She took his hand and didn’t know what to do with it. “Show him his room, Colin. Belinda’s changing downstairs. Dinner’s almost done, apparently.”
“I can smell,” Timon grinned. The hallway was scented like every family Sunday he had ever been invited to. Belinda had topped everything with rosemary—carrots, peas, potatoes, and on the chicken’s humped and basted back. It was a trick she’d learned recently. Aunty Anne whirled away with a smile. She’d worn a new M&S print frock for the occasion. “Wendy, could I have a little word?”
Once Timon had been safely led away, Wendy was grabbed by her aunt. “I’ve had the most awful thought. Have you warned Belinda?”
Wendy stared at her. “What about?”
“Sweetheart,” said Aunty Anne pointedly. “You and I know and love Timon a great deal, but a stranger cannot help but notice how black he is.”
“Black?”
“Does Belinda know he pen-friend is black?”
“I suppose so. I don’t know what they tell each other.”
Aunty Anne narrowed her eyes. “Wendy, if this is all a bit of mischief-making, then I take a very dim view. And so will your Uncle Pat. You want to see how she’ll react to a black man, don’t you?”
“What?”
“You’re testing her.” Aunty Anne looked piqued. “And the rest of them. Thinking you’re oh-so-right-on and politically whatsisname. Now, have you made it plain to Belinda what colour he is?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does! She’s in love with him. Well, with the idea of him.” Aunty Anne tried to compose herself. “For all her mini dresses and knocking about with young people, you may have noticed that your friend Belinda is actually a quite naïve and old-fashioned person. I’d have thought you’d have had more sensitivity than to land her in a predicament like this.”
“I think you’re being…” Wendy took a deep breath. It was hard work having one of these hissing arguments with her aunt. “I think you’re being ridiculously over-protective. And insulting to both of them. Has Belinda ever acted like a racist in front of you? What makes you think she’s like that?”
“I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt. I see that you don’t think that’s important.”
“This is all just you. You’re putting your own racism onto Belinda.”
“Me, racist! He can be bright blue for all I care! And I never invited him in the first place. That young man means nothing to me. It’s Belinda I’m thinking about.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I hate that tone of yours, young lady. You’ve lost all respect.”
“You’ve got to respect my friends.”
“Wendy, don’t you see? To some people, the colour you are is very important…”
“This is the woman who dyes her hair every other day.”
“Don’t be stupid. I mean colour as in race. It’s to do with who you come from, and where.”
“Bullshit,” said Wendy. She wanted to finish this conversation. “And anyway, Timon’s an orphan. He doesn’t know where it is he comes from. Can’t you just accept him for what he is?”
“I can,” said Aunty Anne frostily. “I’m very good at accepting people for what they are. I’ve had to be an expert, haven’t I? I just hope Belinda’s like that too.”
“Aunty Anne… Belinda claims to have been to space and had sex with her visitors. Is interracial marriage going to be such a shocking thing to her?”
“Now you’re being ludicrous. And who said anything about them getting married?”
Timon had unzipped his rucksack in the newly-decorated guest room. It was painted forest green in here, with blue skirting boards and floor. Colin had supervised the furnishing in his father’s absence and he lapped up Timon’s enthusiasm. He watched Timon shake out his luggage onto the new duvet and found himself staring as the newcomer yanked off his shirt and shoes, at his nipples which looked almost purple and bruised. Timon shucked off the rest of his clothes, changing hurriedly for dinner, and saying how starving he was. From his pile of belongings he plucked out a fresh yellow shirt.
Colin—although he could have kicked himself because of it—was already half in love. “I’ll show you where the kitchen is.” He added, as Timon followed on, “I’m not getting changed.”
“You look pretty smart as you are.”
Colin head swam with lager and praise.
In the warm, rosemary-scented kitchen, the long table was laid with the best silverware. Aunty Anne had set out the places and glasses herself, refusing to let the jumpy Belinda touch any of the precious pieces. “We were given this tableware on our wedding day,” she explained mistily.
Already installed at the table in her wheelchair was Astrid, who looked up when Colin and Timon walked in. “Jesus God, he’s a fine-looking man,” she gasped, dropping the spoons she’d been rubbing. “Is this him?”
“This is him,” said Colin.
Timon stared at Astrid. “You’re in a wheelchair.”
Astrid nodded.
“And you’re… Asian.”
Astrid looked perturbed. Then she realised. “I am not Belinda.”
Colin hurried to smooth things over. “This is Belinda’s pal, Astrid. She works in the launderette.”
“I have my own business,” said Astrid, and let Timon kiss her hand. Wendy came in.
“Astrid, you’re here too! It’s proper gathering of the clans.”
“Jesus God,” said Astrid. “That Belinda has got her knickers twisted and no mistaking it.”
“Are you German?” asked Timon.
“Somewhat,” said Astrid, deadpan. “He is very curious about me, everyone, no? Belinda will be quite jealous. But tell me about Wendy’s sister and her unborn child. You have seen her most recently, I hear…?”
While Timon talked with Astrid, Colin set about corking wine. Wendy sidled up to him. “I’ve had a right ding-dong with your mother.”
“Surprise.”
“I think she feels usurped.”
“Usurped! She doesn’t even belong here!” He grunted as the cork came free.
“That’s harsh, Colin.”
“She’s been getting on my nerves recently. Fussing around Dad and all. As if she thinks she’d better make up to him before he pops his clogs.”
“Don’t say that He’ll be all right.”
Colin changed the subject. “Hey, I like your mate Timon.”
“Really? I thought, the way you were going on, you disapproved of him.”
“That’s just my secret weapon. He’ll be begging to be friends
