‘Dinner with your housemates? All four of you?’ From Mum’s reaction, you’d have thought I was eating with One Direction. ‘See!’ She turned to Dad, who gave her an enthusiastic fist-bump. ‘Iknewyou moving in was what those boys needed! How wonderfully civilised. Is it going to be proper, homecooked food?’
‘Isaac’s sorting it as he’s off today. So I very much hope not.’
* * *
To everyone’s relief, the chef had gone to Waitrose in Newark, a half-hour drive away, and picked up a fresh pizza, salad and fancy bread that even he couldn’t mess up. When we expressed our heartfelt appreciation at his going to all that trouble, he reminded us that it was a lot less trouble than if he’d tried to cook something himself.
We’d set the ground rules for dinner the night before. Everyone had to dress as though they were trying to make a good impression, and bring a topic of conversation that wasn’t in any way related to the Chimney Cup.
Once Elliot was back from football training at six-thirty, we convened in the kitchen.
‘First things first,’ Arthur said, standing bolt upright behind his chair. ‘Have we managed to make a good impression?’
‘Okaaaay…’ I did a quick once over of their outfits. ‘Arthur, I appreciate that you’ve tried, but is that what you wear for funerals?’
He tugged on the black frockcoat. ‘It’s my most impressive outfit!’
‘Yes, but perhaps a bit formal for dinner with a friend? Elsa will be hoping for a fun time, not to feel like she’s at a wake.’
‘Wakes can be fun.’
‘Not very romantic, though, are they?’
He quickly slipped off the coat and pin-striped waistcoat underneath and undid the top button on his white shirt.
‘Much better. Maybe next time try a nice pair of jeans.’
‘I don’t own any jeans.’
‘Okay, we can sort that another time. Right. Isaac. Are you taking this seriously?’
‘What?’ He pulled his chin back, insulted. ‘I went out and bought this today, especially. The sales assistant said it was fashionable.’
‘Did they happen to be three years old?’ I shook my head. ‘I thought the whole point of this was that you’re showing Connie you’ve grown up.’
My twenty-eight-year-old managing director brother was wearing a yellow and white striped towelling shirt over huge, baggy shorts in the same fabric.
‘There’s no need to be offensive.’
‘I could say the same about that outfit.’
Aware of my heart starting to tap a little faster, I turned to Elliot, doing my utmost to appear easy-breezy about having to focus my attention on him.
‘Not bad.’ He wore a pale blue shirt and navy chinos. ‘Although, weren’t you wearing that shirt yesterday? And most of last week?’
I didn’t want to sound as though I’d been taking note of what he wore, but he was paying me for this, so I had to at least try to do a proper job.
‘No.’ He glanced down. ‘That was a different shirt.’
‘But the same colour?’
‘Yes.’
‘And style?’
‘Yes.’ He looked back up at me. ‘I have five matching blue shirts and three pairs of trousers. Five white T-shirts and two pairs of identical jeans. Five sets of running shorts and tops. Oh, and a Harriers kit.’
‘Seven pairs of identical boxer shorts,’ Arthur added, helpfully.
