And there we were in the warmth of the kitchen, sipping a pre lunch drink whilst delicious aroma of the gravy that I was making wafted around us. The table was laid, instead of the corner of the kitchen work surface where we normally eat, the fire was burning and the winter sunlight illuminated motes of dust, that are now taking liberties as Jenny’s right arm is out of action, floating in the air. Even though the hour was well past that at which we had expected the arrival of our guests neither of us had voiced our mutual belief that all was not well, although thoughts of an accusatory nature were forming beyond the horizon of bonhomie, and the apportioning of blame was being carefully measured.
“Did you confirm the time?””No””Oh””I’m sure it was understood””Are you?””Yes, I am””Maybe give them a ring””For God’s sake…””Just to be sure””I am fucking sure”” Ring them…”
The reply to the phone call came as if from another, if not universe, then certainly another time space. It was as if I was asking for the solution to an impossible Euclidian equation, and asking the question in a little know dialect of Tagalog. It appeared that I was mad to believe that an any such arrangement could had been entered into, and I detected a certain sympathy for the delusions from which I clearly suffered on a regular basis. Pointless to continue – I begged to be excused for my insanity and ate the phone. Then we ate roast chicken, bread sauce, roast potatoes, shelled broad beans in cream, carrots slowly cooked in butter and sugar until fondant, a bucket of the delicious gravy and an apple pie. So we didn’t get to spend time with the Fokkers for which I’m fokking grateful.