Anne Billson - Suckers

'How was I supposed to know? You could have been a mugger, or a rapist.'

'Oh, he's both,' said Charlie, 'aren't you, Jack my boy?'

'Where's Alicia?' I demanded.

'At home,' Jack said, still rubbing his ribs.

I looked across the room and immediately spotted Roxy, talking to Ruth. 'Oh I see,' I said.

Jack followed my gaze. 'We take it in turns,' he protested. 'I stayed in with Abigail a couple of days ago.'

'I'll bet you did,' I said. 'Someone has to babysit while Alicia shops for groceries.'

'Well, excuse me. You're in a friendly mood today.'

'Sorry,' I said, holding out my bottle as a peace-offering. 'Have some champagne.'

Jack went in search of a glass. 'You're being a bit hard on him, aren't you?' asked Charlie. 'He's a good father.'

'But a rotten, lousy husband,' I said. 'Poor old Alicia.'

'Oh, I don't know,' said Charlie. 'Alicia's not doing anything she doesn't want to do.'

The line sounded familiar from somewhere. I was still trying to remember where, when Ruth came over to tell Charlie that Clive had arrived with the tapes.

I sat to one side of the room, smoking and drinking and occasionally chatting to passing acquaintances, but mostly keeping my eyes peeled so I would spot Duncan or Lulu as soon as either of them arrived. Every so often, someone would interpret my solitude as an invitation and buttonhole me with an in-depth monologue on modern architecture or the state of the nation. I'd escape by saying I had to refill my glass or go and powder my nose, but as often as not, as soon as I'd settled down on my own again, I would be cornered by someone else, and my eyes would be glazing over and I would be thinking about a movie I'd seen or about someone I used to know or about Docklands and Multiglom. Ah yes, Multiglom. I could hear someone droning on about it now. The name hauled me back on to full alert.

'Say that again,' I said. The person who had been doing the talking was a thick-set youth with a Yorkshire accent and big stubble like Desperate Dan. He yelled into my ear. 'I said , funny about this Multiglom business, isn't it? ' He had to yell, because Charlie was playing Clive's trendy samba tapes at maximum volume.

I yelled back, 'What Multiglom business?'

'I said , they're taking over the world.'

My blood froze. 'Multiglom? '

The Yorkshireman allowed himself a patronizing smile. 'No, no.' I heaved a sigh of relief. For a horrible moment there, my paranoia had sprouted wings and been cleared for take-off.

'I'm talking about this Euro-consortium — Dragosh Inc.,' he said.

'Really?' My attention was on the wane again.

'Buying all those publishing companies, and the breweries, and the high-street stores.'

'Breweries? High-street stores?'

'Who hasn't been reading her FT, then?' he smirked. 'High-street stores. Pharmatech, Berkamart, et cetera, et cetera.'

'Wait a sec,' I said. 'I think there was something on the telly last night. Bagwash, was it? Dragosh?' The name rang a couple of distant chimes, but they faded into nothingness before I could match them up. 'Isn't there a law against it? Monopolies and mergers?'

'Loopholes. Did you know they've put in a bid for the country's third largest cinema chain? We heard that at the office today. It probably won't be in the papers for another week, but we sometimes get advance information on these things.'

'A chain of cinemas? That's really throwing money down the toilet. They'll never make any profit on that.'

He shrugged. 'They've never made a loss yet.'

'Who? Dragosh?'

'No, Multiglom ,' said the Yorkshireman, fast losing patience.

'I thought you said it wasn't Multiglom.'

He sighed and rolled his eyeballs. 'Multiglom is just the media arm ,' he explained as though he was talking to a five-year-old. 'Multiglom is a part of Dragosh. The nerve centre.'

'But I thought you said…'

I was ready to grill him further, but he mumbled something about having to get a refill and swiftly moved off in the direction of the butler. It was the first time I had ever been abandoned by a party bore, and I didn't much care for the feeling. I was wondering whether to tag along with him anyway when I saw Duncan. He was standing, or rather leaning, with one arm draped across the padded shoulders of an all too familiar figure — Francine. I went up and said hello, I could see he'd been working really hard all afternoon.

'Hi, Dora,' he said. 'Dora, this is Francine.'

'I know who it is,' I said. Francine smiled sweetly at me. I smiled sweetly back. 'Where's Lulu?' I asked him.

'Who's Lulu?' asked Francine. As soon as she opened her mouth I was hit by a blast; she'd been at the garlic again. It was overkill. I'd stopped scoffing the stuff after Duncan had complained, and now I kept it ready peeled in my pocket. But I didn't see him whingeing about Francine's breath the way he'd whinged about mine, and that really pissed me off.

'I don't know,' said Duncan, who appeared to be having some difficulty understanding what people were saying to him. He removed his arm from Francine's shoulders and regarded her gravely. 'Do you know where Lulu is?' he asked. Francine shook her head.

'Are you sure she's coming?' I asked.

'S'what Ruthie said.' He peered around exaggeratedly. 'Where is Weinstein anyway? Can you see her?'

'Weinstein?' asked Francine, igniting like a Roman Candle. 'Weinstein Galleries? Maybe I should introduce myself.'

Duncan swayed gently, to and fro. Red wine slopped dangerously near the rim of his glass. 'Where's Lulu?' he repeated.

'Should I know Lulu?' asked Francine. 'Is she famous?'

'She is now,' I said. 'Francine, honey, why don't you… run along and talk to Ruth. There she is over there, the one with the perfect nose and podgy calves.'

'No, no,' said Duncan, putting his arm back around Francine's shoulders. 'I think Francine should stay with me. Francine is telling me all about Dino and his latest scheme. It's very interesting, isn't it Francine?'

Francine touched his lips with her finger and made a noise like a soda syphon. 'He's had a bit too much to drink,' she explained, as though I were deaf, dumb, and blind. I was about to ask about Dino and his 'scheme' when I noticed that Duncan, in light-hearted mood, was trying to slide his hand down the front of her little black dress. Her resistance was less than token. I couldn't stand to watch any more. He just wasn't worth the effort. I'd left my cigarettes on a table across the room and went back to reclaim them; no one owned up to smoking any more, so the packet was exactly where I'd left it. I was just lighting up, looking forward to a spot of peaceful isolation, when Ruth bore down on me with that stiff-legged trot which meant business. Her expression was not at all appropriate to a party occasion; it was grim.

'I've been meaning to talk to you,' she said.

'Again?' I said.

'No,' said Ruth, 'I mean properly . You never let me talk to you properly , Dora. You always change the subject, or turn it into a joke. Now I have something important to say, and I want you to shut up and listen .'

'Sure,' I said, not sure at all. I was thinking she was going to tick me off about the cigarettes.

'Not here,' she said, looking around apprehensively. 'Upstairs.' I followed as she headed back through the crowd towards the staircase. One or two people were dancing, but a bit too energetically, as if to prove they had no inhibitions. Someone cannoned into me and I nearly lost my balance. There was a lot of high-pitched laughter and hysterical shrieking. I hadn't realized everyone had been getting quite so intoxicated. Ruth's parties were usually rather sedate.