I know this song, but I can’t subject them to my singing. They’re old, it may kill them off. I let out the first line and watch as Eve’s face appears at a doorway, grimacing. I can’t quite tell what that emotion is, but I think I felt that once when I ate a bad oyster. A man with a microphone in his hand looks at me sternly and an older Asian lady in a full length, black sequinned gown, clutching at a champagne glass, raises her eyebrows, seemingly surprised by this gift from her husband: a half-naked, tuneless elf.

‘Who are you?’ the man says into the microphone, loudly into the pit of silence that is the rest of the room. There’s an aunt to the front who is so agape her teeth fall to the ground. Someone put that lady’s teeth back in.

‘I… I…’ I look over at Eve who points to the rucksack on my back.

I look up at Mr Kohli, suddenly flanked by four gentlemen in matching tuxedos and I take a deep breath. I look at the banners and balloons in the room, and a family portrait hanging on the wall. I hope I’ve got this right.

‘Mr Kohli. You think after all these years you can surprise your wife?’ I announce, a shake to my voice.

A few in the crowd chortle at the joke. ‘A gift from her to you and your… sons? Not me, I’m not the gift but…’ I swivel to retrieve the boxes from my bag and remove myself (carefully) from the ice sculpture. ‘Cufflinks. Mother-of-pearl, courtesy of Caspar & Sons. An excellent choice, Mrs Kohli. Congratulations on a very happy fifty years.’

Mrs Kohli’s disposition suddenly softens, and she smiles at me as the boxes are handed over to the men and there’s a collective round of applause and gasps as they crowd around their mother to hug her. Did I save that? I bloody hope so. I know my singing bloody didn’t.

‘Again, Mrs Kohli, we apologise profusely for gatecrashing your party. My name is Eve, this is Joe – this was all completely unplanned. There was a mix-up with your order, so we came to try and fix things. Mr Caspar also has this gift voucher for you and he says you are very welcome at his shop, any time.’ Eve pitches it perfectly in her warm, assuring voice.

I see Mrs Kohli exhale, smiling at both of us in her study, away from the buzz of the party. ‘Well, I was just going to give them the cufflinks before the party started. This was a far more interesting way to gift them,’ she says, glancing in my direction. ‘I am just very overwhelmed that you got them here in time. Let me get the rings for you,’ she adds, taking the boxes out of a desk drawer and handing them to Eve.

‘Well, we take what we do very seriously,’ I say. In my jingling shorts. ‘Mother-of-pearl is an excellent choice.’

‘Mr Caspar helped me. It was symbolic. We have four sons, and I wanted a pair for my husband, too. The man who helped me become a mother,’ she tells us proudly.

‘It’s quite an achievement, fifty years…’ I add.

‘Oh, you get less for life these days but they have been a very happy fifty years… I am very lucky. He was the one who suggested we marry at Christmas. He told me it’d be the greatest gift.’

I look over at Eve who looks a bit glassy-eyed and I suddenly realise what a punch in the guts that must be after what almost happened with Chris.

‘You certainly entertained us all. Please go to the back, have a drink, something to eat, whatever you want before you go,’ she says kindly.

‘That’s very kind, Mrs Kohli. Happy anniversary. Can I just ask, who were you expecting to jump out of the ice sculpture…?’

She picks up her champagne flute and giggles.

‘Someone just told me, Michael Bublé. Fully clothed, I should add. Not sure how he’ll follow you, young man. You made a couple of my aunts very happy,’ she says, laughing. She looks at both of us. ‘How long have you two been together then?’

As soon as the words leave her mouth, I gulp silently.

Eve giggles nervously. ‘Oh, we’re not together. I don’t date elves…’

Mrs Kohli furrows her brow. ‘And why the hell not? Are you blind, dear? Look at the calves on the man!’

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