The Dinner Party. R. Parker J.
At their next visit Rhys would forget that he’d brought them previously and examine the labels with vague disdain. Ted didn’t dislike Kathryn and Rhys. They just weren’t his favourite people. They didn’t really fit in with the rest of the group, but they were Evie and Jakob’s friends and had assumed one invite to join them all for dinner in 2017 meant lifelong membership.
But when Juliette’s father died, Kathryn and Rhys had been incredibly supportive. Both spending time with her because they’d both lived through the same bereavement. More time than any of their other friends. After that Ted’s perception had changed. They were at odds with the others, but Ted couldn’t forget the sensitive side they’d shown his wife when she’d really needed it.
‘The girls are sleeping over at a friend’s, but they didn’t want us to leave,’ Kathryn said to Juliette.
Kathryn and Rhys had twins of Georgie’s age. It had taken them five years of IVF treatment to bring them into the world, so Ted understood why they handled their girls like antique china.
He took Kathryn’s dark teal cashmere shawl and it smelt overpoweringly of perfume. ‘Come through.’ That was everybody. The evening was now officially underway.
‘It’s a trust game.’ Evie gauged seven people’s reactions and didn’t seem surprised by them: attentiveness from the women and uncomfortable suspicion from the men.
‘Alexa, turn off,’ Juliette said without shifting her attention from Evie.
Ed Sheeran was cut off mid-angst. That pleased Ted, but he was still baffled as to why Alexa only seemed to obey Juliette. The sudden silence committed everyone to listen and he studied Orla’s and Connor’s expressions. Evie attempting to reconcile them was part of every get-together.
Orla and Connor were a passive aggressive couple, their Northern Irish accents noticeably stronger when they were tossing cutting remarks at each other. But now they sat among the others like two singletons. Juliette liked to mix everyone up so nobody was sitting with their partner. They’d never been that tactile but now the only giveaway that they were actually together was the occasional barked remonstration from Orla when Connor rested his elbows on the table or slouched in his chair.
Connor’s look was always the same – wiry, sweaty and harried, with three buttons opened down from the collar, his tight black curls looking as coiled as he was. But today Ted could see a shadow of something in Connor’s eyes. Orla was as skinny and tall as Connor and her straight fringe of mousy hair came exactly down to her eyebrow line. She was a pale and beautiful woman, but Ted thought the style made her look slightly deranged. Juliette had told him her eyebrows had fallen out because of a childhood trauma and that she’d always been self-conscious about them. She’d never wanted to augment them with eyeliner or get them tattooed, however, even though a large percentage of her arms were covered in ink. Ted thought she looked more frazzled than usual.
‘My work colleague is seeing a counsellor at the moment,’ Evie continued. ‘She said that after twelve years of marriage she didn’t believe anyone outside of it was ever going to be able to help her.’
There was that ‘work colleague’ again. Ted wondered if she really existed. Evie was always advocating therapy, even though she and Jakob had had only a handful of sessions some years ago. They were a solid couple, but boredom was their enemy. Evie often looked for problems where there weren’t any. They should have had children; it had been talked about at one point, but Juliette said the subject was now strictly out of bounds.
‘He got them to play the trust game. It’s especially for couples who have been married longer than seven years.’
That described all of them. Kathryn and Rhys had had their tenth anniversary already and, as they’d all got married the same year, the rest of them would be celebrating this coming summer.
Orla and Connor had two girls, like Kathryn and Rhys. Ted didn’t know how they managed with more than one child. But they’d all felt overpowered by parenthood at various stages, experienced that deep fatigue and the night terrors about their children’s future. Probably because of the girls, Evie had made Orla and Connor her rescue project, and recently even Ted had become concerned about Connor.
Connor had always had a dour sense of humour, but over the past year there had been a marked change in his personality. The flippant glimmer in his eye had gone and he now seemed to go through social occasions with Orla on autopilot. But it was something Connor had said at a pub that had disturbed Ted. Connor had been bemoaning the relentless nature of parental commitments and Ted had responded with a platitude about trying to enjoy the kids when they were young because life was short. Connor had said:
‘Life’s short. But sometimes not short enough.’
It was vintage Connor, but without a trace of his usual playfulness. He just looked worn out. He was an investment broker and brought home a bigger salary than the other couples put together, but Ted guessed that juggling multiple stress balls at work and dealing with a crumbling marriage was the reason he was becoming increasingly withdrawn. Maybe Ted had been reading too much about suicide stats for men their age, but he’d been worried enough to mention it to Juliette. She said that Orla and Connor’s fights had stopped, but that seemed more troubling than anything else.
‘To any couple who feel they’ve amassed too much baggage, the game is designed to expunge guilt and wipe the slate clean for the sake of their futures.’
Ted’s eyes switched to Evie and back to Connor again. His friend’s face was impassive.
‘So what is the game?’ Juliette asked as she poured more red wine from the decanter into the empty glasses on the table.
Jakob nodded he’d have more. He’d just finished his third glass and his ruddy complexion held the tally. He’d already told Evie they’d be getting a cab.
‘Each person in a couple has to write down their deepest, darkest secret on a piece of paper, something that has happened since they took their vows – something they’ve never told their partner about.’ Evie checked their reactions again, gave it a beat to let the tension set in.
Nobody moved. Ted had been about to swallow but now didn’t want to fill the silence.
‘Then they fold the piece of paper, put it into an envelope and give it to their partner.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Jakob responded offhandedly and took a generous swig of his filled glass. ‘Already sounds dangerous.’
Evie turned to him. ‘If you have something to hide.’
‘What if they have nothing to hide?’ Rhys absently stroked his beard.
Evie ignored him. ‘It can be anything, minor or major. Then their partner, without opening the envelope, tells them that they forgive them and sets fire to it.’
‘What about the other’s envelope?’ Juliette filled her own glass.
‘They do the same. Say they forgive them and burn theirs too.’
Juliette’s eyes were fixed on pouring.
‘And what the hell does that achieve?’ Connor sounded bored.
‘It’s symbolic and it means they can move on. Whatever secret they had has been forgiven and destroyed by their partner.’
‘Without them knowing what it was,’ said Rhys warily.
‘It’s a declaration of faith in each other’s future together.’ Evie sipped her wine.
Connor leaned back in his chair. ‘Isn’t that like ten Hail Marys though? I mean, how often do you do this? Every week? Do I simply get Orla to absolve me every time I do something wrong?’
‘That’s already a full-time job.’ Orla didn’t look at him when she said it, just gently stroked the ornate tattoo of a blue-ringed octopus