Ralph's Party (12 page)

She was happy that he spent so much time at work and didn't put any part of his life on hold to make room for her. She didn't want any of that. She didn't want the attention, the demands, the neediness. She'd been under the magnifying glass, the spotlight of insecure love for long enough. And now, she just wanted Smith.

Ralph had given up reading Jem's diary over the last two months.

Wel, the current diary, anyway. It was just ful of Smith this, Smith that and Smith the bloody other. It was like Ralph had ceased to exist the moment Jem had slept with Smith. He had been hoping for some doubts to creep into her entries, some reference to the fact that Smith wasn't quite right for her, wasn't good enough, that she'd made her decision too soon. But it hadn't come. She was utterly blind to it, she was 'in love' with Smith and her diary was a constant, gurgling, gushing, vomit-inducing account of how perfect he was and how wonderful they were and how great the sex was.

But Ralph hadn't given up the long periods of time spent just sitting in her room. He liked it in there. It smelt good and he felt safe and warm with al Jem's feminine artefacts, it was second-best to her actualy being there herself. He felt close to her when he was in her room.

He was sitting on her bed now, thumbing through her old
A-Z,

taking note of al the little roads that had been circled and wondering what they'd been circled for. Parties? Job interviews?

Flatshares?

It was two o'clock in the afternoon. Claudia was away. Al his mates were staying in with their girlfriends. A Friday night in. Ralph had felt unloved and depressed so he'd headed straight for Jem's room.

He put the
A-Z
back in her top drawer and his eyr fel again upon the pile of old diaries under her table He'd managed to resist the temptation of looking at them so far - it made him feel more disciplined, less unethical, marginaly better about himself and his underhand behaviour. He looked at them and looked away again.

No - he mustn't. He looked again. Fuck it he thought, and reached for the bottom diary, an old accounting book covered in, UCL

stickers and smiley faces. Written on the cover was '1986'. He puled bad the front cover, the old, brittle paper crackling slightly as he turned over the first page. He started reading.

Six hours later, he stopped. A whole day had gone by and Ralph had learned an awful lot more about Jem, He'd learned about her adolescence, how much she'd hated her frizzy hair and her anaemic complexion and the fact that she was so short; how while other girls were losing their virginity and getting pregnant and coming into school with florid lovebites adorning their necks, Jem was busy crossing streets to avoid having to walk past anyone remotely resembling a teenage boy. She'd been painfuly shy and painfuly unconfident, crying into her pilow every night because she was so ugly and no man would ever want her. She'd been fifteen before she'd had her first kiss and then it had been so unpleasant and shared with such an ugly specimen of male youth that she'd rubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand for a good ten minutes after it was over, shuddering at the memory.

She'd then gone out, briefly, with a succession of ugly youths, desperately trying to cling on to her honour and her virginity, before Justin Jones had asked her out. Justin Jones had, apparently, been the school heart-throb, a dark-haired dish with the pick of the school's girls at his feet.

'Why me?' she'd asked, referring obliquely to the contrast between herself and the more overtly attractive female students who would queue up daily just to stand in Justin's wake. 'I dunno,' he'd said, half-smiling, 'it's not the way you look, it's just something about you.

I just realy fancy you.' Justin Jones had unwittingly instiled in Jem with that one, long-ago, offhand comment a confidence that any amount of fawning compliments from lovesick suitors could not have achieved. He had paid
her personality
a compliment. He'd flattered her
spirit,
and Jem knew she didn't have to be anyone else but herself. She was an attractive person and anyone who couldn't see that was not worth knowing.

Since then, it seemed, Jem had had a whole string of relationships with nice blokes who'd made complete pains of themselves, smothering her with love and making unreasonable demands of her.

Until Smith.

At last Ralph was beginning to understand what Jem saw in Smith, why she was so in love with him. Smith didn't cal on her emotionaly, he didn't restrict her or control her.

How ironic that she should have falen in love with him because he didn't give a shit about her. How ironic that she thought he was so different from the other boys when, in reality, he was exactly the same, and the only reason he wasn't showering her with gifts and adoration and proposals of marriage was because he was in love with another woman. How ironic ...

