Excerpt: The Last Friday of the Month

Veronica looked at herself in the dressing table mirror. That would have to do. She had fixed her makeup as best she could and had tied the long blonde hair back into an artfully untidy knot. She had to admit that the loose tendrils of hair framing her face added a different dimension to her usual straight hair, no-frills no-fuss style. Now to find something to wear. Opening the door to her closet, she stared at the rows and rows of neat tailored shirts hanging above the neat tailored trousers and something inside her rebelled. She slammed the door shut and leant back against it. Her mind went on a wild roller coaster ride through all the items of clothing she possessed. Aha! It was as if a light had come on, a bright glowing light bulb, she thought with joy. Turning to the cupboard holding her t-shirts and jerseys, she pulled down the contents of the highest shelf, and found what she was looking for. A dress she had last worn when she was in her twenties, but which suited her mood to perfection. Quickly pulling the jersey halter-neck over her head, she looked at the reflection in the mirror. Almost there, she thought. Searching through the hangers holding her trouser collection, she eventually found what she was looking for. An equally old pair of black satin trousers. She had never worn the two items together before, but they made the ideal combination. Perfect, she thought. Just perfect for the way I feel tonight. A few strands of beads and she was ready. Gulping the last of the wine she steeled herself mentally for the evening ahead.

As she walked down the stairs snippets of conversation drifted up to meet her. “Today”, “Me too”, “Lunchtime”, “Shush”.

Sally was, Veronica thought, predictably the first person to welcome her when she got to the foot of the stairs.

“Ronnie! You look wonderful! Where on earth did you find that outfit? It’s just to die for, doll! Look, everyone, Ronnie’s joined us.”

Sally was the only person she knew who insisted on calling her ‘Ronnie’. Personally she didn’t feel too strongly about the nickname but knew that Gilbert abhorred it. He had made a vague reference to something to do with East London and ending something, or the enders or possibly the tenders, but Veronica hadn’t had the chance to follow up on what he had meant.

“Veronica! Darling! You do look marvellous!” Gilbert was at her side with another glass of white wine.

Veronica smiled, took the glass of wine from Gilbert and looked around at all their guests. The hush was immediate. “How nice that you could all be here. And thank you for waiting until I made myself presentable. Please,” she waved in the direction of the table which she could see was groaning under the weight of platters of food of all description, “please, help yourselves and … oh,” she gasped, a look of utter concern on her face, “but it’s Sally who should be saying all this. After all, I understand that this evening’s affair is the brainchild of my husband and my neighbour and best friend.” Smiling at Gilbert and Sally, she raised her glass in their direction. “Please, one of you, go ahead. Or should that be,” she paused for a moment before continuing, “both of you?”

*****

“Bravo! That was quite some speech back there.”

Veronica turned to face the woman standing beside her.

“Hello, Agnes. I didn’t see you standing there for a moment.” Veronica looked at the striking brunette standing at her side. Agnes had to be very close to her sixties but could easily pass for early forties. Whatever age she truly was, she wasn’t letting anyone in on her secret. “Tell me, Agnes, when were you invited to this shindig?”

“Strange that you should ask, my dear. I was wondering how to mention it. My invitation came at midday today. Dear Sally phoned. Told me how bad she was feeling about it all, but that they had organised this ‘do’ – or ‘shindig’ if you prefer – for you, and that she thought Gilbert was going to invite me. Only when they were checking the guest list today did they realise that Gilbert was under the impression that Sally was going to do the inviting.” Agnes raised her glass to her mouth while eyeing Veronica carefully over the rim.

“Thank you, Agnes. If you’ll excuse me, I really have to be circulating.”

Agnes twiddled her fingers in the air in reply.

Thoughtfully Veronica made her way through the crowd of people in the lounge, in the kitchen, spilling out into the garden behind the house. It looked as if every single person she knew, no matter how distantly, was here tonight. Had they all been invited at the last minute, she wondered.

Smiling, smiling, smiling. My mouth is beginning to hurt I’ve been smiling so long. Why are they all here? What are they expecting to see? In her mind’s eye she could picture them all too easily as vultures, talons out to strike, to grab the flesh …

“Veronica? Darling? Are you all right?”

She was brought back to reality by the sound of her husband’s voice.

“You’re as pale as a ghost. Come. Sit down. Over here, right here. Here’s a chair.” Gilbert led Veronica to the chair he had selected. “It’s okay, folks,” he called to the room in general, “nothing to worry about. The leading lady thinks she’s just seen Banquo’s ghost.”

Veronica heard the reference to Shakespeare and knew instinctively that everything she imagined was true. She looked up at her husband. “Exactly when was this party,” she spat the word, “arranged?” She glared at him. “Yes? A month ago was it? No? Two weeks ago? No? Didn’t think so. Um, let me see. A week ago? Come on, Gilbert, you can tell me.” Veronica paused to take a sip of wine from her glass. “No, don’t tell me it was today? This morning? After I surprised Sally when she was letting herself in to our house? Was it then that you came up with the plan of throwing a surprise party? Must have taken some moving, Gilbert. Some real moving. And some real money, I wouldn’t be surprised. And just whose money would that be, Gilbert? Go on, tell me.”

Gilbert looked around at the circle of faces staring at him. Waiting for a reply. His reply. He looked at the woman staring at him, waiting for him to answer her question. “Veronica. Sweetheart.” He tried to remove the wineglass from her hand. “Come, I don’t think we need anything more to drink, do we? It’s been a hard day. Hey, folks!” he turned to the fascinated audience, “did you hear? Veronica was at the bank when it was robbed today.”

Immediately the focus of attention in the room shifted. He’s done it again, thought Veronica, feeling her lips twist into a wry smile. He’s got the gift of the bloody gab and can talk his way out of anything. Everyone was crowding around, asking her what had really happened, which of the robbers had shot the old man, was it true that they had an armoured car as a getaway vehicle. Agnes was her saviour.

“Come on, guys.” Agnes’s voice ploughed her way through the throng. “Give the girl a break. How would you all feel if you’d just been through something like that today? This girl needs to be given a medal for even bothering to come down and speak to the likes of all of us tonight. After all, she would have been in a life and death situation. Something I doubt anyone here tonight would be able to say for themselves. Go, now. Find another drink. Find something to eat. Do whatever it is you normally do at parties.”

Veronica smiled weakly as Agnes sank down on the chair next to her. “Thanks,” she whispered.

“No problem. Now, just tell me. What the hell is going on in your life? This isn’t the normal you, not that I totally disapprove, mind you, it’s just not the way you normally behave. So, come one, give. What’s going on?”

Veronica let out a little sigh. “Agnes, dear Agnes. You always were my guardian angel.” She smiled affectionately at the older woman. “Tell you what.” She handed Agnes her empty wineglass. “Get me a refill, and I’ll tell you everything.”