The Never Have I Ever Club Page 8

  ‘I have,’ Felicity said.

  ‘I think we could all have surmised that, my dear,’ the Brigadier said. ‘Oof.’ He rubbed his ribs where she’d elbowed him.

  ‘Well, that’s kind of the idea behind this,’ Robyn said. ‘I mean, not that we get blind drunk – sorry, Fliss. But that as well as being a social club, we make an effort to seek out new experiences, things we’ve always wanted to try. I’m thinking we can meet once a month from the New Year.’

  ‘How shall we start though?’ Eliot asked. ‘Do you actually want us to play Never Have I Ever? I bet your Aunty Fliss has got some brandy tucked away.’

  Felicity nodded. ‘You’re right, I have. But I’m not sharing it with this lot so tough luck, Eliot Miller.’

  ‘Maybe we could go around the table and each say one thing we’ve always wanted to do. I’ll write them down, and then we can go from there.’ Robyn looked at Will. ‘Go on, Doc, start us off.’

  He blinked. ‘Who, me? I thought I was just here to help coordinate things.’

  ‘You want to join in, don’t you?’

  ‘Well…’ He hesitated. ‘I always fancied learning another language. Does that count as seizing the day?’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’ Robyn jotted it down and looked at the Brigadier in the seat next to Will’s. ‘How about you, Norman? What’s your burning ambition?’

  He smiled at Felicity. ‘Everyone here is aware of mine, I think.’

  ‘Yes, we know about that one,’ Robyn said, smiling too. ‘Anything else though?’

  ‘Well, I was always rather in love with the ocean as a young man,’ he said, a faraway look coming into his eyes. ‘Dreamed I might retire to the coast, learn to sail and fish and all that rot. Get myself one of those yachting caps with the smart gold insignia. Too late now, I suppose.’

  ‘If you’re alive then it isn’t too late. In fact, “Never Too Late” is our club motto.’ Robyn scribbled on her notepad. ‘There you go, on the list. Aunty Fliss?’

  ‘I’d like to try my hand at drawing,’ she said. ‘There was a time I fancied I might have a talent for art, but I abandoned all that when I finished school.’

  ‘Okay.’ Robyn added it to the list. ‘Mrs Jeffries, how about you?’

  ‘Well…’ Carolyn Jeffries cast a shy glance at her husband Albert. ‘There was something. I read about it in a book, only I wasn’t sure how to get started.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s someone here who can help,’ Will said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s that… I think they call it DVLA.’

  ‘Eh? DVLA?’

  ‘No, that’s not it. DSBM. Or SDBM – anyway, it’s something like that. Have you heard of it? I forget what it stands for but I’m told all the young people are up to it nowadays.’

  Everyone had turned to stare at the softly spoken retired nursery teacher, who beamed back at them.

  ‘Bloody hell. I thought she was going to say macramé or something,’ Eliot whispered to Winnie.

  ‘Mrs Jeffries, this book you read…’ Freya said.

  ‘Yes, it was called Forty Shades of Green. Oh, no, now that’s the Johnny Cash song, isn’t it? Fifty, I mean, Fifty Shades of Green. No, Grey. Anyway, it sounded terribly exciting, and it’s been such a long time since Albert and I tried out a new hobby.’

  ‘And you’re keen on this too, are you, Mr Jeffries?’ Will asked Albert, who was smiling affably next to his wife.

  He shrugged. ‘If it’ll keep the old lady happy. Try anything once, that’s my mantra.’

  ‘We did wonder if there might be a kit you could buy to start you off with it, didn’t we, love?’ Carolyn said, giving Albert’s arm a squeeze. ‘In the book they had all these riding crops and things, but I went to the equestrian supplies shop where our Tilly gets her hoof polish – she wins rosettes for her dressage, you know – and there were so many different types. I did ask the girl at the counter which one would be best, but she went rather pink and said she didn’t know. I suppose the youngsters can find these things out on the internet, but we’re too old to be learning all that computer business now.’

  Felicity seemed to be having some sort of choking fit, her red cheeks shaking silently behind a handkerchief. The Brigadier slapped her sympathetically on the back.

