My mates turned up empty-handed to a table packed with food, so I closed the fridge
“Tom, are you sure three kilos of pork shoulder is enough? Last time they cleared the table, even soaking up the last of the gravy with bread. And remember Lisa? She begged for a container for her dog, then posted a photo of my roast on Facebook, claiming it as her own masterpiece!”
Emma worriedly twisted the corner of a tea towel, surveying the chaos that was once our kitchen. It was only noon, but she was worn to a thread. Since sunrise shed been running: up early for the butchers to get the freshest meat, then Sainsburys for the best wine and posh nibbles, followed by hours of slicing, boiling, roasting.
I stood at the sink peeling potatoes, mood gradually souring as the peelings piled up, though I tried not to show it.
Emma, honestly, how much do you think theyll eat? Thats half a kilo of meat per head for four guests, and just us two. They’ll burst! Youve outdone yourself as it isred caviar, poached salmon, enough salad to feed an army. Were just having a housewarming, not a wedding banquet!
You dont get it, Emma waved me off as she stirred a rich sauce in the pan. Its Chloe and Mark, and also Lauren and Harry. Our old friends. We havent seen them in ages and theyre coming all the way from the other side of town. I cant have a stingy table, theyll say weve got grand now weve bought a flat, being all tight.
Emma was always like that. Hospitality was in her bones, handed down from her nan, who could throw a feast from nothing for a whole regiment. For Emma, an empty table was a personal insult; guests deserved a spread. She spent a week planning the menu, searching out recipes, slipping fivers from her pay into an envelope to afford Marks favourite Scotch and Chloes beloved French white.
“Wouldnt kill them to bring something for once,” I grumbled. Remember for Harrys last birthday? We brought a nice present, tip-top wine, and you baked a cake. What did they give? When we popped around theirs that time, it was sad old Ryvita and instant tea bags.
“Dont be petty, Tom, Emma chided. They were struggling thenmortgage, doing up the house. Its better for them now; Marks just got a promotion, Lauren bought a new coat and couldnt stop sharing about it. Maybe theyll bring something. I hinted that dessert should be their domain, told Chloe to handle the pudding.
By five in the evening, the flat gleamed, and the table looked like Selfridges food hallcentrepiece of brawn in aspic, encircled by bowls of proper salad (with tongue and crayfish tails, not cheap ham!), herring salad topped with salmon roe, platters of home-cured pork and cold roast beef. The pork roast was still in the oven, slow-cooked with spuds and mushrooms. In the fridge: a bottle of Finlandia vodka, decent French brandy and three bottles of wine chilling.
Emma, weary but content, changed into her best dress, fixed her hair, and flopped into the armchair, awaiting the doorbell.
Im nervous, she admitted as I buttoned my shirt. First do at our new place. Want things to be perfect.
The bell rang dead on five. Our friends were nothing if not punctual.
Emma rushed to the door. The lot of them tumbled in: Chloe in that new mink coat shed bragged aboutit probably cost half our renovationMark in a leather jacket, Lauren bold with lipstick, Harry already a bit merry.
Yay! Housewarming! shouted Chloe, bustling in with a cloud of sugary perfume. Lets see the palace!
The coats soon piled into my arms as Emma stood aside greeting them, eyes flicking quickly to their hands.
Empty. Not a bag, not a cake box, not a bottle, not even a bar of Dairy Milk.
But where Emma started, then stopped. Too awkward to ask. Maybe it was in the car? Something tucked away?
Emma! Youve lost weight! Lauren pecked her cheek without taking off her shoes, then strolled down the hall. The decorwell, its clean, Ill say that. Painted walls? Reminds me of an office. Shouldve gone for patterned paper.
We like a minimalist look, I said flatly. Come on, dinners through here.
They flooded the lounge. Marks eyes shone at the sight of the food.
This is some spread! He rubbed his hands together. Knew Emma would be on it. Didnt touch a thing all day, just waiting for your famous roast.
Everyone took their seats. Emma darted to the kitchen for hot startersmushrooms in little dishes. One thought kept circling her mind: Maybe the gifts money, slipped in a card? Thats why their hands are empty?
