There was the smallest grain of anxiety somewhere in Dan’s melted consciousness, a dim sense that there might be trouble afoot, a storm blowing in; but like a crescent moon in a cloudy sky it slipped out of range and was instantly forgotten. Lisa said, ‘She might be listening to that right now,’ and because the world was currently suffused in a gorgeous honey glow, Dan only smiled and said, ‘I’ll pick up her hand and slowly … blow her little mind.’

28

EVERYWHERE,
21 JULY 2013

The boys were drinking a fancy pale ale, the girls were on prosecco. Sketches of Spain had ended and had now been replaced by Simon and Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits, Katelin’s favourite album, and not a terrible choice as musical wallpaper, although Dan had never been a fan of Art Garfunkel and he couldn’t stand ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’, playing now, bloated and over-produced. He discreetly turned down the volume, and grimaced at Duncan, who grinned.

They were in the front room, the living room, which was immaculately tidy for the occasion, all the usual trappings of their lives – magazines, books, sample albums, remote controls – stashed away in the cupboard on which the television stood. The doors were buckling under the strain, and whoever opened them would start an avalanche. It was only Duncan and Rose-Ann for Sunday lunch, but Katelin had lately decided she was restyling their home into a calmer, more neutral space – Rose-Ann’s words, coming out of Katelin’s mouth – and as well as tidying away the clutter, she was also redecorating, by degrees. The walls in here were Old White now, apparently, which wasn’t white at all, but grey, or greenish, depending where you stood, and how the light fell. The new curtains seemed to Dan to have been fashioned out of antique grain sacks, but it was organic hemp, Katelin said, sustainable, biodegradable. Rose-Ann was cooing over the changes, which ‘opened up the room’ (how?) and ‘turned the focus from the general to the specific’ (why?). Dan, keeping his counsel, could already picture his mother’s face when she next visited. ‘It’s a bit drab,’ she’d say, then: ‘I always think yellow’s a lovely cheerful colour for a lounge.’ Anyway, at least his records were still where they belonged.

In the centre of the room, on the new glass coffee table, were two bowls: one of silvery marinated anchovies, and another of roasted almonds washed in lemon juice. These elegant offerings from the local deli were in lieu of a starter, and Katelin had bought new Turkish-made ceramic dishes for them, from the same shop. Very pretty, turquoise and orange, the colours of the Mediterranean. Duncan dangled an anchovy by the tail and dropped it into his open mouth like a seal.

‘Do you remember,’ he said, ‘when a bag of Golden Wonder cheese and onion was all we had as a snack?’

‘All we needed,’ Dan said.