‘So, do I get clues? I suppose you and your housemate don’t live here.’
‘No.’
‘But there is food today?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can expand the answers, you know.’
As we approach the house, it seems very homely from the box trees in the drive and the attention they’ve paid to their garden.
The front door suddenly swings open. ‘Camelot!’
‘Moustache! Horseface!’
The ladies who stand at the door are in cocktail dresses and mid heels, with matching brown bobs. ‘Moustache’ doesn’t have a moustache because I’m studying her upper lip a little too closely. Horseface does have a long chin and a lovely mane, though. She raises her eyebrows at me.
‘Imogen?’ she asks. ‘You don’t look like your picture.’
‘That’s because I’m Josie.’
She glares at Cameron, not even out of embarrassment. ‘Oh. Cam, you told us your girlfriend’s name was Imogen. We made a place card.’
I smile nervously. Mainly because I get the sense that he is related to these women but also because my presence has not been expected. They were expecting pretty cat girl. I am not a pretty cat girl. I am a dependable if well-groomed dog girl. They’re most certainly family, aren’t they? I have been ambushed.
‘I texted Horseface to tell you Imogen wasn’t coming anymore…’ Cameron explains.
‘You texted me? Who texts people anymore?’ She studies my face. ‘So, you’re a new one?’ she asks rudely.
‘Yes,’ he answers. ‘To be fair, I bumped into her on the Tube this morning and asked her if she fancied coming to a dinner and she said yes, so…’
He’s not half wrong.
‘Look, Cameron,’ I say, ‘if me being here is a problem, then I can go. I don’t want to be in the way.’
He takes my hand and shakes his head. ‘No, it’s not a problem. These are my extremely rude sisters, Moustache, also known as Natasha, and Horseface, also known as Heather. This is my friend Josie, who has very kindly offered to be my plus-one.’
I’ve been upgraded to friend. This is a level up from party acquaintance, I guess.
Heather rolls her eyes around. ‘Hello, Josie. I’m an older and better sister. I guess we can write another place card. It’s nice to meet you,’ she says, not entirely convincing either of us. ‘No gift? Wine? It is her birthday,’ she says, turning to her brother.
This surprise ‘dinner thing’ keeps evolving into something else. I enter the hallway and look up to a banner.Happy 60thBirthday, Mum.Crap. Your mum? Her birthday? I haven’t even brought a card. I don’t even know the woman’s name.
I stare at Cameron as a few more people enter the hallway, all in smart partywear, looking Cameron up and down, including a woman with a silver bob and a silk pleated dress.
‘Cameron!’
‘Mum, happy birthday!’
‘Thank you for the case of wine, it arrived this morning – what a surprise…’
Cameron pulls a face at Natasha/Moustache.
This woman’s tones are elegant and joyful, though I suspect that may be because she’s seeing in her sixtieth with something sparkling. She’s accompanied by a man, wearing the late sixties version of partywear, which is a suit with no tie and a casual loafer. I look at his face in panic, thinking I might know him from somewhere. Maybe he’s played tennis with my dad? Maybe I’ve seen him locally?
‘I’m Henry Cox. Delighted, Imogen!’ he says, shaking my hand animatedly.
‘She’s not Imogen, Dad,’ a sister replies from behind me.
