The Guest List(30)
‘Charlie,’ Johnno says. ‘You are joining us?’
‘Charlie,’ I whisper, trying to catch my husband’s eye. He’s barely looked my way all evening, too wrapped up in Jules or trying to be one of the lads. But I want to get through to him.
Charlie’s such a mild man: hardly ever raises his voice, hardly ever gets cross with the kids. If they get a telling off, it’s normally from me. So it isn’t like he becomes a more intense version of himself when he drinks, or that alcohol amplifies his bad qualities. In ordinary life he doesn’t really have many bad qualities. Yeah, maybe all that anger is there, hidden, somewhere beneath the surface. But I could swear, on the couple of times I have seen him drunk, that it is like my husband has been taken over by someone else. That’s what makes it all the more frightening. Over the years I’ve learned to spot the smallest signs. The slight slackening of his mouth, the drooping of his eyelids. I’ve had to learn because I know that the next stage isn’t pretty. It’s like a small firework has suddenly detonated in his brain.
Finally Charlie glances in my direction. I shake my head, slowly, deliberately, so he can make no mistake of my meaning. Don’t do it.
‘What’s the fuck’s going on here?’ Duncan crows. Oh God, he’s caught me doing it. He swivels to Charlie. ‘She keep you on a leash, Charlie boy?’
Charlie’s ears have gone bright red. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Obviously not. Yeah, fine. I’m in.’
Shit. I’m torn between wanting to stay so I can try to stop him doing anything stupid and thinking I should leave him to it and let him take himself out, no matter the consequences. Especially after all that unsubtle flirting with Jules.
‘I’m going to deal,’ Johnno says.
‘Wait,’ Duncan says, getting to his feet, clapping his hands. ‘We should do the school motto first.’
‘Yeah,’ Femi agrees, joining him. Angus stands too. ‘Come on, Will, Johnno. Old times’ sake and all that.’
Johnno and Will rise.
I look at them – all, except Johnno, so elegantly dressed in their white shirts and dark trousers, expensive watches at their wrists. I wonder why on earth these men, who have apparently done so well for themselves since, are still obsessing about their school days. I can’t imagine banging on about crappy old Dunraven High. I never had any resentment towards it but it’s also not somewhere I think about all that much. Like everyone else, I left in a scribbled-on leaver’s shirt and never really looked back. No leaving school at 3.30 p.m. and heading home to watch Hollyoaks for these guys – they must have spent a chunk of their childhoods locked in that place.
Duncan begins to drum slowly with a fist on the table. He looks around, encouraging the others to join him. They do. Gradually it gets louder and louder, the drumming faster, more frenzied.
‘Fac fortia et patere,’ Duncan chants, in what I guess must be Latin.
‘Fac fortia et patere,’ the others follow.
And then, in a kind of low, intent murmur:
‘Flectere si nequeo superos,
Acheronta movebo.
Flectere si nequeo superos,
Acheronta movebo!’
I watch the men, how their eyes seem to gleam in the flickering candlelight. Their faces are flushed – they’re excited, drunk. There’s a prickle up my spine. With the candles and the dark pressing in at the windows and the strange rhythm of the chanting, the drumming, I feel suddenly like I’m watching some satanic ritual being performed. There’s a menacing element to it, tribal. I put a hand to my chest and I can feel my heart beating too fast, like a frightened animal’s.
The drumming intensifies to a climax, until it’s so frenzied that the crockery and cutlery is leaping about all over the place. A glass hops its way off the corner of the table and smashes on the floor. No one apart from me pays it any attention.
‘Fac fortia et patere!
Flectere si nequeo superos,
Acheronta movebo!’
And then, finally, right when I feel I can’t bear it any longer, they all give a roar and stop. They stare at each other. Their foreheads glisten with sweat. Their pupils seem bigger, like they’ve taken a hit of something. Big hyena laughs now, teeth bared, slapping each other on the back, punching each other hard enough to hurt. I notice Johnno’s not laughing as hard as all the others. His grin doesn’t convince, somehow.
‘But what does it mean?’ Georgina asks.
‘Angus,’ Femi slurs, ‘you’re the Latin geek.’
‘The first part,’ Angus says, ‘is: “Do brave deeds and endure”, which was the school motto. The second part was added in by us boys: “If I can’t move heaven, then I shall raise hell.” It used to get chanted before rugby matches.’
‘And the rest,’ says Duncan, with a nasty smile.
‘It’s so menacing,’ Georgina says. But she’s staring up at her red, sweaty, wild-eyed husband as though she’s never found him so attractive.
‘That was kind of the point.’
‘Right, ladies,’ Johnno shouts. ‘Time to stop fannying around and get some drinking done!’
Another roar of approval from the others. Femi and Duncan mix the whisky with wine, with sauce left over from the meal, with salt and pepper, so it forms a disgusting brown soup. And then the game begins – all of them slamming down their hands on the table and yelling at the top of their voices.