Erin Kaye - The Art of Friendship

Janice was sure Pete caught her glance but, if he did, he chose to ignore her. She fixed her gaze on the mobile phones. Pete wasn’t supposed to be here – he had said he was going out. He must’ve changed his plans, she thought, and tried not to allow his presence disturb her. Pete folded his arms and watched Liam with a bemused expression on his face.

‘Okay, key in the phone numbers now,’ said Liam and he scattered a few of the kernels on the table, in the space at the centre of the cross.

‘Popcorn!’ exclaimed Patsy.

‘Hit dial now!’ ordered Liam and, after a few seconds’ delay, Martin’s phone began to ring followed quickly by the others.

The room fell silent, everyone fixated on the vibrating phones. Even Clare and Kirsty suspended their conversation to watch.

‘What’s supposed to happen?’ said Janice, but no-one replied. The phones continued to trill. After several rings, they stopped, presumably as they tripped to voice mail. Janice looked around at a roomful of puzzled faces. Pete had his hand up to his mouth. He seemed to be trying not to laugh. Janice looked away.

‘I don’t understand. I saw it on YouTube just the other day,’ said Liam, and he glanced at Martin who raised his eyebrows and shook his head. ‘The energy in the mobile phones cooks the popcorn.’

Suddenly Pete emitted a loud burst of laughter and everyone looked at him. ‘Oh man!’ he cried and slapped his thighs theatrically, his wiry frame bent double with hysteria. Then he straightened up and composed himself enough to say, ‘I can’t believe you actually did that. Everyone knows that YouTube video was a hoax. It’s, like, months old.’ The left side of his lip curled up in an Elvis-style sneer. ‘How could you think a few phones would emit enough energy to pop corn? You’re a total dork, Liam.’

Janice closed her eyes briefly, her face already aflame with embarrassment. Liam bit his bottom lip, grabbed his mobile off the table, and stuffed it in his pocket. Clare shot Pete an angry look and Janice opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.

Pete was nearly a grown man. He should know better. More to the point, she and Keith should’ve taught him better and she, and everybody in that room, knew it. She put a hand over her eyes in shame.

‘Any more drinks?’ called a cheerful voice and Janice looked up, grateful to see a young man, one of the waiters, holding out a tray of glasses – red and white wine and champagne. The tension in the room was dispelled immediately as several people made a dive for the drinks and a chorus of goodhumoured ribbing went up from the men in the room.

‘Well, Liam, boy,’ said someone. ‘It looks like you’ll have to get a microwave to make your popcorn, like everyone else.’

‘It’d be a lot cheaper than four mobile phones,’ said someone else while Pete slipped from the room.

‘And you can do more than four kernels at a time,’ added another and Patsy, in a fit of giggles, nearly fell off the end of the sofa.

‘Okay, okay. Point taken,’ said Liam, permitting himself a glimmer of a smile and raising his hands, palms outwards, above his head, surrender fashion. He added, through gritted teeth, ‘Bet I wasn’t the only one duped, though.’

‘I thought it would work too,’ said Clare, in defence of her husband. ‘And you don’t know till you try, do you?’ She placed her right hand on Liam’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. Fleetingly, he touched her hand with his own.

‘Phew!’ said Patsy. ‘It’s only clever people with degrees in science and physics and…and whatever would know it wouldn’t work.’

‘Hey, are you saying we’re not clever?’ said Martin good-naturedly, as Janice walked quickly over to the door just in time to watch Pete sauntering up the hallway. All merriment had evaporated – she was suddenly and completely sober. She felt a hard, cold knot in her stomach like a stone. She snatched a glass of champagne from the tray, knocked it back in one, replaced the glass and followed him, keeping her eyes fixed determinedly on the place between his jutting shoulder blades.

‘Janice!’ called Keith’s voice. ‘Over here.’

‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ called Janice, her voice like iron. She did not move her eyes from Pete.

He stopped to talk to two of his friends in the doorway to the kitchen – what were they doing here? Free drink of course, she realised, noting the beer can in Al’s hand and the crystal tumbler full of amber-coloured liquid in Ben’s. From the glazed expression on Ben’s face it looked like he was already well-acquainted with the contents of the spirit cabinet. But that was the least of her concerns right now.

For just then a young waitress, not more than sixteen, with her blonde hair scraped back in a severe ponytail and not a scrap of make-up on her fresh face, turned sideways to navigate her way past the boys, who were blocking her way into the kitchen. Not one of them made any attempt to move. She raised the tray above her head, facing Pete and smiled at him in an embarrassed sort of way. In one swift movement, so quick Janice almost missed it, he put his hands up, grabbed the girl’s breasts and squeezed them hard. The girl let out a yelp like an injured puppy, pulled the tray down like a shield across her chest and stumbled past him into the kitchen.

Seconds later Janice reached him. Ignoring Al and Ben, she grabbed Pete by the arm and dug her nails in hard enough for him to flinch. Pete didn’t appear surprised to see her. In fact when he turned to face her with that knowing smile on his face, it was almost as though he was expecting her. She put her palm on the handle of the cloakroom door and hissed, ‘In here. Now.’ His friends had the grace to stop laughing and look at the floor.

Pete flicked his long black eyelashes at her, looked away, looked back, sighed audibly. When he returned his gaze to her, it was full of insolence.

‘Now,’ she repeated through gritted teeth.

‘Whatever,’ he said, looking away again. She released her grip and he followed her into the cloakroom, slowly, making her wait. Janice flicked on the light and closed the door behind them. The room smelt of rugby boots and wet wool.

Janice folded her arms. ‘I saw what you just did.’

He stared at her insolently.

‘Are you drunk?’

‘Nope,’ he said and she knew from his clear-headed gaze that he was telling the truth. She wished he wasn’t – she wished that he was pissed out of his head. At least that would partly explain what she had just seen – and his unspeakable rudeness to Liam.

She exploded with rage. ‘How dare you touch that girl! How dare you! She’s an employee in this house and she should be treated with respect. She doesn’t look a day over sixteen, poor thing.’

When this failed to make any impression on Pete she added, ‘You could be charged with sexual assault, you do know that, don’t you?’

‘I never touched her. She just bumped against me on her way past. Big deal.’

‘Liar.’

He shrugged, looked away.

‘And how dare you talk to Liam McCormack like that?’ she said, her voice more controlled now, the rage simmering underneath. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, the adrenaline, released by fury, coursing through her veins. It felt like she was looking at him through a tunnel.

Again, Pete shrugged his shoulders, sharp at the edges like a hanger. ‘He deserved it. Anyway, I was only having a laugh. Don’t be so uptight, Janice.’ He’d stopped calling her Mum when he was nine, much to her irritation and hurt.

‘I didn’t see anyone laughing,’ said Janice. Apart from you. You were unforgivably rude and what’s worse, you encouraged him, knowing the trick would never work.’ In spite of her best efforts, her speech became more rapid and high-pitched as she went on. ‘You set him up. You deliberately set him up.’