Ralph took a beer out of the fridge and flopped on to the sofa, searching through the rubble on the coffee table for the remote control. He'd just missed
The

Simpsons
and now
Real TV
was on Sky, a series of totaly unamusing real-life videos of people nearly drowning under white-water rafts and being rescued from burning buildings.

Smith was out tonight, at a press do. It was possible that he and Jem might be alone tonight. Maybe, instead of shuffling around trying to find reasons not to talk to her like he usualy did, he should use it as an opportunity to get her to open up. Find out even more about her. He already knew more about her than he'd known about even his longest:standing girlfriends. He knew al her insecurities, her romantic history and her needs and desires. Now he wanted to get to know her better than anyone had ever known her before.

He heard female voices outside and shifted round on the sofa to peep through the open curtains. It was Jem, laden down with shopping as ever - he'd never met a girl who spent so much time in supermarkets — and she was talking to that blonde tart from upstairs. He strained his ears trying to catch what they were saying, but it was muffled. He smiled at the irony of Smith's girlfriend so easily and quickly engaging herself in a situation which Smith himself had been dreaming of, ineffectualy, for the last five years. He stood up to check his reflection in the mirror, ruffled his shorn hair and sat down again.

Eventualy he heard the front door open, and seconds later Jem burst into the room - Jem always burst into rooms, such was the force of her enthusiasm - al parceled up in a big black coat and a deep-purple furry stole.

'I've just had a realy nice chat with that girl from upstairs. She's very friendly, isn't she?'

106

Ralph had always found Cheri to be absolutely the opposite, but maybe Jem was a better judge of character than he was.

'She's a dancer, you know. She trained to be a balerina until she grew too tal. It explains why she's so elegant, she holds herself very wel.'

Ralph just thought she was a stuck-up bitch with too much attitude even for him.

What are you doing tonight, Ralph?'

He shrugged and scratched his head, 'Um, fuck al actualy. Pretty sad for a Friday night.'

'Excelent. Look, I've been blown out by my friends so I thought I'd just cook a curry, drink a load of lager, have a bit to smoke and then go to bed early. D'you fancy joining me? Wel, apart from the going to bed early bit, of course.' She giggled adorably.

Ralph couldn't think of anything else he'd rather do tonight, he tried to hide his excitement: That sounds absolutely perfect - Fd love to. I can't promise to be much help in the kitchen, but 111 skin up.'

'Done.'

It was al Ralph could do to stop himself punching the air as Jem left the room.

'Right, I've decided,' Jem was back, barefoot in thick black stockings and a short dark-green jersey dress with capped sleeves and a flirty skirt, 'Have you ever seen that programme
Can't Cook
Won't Cook?

Ralph looked blank.

'Oh, come on, you must have, you're at home al day. It's for people like you' - she pointed at him - 'people who write off cooking without even trying it. This chef guy gets two pathetic people to cook a dish by watching what he does — wel, anyway, it's crap but that's not the

point. I think every bachelor should know how to cooi at least one dish, and since you like curry so much I thought I'd teach you..

Come on, get up.' She held out her hand for him and he smiled and folowed her into the kitchen, enjoying the feeling of her tiny little hand on his.

'I thought we said that I'd skin up and you'd cook.'

Yes, wel, I've changed my mind. OK, as you know, there are many, many different kinds of curry. Tonight I'm making a chicken jal frezi - actualy, you can make a spliff while I'm doing the talk bit

- yes, tonight I'm making a chicken jal frezi, it's very, very easy.

You can pretty much do it to your own taste — I like mine quite green and stinking hot! So, I've got the chicken breasts, we can chop those later, and a realy big bunch of coriander, lots of these monster-hot little green chilies — the big ones are crap, don't bother with them. Keeping up so far?'

'Oh, yes, so far so simple.' Ralph was sitting at the table crumbling grass into a translucent paper balanced on an upside-down box of Shreddies. He was entranced: why had none of his girlfriends ever taught him to cook before?

