Episode 9
Harry and Beattie Gilchrist’s House – A village in Suffolk
Menu:
The Wine Society’s Fino Sherry
Jellied Borscht
Chicken in Gin, mixed vegetables
Sussex Pond Pudding with Bird’s custard
The Wine Society’s French Full Red, Vins de Pays des Côtes Catalanes
A Women’s Institute fruit cake.
James and Katie sat in his parent’s dimly lit and darkly wallpapered dining room, staring rather glumly at the dark red jellylike substance that sat in thick slices in front of them.
‘Do you remember, we used to call this ‘blood clot Borscht’?’ Lucy whispered to them from the other side of the polished mahogany table.
‘How could I forget?’ said James, poking at his slice. ‘It was always either this or the prawn and avocado cheesecake.’
Katie made a face.
‘Made with unripe avocados,’ Lucy interjected.
‘Mm. And a thick layer of bright pink sauce.’
Beattie Gilchrist came in to the dining room wheeling a hostess trolley in front of her. She had made no sartorial concession to her husband’s birthday, and wore her usual slightly doggy padded body warmer.
‘Come al-ong, Harry, the young want to start. They’re starving, poor things.’
‘Coming,’ boomed Harry from the hallway, and then lumbered into view, taking his place at the head of the table.
‘I was going to make prawn and avocado cheesecake,’ Beattie said, ‘it was always your favourite, Lucy, wasn’t it? But – I’m watching my weight.’
Lucy glared at her mother. Beattie had never had to watch her weight in her life – it was Lucy’s waistline she was keeping an eye on.
‘Is Granny eating with us?’ Katie asked, cutting her starter in two and prodding it with her fork. It quivered gently. She began to try and extricate a frond of cabbage from it.
‘No, she’s had a bit of a turn,’ Beattie said.
‘Doesn’t like other people’s birthdays,’ Harry corrected. ‘Not enough attention on her.’
Beattie sighed. James recognised the moment for him to do his usual duty, and raised his glass, wondering for a second as he did so why it was always him who made the toast, and whether he was going to spend the next fifty odd years doing so at one event or another. The thought was mildly depressing.
‘Speaking of which, Happy Birthday, Dad,’ he said. ‘Hope you enjoy the – present.’
He realised as he was speaking that he had no idea what they had given his father. He glanced at Katie, with a half raised eyebrow.
She gave him a look. Oh God. He was going to get it in the neck for that later. As if getting into the cold, slightly damp sheets of too small double bed that sagged in the middle wasn’t enough, he was going to be doing so alongside a cold shoulder.
‘Hurm,’ his father said. ‘Which one of you gave me the whisky?’
‘That was from us,’ Katie said.
‘Jolly good show. We’ll have a wee dram after dinner, son.’
James nodded.
‘The clock was from me, Dad,’ said Lucy. ‘It’s a different birdsong every hour. I thought it was a lovely idea.’
‘Better make sure I don’t shoot it by accident, eh?’ her father laughed. Lucy tried not to look disappointed.
‘Not finishing that, Katie?’ Beattie called from her end of the table, looking pointedly at Katie’s plate.
‘Sorry, Beattie. I’m feeling a bit under the weather, actually.’
‘Not pregnant again, are you?’ Beattie asked. Katie’s mother-in-law had grown up on a farm, and had no time for beating around the bush when it came to such matters.
‘God, no.’ Katie said, a little too quickly.
‘Shame,’ Harry said. ‘Wouldn’t mind another grandson, you know. Got two pairs of bloody good guns. Be nice to pass them both down to a couple of boys.’
‘Maybe Edie would like to learn to shoot,’ said James, at the same time as Lucy said, ‘Maybe I’ll have a son one day.’
There was a pause as Harry looked between his two children, and then burst out laughing, and clapped James on the shoulder.
‘Ha! Good one, old boy.’
The three members of the younger generation gazed at each other in faint despair as Beattie put plates of chicken thighs submerged in a pallid greyish sauce down in front of them, and a large tureen of mixed vegetables.
Why was the thought of a girl learning to shoot so hilarious to her father-in-law, Katie wondered, and did James feel the same way? Katie couldn’t decide which was more objectionable – the idea of Edie killing animals for fun, or the idea that she might be banned from doing so because she was a girl.
Why did everyone find it so impossible to imagine a scenario whereby she might provide the Gilchrist’s with another grandchild, Lucy wondered, and she pondered once again the possibility that everyone thought she was a lesbian.
And, as he forced down a forkful of tough chicken in creamy gin sauce, his wife’s displeasure emanating in wave from her seat at his right elbow and the only warmth in the room coming from the gently farting dog that was sitting on his feet, James wondered why was it that, ever since he could remember, they had lived in the depths of the countryside, and his mother still insisted on serving frozen vegetables.