By the time she returned, they were already forking into the salads without waiting for a toast.
Mmm, proper salad! Good on you, Em. Harry munched loudly. Tom, mate, pour the drinks, why are we hanging about? My throats parched.
I poured vodka for the blokes and wine for the ladies.
To your new place! Mark toasted. Heres to a solid roof, no leaks, and decent neighbours. Cheers!
He tossed back his shot, wiped his mouth on his sleeve (though napkins were right there), and instantly reached for the salmon.
Oi, Emma, he said, chewing. Whys the vodka warm? Should chuck it in the freezer.
Its straight from the fridge, Mark. Five degrees, just right.
Nah, should be colder. Never mind, goes down well enough. Got any brandy? Be nice for a chaser.
We do, Emma replied, but how about you eat a bit first?
One thing doesnt stop the other! Harry guffawed.
And so the feast began. Food vanished at record speed. They ate like theyd been locked in a cellar for a week. Still, the critiques came thick and fast.
The herring salads a bit dry, Chloe announced, piling on her third helping. Did you scrimp on the mayo? Bit tight?
I made it fresh. Not as greasy as shop stuff, Emma explained.
Oh, just buy from Tesco and tip it on. Who wants faff? And the caviars tinypink salmon? Shouldve got the bigger one.
Emma and I exchanged looks. I could see I was gripping my fork so hard my knuckles were white.
So, whats new with you lot? I tried to change the subject. Chloe, didnt you go to Dubai?
Oh, I did! Chloe swooned. Total dreamposh hotel, all-in, lobsters, champagne. Got myself a real Louis Vuitton bag, cost me two grand, but its worth it. Mark moaned, but I said, You only live once.
Yeah, women and their spending habits, Mark chimed in, pouring himself a tot of brandy. Ive got my eye on a new Range Rover. Nearly there savings-wise. We dont waste money on silly things like home improvements.
What do you mean, silly things? Emma asked.
Well, like, walls are walls, said Lauren. We moved in ten years ago, same magnolia wallpaper from Nan. Rather spend on holidays, designer clobber, eating out. You lot just shovel your pay into bricks and mortar. Bit dull, honestly.
Speaking of restaurants, Harry cut in, dabbing his greasy lips on a napkin he dropped right on the cloth, we went to The Ivy last night. Unreal grub. Bill was three hundred quid, but seriously, the place! Beats home cooking any day. Emma, what about the roast? These salads are all leaves, want some proper meat.
Emma got up to clear their dirty plates, her insides shaking. These people had just boasted about their luxury buys and expensive dinners, but turned up here empty-handed. Not even a supermarket pot plant. Not even a Freddo bar.
She stepped into the kitchen. Chloe slipped in after her, pretending to help but really wanting a gossip.
Emma, mate, you do go all out, but I can tell youre skinting yourself. And the wine, sorry, its a bit meh. Thats the sort we take camping. You couldve splashed out.
Its French wine, Chloe. Twenty quid a bottle, Emma said tightly, stacking plates in the dishwasher.
No way! They ripped you off. Tastes like vinegar. Oh, by the way, have you any food left for us to take? Well be rough tomorrow, no time to cookbit of meat, some salad? Youve got loads, wont manage it all.
Emma froze, plate in hand. She turned slowly.
You want me to bag up leftovers for you now?
Yeah, why not? We always do. Saves on shopping! Chloe giggled. By the way, what about dessert? Im in the mood for something sweet. Got cake?
You said youd bring cake, Emma reminded quietly.
Me? Never! Im dieting, dont buy sweet stuff. I thought youd bake one of your Victoria sponges. Youre the baker! Or at least buy something nice. We didnt bring anything because youre set up now with your own flat and all.
Emma put the plate back down. The clatter rang through the kitchen.
So, you just assumed we had it all covered. And that were loaded.
Course! Youve got the mortgage, done the place upmust be rolling in it! Were scraping by, saving for a Maldives trip. Go on, serve the roast, the guys are tapping forks out there.
