CHAPTER ELEVEN
The venue for the annual office Christmas dinner had been decided back in September. Being something of a holiday resort, Sharmouth had plenty of restaurants and hotels that welcomed the extra out of season business. It was always difficult deciding where to go, and the final choice was necessarily something of a compromise. Since everyone had to pay for themselves, the price had to be kept quite low so that the junior staff could afford it. The place had to offer vegetarian options, or three of the staff wouldn't go. The wide range in ages led to a spread of opinions as to what constituted good entertainment for after the meal, but a bar and some sort of dance floor were considered essential. Not all the staff were adventurous enough to try something different like an Indian or Chinese restaurant, so it always ended up as a standard turkey dinner.
With spouses and partners in attendance, the staff had to be very careful what they said. People who worked together for getting on for forty hours a week, year after year, got to know each other very well, and inevitably knew quite a lot about each others' lives. It was all quite normal and harmless, but the easy informality that it engendered could be upsetting to wives or boyfriends.
By the time the event finally came round, it was quite possible that only a quarter of the people who attended were actually keen to be there. Many who had resolved never to attend again were only there because of office protocol and the mellowing effect of time.
The Hotel Magnificent had a summer trade that was founded on its open views of the picturesque estuary, an asset that was somewhat devalued by the inky blackness of a December evening. For the past few years the Accountancy and Audit sections had held a joint dinner. The first initiative for this had come from the auditors who, with reduced numbers and a lack of shared social interests, had plumbed the depths one year with a dinner which took place in almost total silence.
On this Friday evening there were altogether thirty seven of them in the bar by eight o'clock, sipping at the small glasses of British sherry that came as part of the package price. At ten past eight the manager appeared and announced that the dinner was ready. There was a general movement in the direction of the dining room and Winner, one of the last to arrive, found himself walking in next to Sally Travis.
"Have you come alone?" he asked her.
"Yes. I'm not sure it's wise to expose a partner to this, even if you have one."
"Perhaps you'll keep me company?"
There was a single long table set for them at one side of the cavernous dining room. The rest of the tables were deserted and the management had made some effort to reduce the apparent size of the room by leaving off all the lights apart from those over the party. The actual effect was the exact opposite, so that it seemed as if they were going to eat outdoors. It was certainly cold enough to be outside. Winner sat at one end of the table and Barry Freeman at the other, with the rest of the staff sitting down at the first vacant chair they came to. This system usually resulted in an uneven distribution of men and women and satisfied nobody. On this occasion, Freeman had been isolated from his senior staff by a group of giggling girls.
"It's not very warm in here, is it?" said Sally.
Winner was about to say something about the unfortunate women who had chosen sleeveless evening dresses, when the volume of the background music was hiked up.
"I think they've just turned up the music to compensate," Winner said, raising his voice above the distorted strains of Elton John belting out Crocodile Rock.
Winner was glad he'd ordered the oxtail soup to start with. It might go some way to staving off the cold that was starting to remind him of his night on the roof. The waitresses appeared from out of an enticingly steamy kitchen bringing the first course. It was over two weeks since the list had gone round asking what options people wanted, and inevitably half of those present had forgotten what they had asked for, resulting in the final bowl of oxtail soup being put down by default in front of the staunchest vegetarian. There was a bit of trading around of half started food before everyone was happy, and there was universal relief when the sound level was reduced.
Winner tasted his soup, confident that the main effort in its production had been the operation of a tin opener.
"How's the prawn cocktail?" he asked. Sally was looking very attractive this evening, her pale skin tone contrasting well with the long black velvet dress that she had chosen. Her pearl drop earrings wiggled as she chewed.
"Almost defrosted, I think." She looked up and smiled. "These dinners are usually more fun to joke about after the event than they are to attend."
The wine arrived, a choice between Liebfraumilch and Cotes du Rhone.
"I'd say this one has all the symptoms of a classic evening," suggested Winner. "Loud music, icy room, and plenty more to come. Mind you, nothing to touch the year when the candles set light to the curtains and we all got food poisoning."
Sally looked at Winner. She liked his dry sense of humour. Sometimes he would say the most ridiculous things and only a slight twinkle in his eye would betray his amusement. Probably a skill learned from having to waffle in committee meetings.
"Do you remember the year we got mashed potatoes?" she asked.