You can get ready-made pastes but it's better to make your own —

you can put what you want in realy. OK, I'm going to put in loads of this coriander, some fresh fenugreek leaves and some ground fenugreek — smel that' — she held the plastic packet under Ralph's nose - 'that's what your armpits smel of the day after a curry...'

Soon enough Ralph was chopping up pieces of chicken and slicing onions and mincing garlic. He must have eaten a milion curries in his life but he'd never heard

of half the things that went into one. Ghee? Cumin? Curry leaves?

He was amazed to find that he was thoroughly enjoying himself, even suggesting additions and asking for more jobs to do, and he was feeling wonderfuly relaxed with Jem, for the first time since he'd found out about her and Smith. They were chatting and laughing together like old friends, singing along to the Pogues and dancing around the kitchen.

They laid the table together, and Ralph was ecstatic to be served with a plate of curry and rice that he'd helped to cook. And even more ecstatic when he tasted it - it was delicious.

'Ralph,' Jem began as they ate, 'can I ask you a question?'

Oh, Lord, one of life's most worrying openers.

'How do you feel about me and Smith — be honest?'

Oh, gawd. What was he supposed to say? '/want you / want you /

want you, that's how I feel about you and Smith.' That would have been honest. Smith doesn't know you like I know you; you don't know Smith like I know Smith; it's al wrong and I'm as jealous as hel.

'I'm very happy for you both,' he said. How about that for honesty.

'So you don't feel excluded or, or left out or anything? It's just that you and Smith have lived alone together for so long, maybe you feel I'm crowding you, pushing you out?'

'Ooh, no, not at al, it's nice having you around.' Wel, that was true at least.

'You would tel me if it was a problem, wouldn't you? I'd hate you to feel uncomfortable in your own home.'

'I promise you, it's not a problem, it's been so long since Smith was even interested in a woman, it's a relief in a way.' Pinocchio, eat your heart out. Tm glad to see him happy.

I've never seen him this happy before, you're very good for him.'

But you'd be even better for me. j

'Oh, good, that's a weight off my mind. So why aren't you seeing Claudia tonight?'

Claudia, Claudia? That was a conversational quantum leap. Ralph had to think hard to remember exactly who Claudia was, let alone why he wasn't seeing her.

'Oh, yes, yeah, she's gone to Paris for the weekend, something to do with work - fashion shows or something.'

'Ooh, very glamorous. I've not met Claudia yet, what's she like?'

'What, honestly?'

'Yes, we're being honest, aren't we?' She tore off a piece of kitchen rol and blew her nose, which was running from the heat of the curry.

Wel, she's very attractive, very tal and slim. And she can be quite sweet sometimes. But mainly she's a real pain. Everything I do is wrong. If I phone her it's inconvenient, if I don't I'm a bastard. If I invite her out with my mates she complains that she doesn't like them, if I go out without her she complains that I'm leaving her out.

She tels me I'm scruffy and should make more of an effort, and then when I buy something new she says, "Oh, you can afford to buy new clothes but you can't afford to take me out for dinner." I can't do anything right.'

'Do you love her?'

'No.'

'Do you like her?'

'Sometimes.'

'So why are you going out with her?'

Tor the sex, I suppose.'

Wel, that's honest, I guess. Wouldn't you like to be with someone you were in love with?'

Ralph reached for the kitchen rol - the heat was getting to him too.

'I have to admit, just lately I've wanted something more. I've heen too scared for a long time, you know - the emotional investment, the insecurity, the vulnerability.'

'You've been hurt in the past?'

'Wel, not hurt as such, just too involved, drained almost - it took over my life and I haven't wanted to risk getting entangled like that again. But now, I don't know, I think I might be ready for something real - the love thang.' He laughed nervously. He couldn't believe he was talking like this, he hadn't talked to anyone about real feelings for so long.

'Just haven't met the right girl yet?'

Oh, Jem, if only you knew.

'Yeah, something like that.' Time to redirect the conversation: 'So, you and Smith - is it a love thang?'

Jem smiled. 'Oh, yes, definitely. Very, very much so. Smith is everything I ever wanted, he realy is. He's perfect.'

No, Jem, he's not. He's a prat and he doesn't deserve you.