As Chloe rambled on, I remembered all those times Emma had lent Chloe money for emergency holidays, never getting a proper thank you, with repayments received in dribs and drabs. When Mark made me help move them and didnt even cover petrol. How theyd feast at our place but invite us over only once in a blue moon, serving up Icelands finest.
Emma approached the oven, opened it and let the rich aroma of roast pork with rosemary and garlic fill the tiny kitchen. Juicy, glistening, perfect. It had cost her half a days work and a fair chunk of her pay.
She glanced at the fridge, where a glorious berry pavlova shed pre-ordered for a surprise, despite Chloes promise, was hiding.
She closed the oven and switched off the hob. Walked to the fridge and shut it tightly.
Therell be no roast, she said, her voice unwavering.
What do you mean? Chloe blinked. Burnt?
No. Just not serving it.
Emma entered the lounge. The blokes were mid-way through another drink, arguing about politics. I sat there, feeling utterly defeated.
Right, everyone, Emma said, voice like a drawn bowstring, partys over.
All conversation ceased. Mark froze, glass halfway to his lips.
Emma, what now? We havent had the main yet! You said roast.
I did. Ive changed my mind.
Say what? Lauren was scandalised. Were starving! Salads dont count. Bring out the meat!
The roasts in the oven. Its staying there. And now, its time for you to gather your things and head homeor out to The Ivy, if you fancy another big meal.
Youve lost your mind! Harry cried. Tom, whats up with your wife? Were guests here!
I got up, slow but certain, and faced them. I could see Emma shaking, tears glinting in her eyes.
Shes not drunk, just had enough, I said calmly. You come into our home, bring nothing, polish off our best booze, rubbish Emmas food and our new place, call our good wine vinegar, then demand the main course?
We were only mucking around! Chloe shrieked. So we forgot the cakebig deal! At least we brought good company and a few laughs!
At our expense? Emma said, now strangely serene. No thanks. I spent the whole day in this kitchen and spent half my wages on tonight. I wanted to make you happy. But you you just take. Crawl out of your Dubai suites and restaurants, but cant spare a tenner for a thank you gift.
Oh, so youre the martyr now! Mark leapt up, knocking his chair. Moaning over a roast? Keep it then! Were done. Wont step foot here again! Tight-fisted!
Dont forget your empty containers, I said, holding the door. You wont need them.
Our so-called friends made a scene as they left, Chloe declaring Emma was toxic and vowing to tell everyone how mean she was. Lauren muttered about a wasted evening. The guys swore in the hall.
When the last of them had gone, the place was silent. Emma stood staring at the ravaged tabledirty plates, wine stains, scrunched napkins.
I put an arm around her shoulders.
You all right? I asked softly.
My hands are shaking, Emma admitted. Tom, was I out of line? Should I have just kept quiet? They were still guests
No, love, I replied. You finally stood up for yourself. Im proud of you. Honestly, Id have booted them after five minutes if you didnt. Theyve crossed the line more than enough.
Emma breathed in deep and leant against me. What about the roast? I joked a minute later, sniffing hungrily. Still in there? Im practically drooling!
She burst out laughing for the first time that evening. Still got the roast, Tom. And a massive berry pavlova as well.
We sat amid the mess, shoving plates aside. Emma brought out the sizzling pork, cracked open the dessert. I poured us each a glass of that supposedly vinegary Bordeaux, which was actually rich and luscious.
To us, I toasted, clinking glasses. And to only having people round who bring an open heart, not just an empty plate.
That was the tastiest dinner of our livesno background din, just us and pure happiness.
An hour later, Emmas phone pinged. Chloe: You cow! Now were stuck in McDonalds, choking on burgers thanks to you. You should apologise!
Emma smiled, hit block, and did the same with Lauren, Mark, Harry.
Our contact list shrank by four, but we breathed so much easier. And the fridge was packed with enough food to last us a weeknone of it going to those who didnt deserve a bite.
Funny thing, friendshipits supposed to be a two-way street. Sometimes a closed fridge is the best way to keep your self-respect intact.
