We played that game, two truths and a lie. We were drunk of course. Red wine rings on what had been a spotless white linen tablecloth, ash strewn where ashtrays had been missed. Someone had stabbed their fag into the butter. Lesley’s eyes flashed. No-one admitted to it. Not so funny now was it.
I went first. ‘I fell off a cliff, I pushed my mother down the stairs, elves don’t have a philtrum.’ No one got the right answer.
‘Someone stabbed their fag into the butter and I’m not amused.’
Well that was a bit pathetic. The butt was poking up, eyeing her resentfully. She continued,
’I hate sushi and I hate my mother’
Another pathetic attempt – she’d served sushi as starter. I had never realised she hated her mother, but it figured. She probably also hated the way she resembled her mother with that frizzy hair and hooked nose. Lesley was definitely not attractive.
Oliver next. The right side of his face had slumped. Red-stained lips, eyes sunk into his head, God he looked drunk.
‘My mother hates me, I hate my sister, I think I’m having a stroke.’
‘I know your mother doesn’t hate you. She’s all over you and you love it. Creepy if you ask me, but that’s the lie’ barked Lesley.
Chuckles all round.
Rasping sound from Fred, who’d stabbed that fag out in the butter. He seemed to have a mini fit as he gasped for air.
‘Come on Fred, your go.’
‘I can’t think of anything’ he wheezed. ‘Lesley, do you have any more of that calvados?’
‘I think you’ve had quite enough Fred.’
‘Fuck you Lesley, you patronising bitch.’
He got up, tottered slightly and lurched towards the door, clinging onto the handle to steady himself. I heard a faint groan as he hit the floor, vomit all over the front of his Ralph Lauren shirt. He’d be annoyed about that in the morning.
‘Chuck him in the bath’ shrieked Lesley, eyes bulging. ‘Give him a good dowsing and get him out of here. He’s revolting.’
’Come on Joe’ I whispered. ‘Let’s leave before it turns really nasty. We can take Fred home’.
I wasn’t sure I could cope with the smell of sick but I needed an out.
‘Bugger off the lot of you. I’m going to bed’, Lesley shouted, stomping up the stairs.
Oliver’s body wasn’t discovered until the following morning. His spindly legs were sticking out from under the table. I expect Lesley was rather irritated. Oliver too had thrown up over himself. At least he wasn’t wearing an expensive shirt.