"Yes, that was just too down-market. Since then I always check the menus for roast potatoes before agreeing on a place."
"How old's your son?"
Winner was caught out by the sudden change in subject. It was always hard not to talk about Council business at these events, but sometimes the effort sounded out of place.
"He's ten. Eleven in April, so it's his last year in primary school."
"Do you see much of him?"
"Most Saturdays."
"Do you find it difficult? You know, finding things to do."
"I did at first, but he's growing up all the time."
By the time the turkey arrived, Sally and Winner were on to their second glasses of wine and for some reason it was starting to taste better. Winner waited in eager anticipation for the vegetable dish covers to be removed. The colour of the sprouts was always a good guide to the overall standard of the meal. If they were flaccid and yellow the trick was to get stuck into the wine to anaesthetise the palate. It was almost a disappointment when they turned out to be firm and green.
"And how about you?" asked Winner. "How do you fill up your weekends?"
"Shopping, library, television. Sometimes I go and see my mother. It only takes an hour to drive there. Sundays a bit of housework and perhaps a walk. I like swimming, but not if it means going on my own."
"It does get quiet sometimes if you're on your own."
"I almost got married three times," she volunteered.
"I think I know what you mean. Who can say what the future will bring?"
There was a lull in the conversation as everyone tucked in to their main course. The food was cooling down too fast to waste time talking.
The bar was much cosier, with stools grouped around tables made from cut-off barrels. The management were obviously not totally unaware that the dining room heating was losing the battle against the December temperatures, because they offered to serve the coffees in the bar. Winner chose a table as far from the archway leading through to the disco as possible. He and Sally sat on a bench with Barry Freeman and his wife sitting on stools.
"What do you reckon, then," Freeman asked. "A score out of ten."
"If the average for the last few years has been six, then this one probably ran to seven out of ten. It would have been even higher if it had been warmer."
"I think his judgement's been affected by the wine," Sally told Freeman.
Winner could feel the warmth from Sally's thigh against his own. Secretly he thought that he would actually mark the evening higher.
"We can't stop here for long," said Freeman. "Helen's brother's driving down tonight for the weekend and we want to be there when he arrives. Are you two all right for getting home?"
"I'm walking," said Winner. "It
's not far. About twenty minutes."
"I got a lift here," Sally said, "but judging by the state of the driver, I might get a taxi home." She nodded in the direction of the lad from audit, who was steering an erratic course towards the cloakrooms.
They sat talking for a while as they sipped their coffees, vying to see who could astonish Freeman's wife most with increasingly bizarre memories of previous office dinners. When the coffee was finished, Winner went to the bar for two more glasses of wine, and by the time he returned Freeman and his wife were getting up to leave. He sat down again, trying to recall how many glasses he had drunk. The room was distinctly unsteady.
"Where do you live," Sally asked.
"I've got a flat at the top of Caxton Road. It's only small, but there's a tiny spare bedroom that Toby can use. The best thing about it is the storage heating. I used to think storage heaters were expensive and inefficient, but in a small place with modern insulation they're perfect. Whatever time you go in the place is warm."
"I've got a semi-detached place not far from you. I bought it as an investment, but it seems cold and empty, especially in the winter. With the housing market the way it is, it's hard to move to something more suitable."
Winner put down his glass and turned towards her, only to find that she was watching him. Their faces were only a few inches apart. The drink and the warmth had produced a pink glow in her cheeks and for a moment their eyes held together.
"Time for a dance," she said, lurching unsteadily to her feet and pulling on his arm.
"I'm not sure it's fitting for someone in my important position to make an exhibition of himself on the dance floor."
"Don't be silly. They're all too smashed to notice."
She led him through the archway into the pulsating gloom where they waved their limbs about through two up-tempo numbers and then held each other close when the music slowed down. They came out again when the next fast number started.
"Another drink?" Winner asked, as they weaved their way off the dance floor.
"I've had too much already. Would you mind ringing for a taxi? We could share if you don't mind leaving now."
Winner went to the payphone in the lobby to call for a cab, then retrieved their coats from the cloakroom. They had a few minutes to wait in the entrance hall before the taxi arrived.
"How about lunch on Sunday?" he asked. "That'll give time for us to recover from this evening. I could pick you up about twelve."
"I'd like that. You'll see where I live when the taxi drops me off."