  ‘Er…’ Robyn cast a helpless glance at Will.

  ‘It’s, um, definitely more of a homework activity than one for the group, Mrs Jeffries,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure someone here can help you look into it online, if you’re positive you want to give it a go.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.’ She patted Albert’s knee. ‘You see, Bertie? Didn’t I tell you these good people would be able to point us in the right direction?’

  ‘You certainly did. Right as ever, my dear.’ He leaned over to give his wife a fond peck on the cheek.

  ‘So moving hastily on,’ Robyn said. ‘Linda, how about you? Any ambitions or dreams?’

  By the time they’d been round the whole group, Robyn’s list consisted of the following:

  Learn a language

  Sailing

  Fishing

  Drawing

  DVLA/DSBM/SDBM

  Skinny-dipping

  Jam-making

  Swedish massage

  Take part in a seance

  Climb Kilimanjaro

  Trace family tree

  Write memoirs

  Learn to play poker

  Ride an elephant

  Find out how that bloody Sky box works

  Scuba diving

  Hot-air ballooning

  Get a tattoo

  Learn an instrument

  Burlesque dancing

  ‘Right, good job,’ Robyn said. ‘I’ll take everyone’s contact details and we can start the club proper in the New Year. Meanwhile, your homework is to try out at least one thing you’ve never done over Christmas.’

  Freya laid a hand on Carolyn Jeffries’ arm as she passed them to leave.

  ‘I’ll, er, drop round to see you about those bits you wanted,’ she murmured. ‘I know a website.’

  After everyone had gone except the four club founders and Winnie, Will slid their group’s bucket list towards him.

  ‘Fuck me,’ he said. ‘Guys, we’re going to kill them.’

  9

  It was barely 8am when Will answered the door on Christmas morning.

  ‘Bloom,’ he said, blinking as his vision adjusted to the thin dawn light. ‘I was hoping you’d be a fashionably late kind of girl.’

  ‘On Christmas morning? You must be joking. I’ve been up since six, bouncing around the house until it was time to come over.’

  He laughed. ‘You big kid. Get in here.’

  ‘Plus coming round early means Mrs Carlton’s less likely to be twitching her nets across the road, getting material on our illicit extra-curricular activities for an exposé in the next parish magazine,’ she said as she followed him inside.

  Will groaned. ‘Oh God, don’t say that.’

  ‘It’s only a joke, Will,’ she said, laughing. ‘When did you get so sensitive?’

  ‘Worried about Ash, that’s all.’ He took her coat. ‘I haven’t been able to get hold of him for ages. I’m starting to think someone must’ve been pouring gossip about us in his ear.’

  She shrugged. ‘Suits me if he thinks I’m having it away with half the village, after the way he was carrying on with Melinda. None of his bloody business.’

  ‘He’s my brother, Robyn.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, sighing. ‘Ash knows you’d never go behind his back though.’

  ‘You’d think.’ He followed her into the living room. ‘I wouldn’t have believed he’d listen to gossip, but I can’t think of any other reason he’d be avoiding me.’

  ‘Heh. I can,’ Robyn said with a grim smile. ‘If he’s finished with Melinda, he’s probably got someone new on the go. Someone he reckons you’ll disapprove of.’

  ‘Hmm. Maybe.’

  ‘Oh, sod Ash. I don’
t want to think about him today, it’ll kill my Christmas good mood.’ She spread her arms. ‘So, what do you think?’

  He took a closer look at her jumper. It was a knitted affair bearing a picture of a ginger cat with a six-pack, lifting dumbbells. While wearing a Santa hat. In the snow.

  ‘Wow,’ he said, blinking. ‘That’s… quite something.’

  ‘I know, right? All I had to do was google “worst ever Christmas jumpers” and there it was, the perfect outfit.’

  ‘Why is that cat so shredded?’

  ‘Because he works out, obviously,’ she said, tapping one of the dumbbells. She ran her eyes over Will’s holly-sprigged pyjamas. ‘Is that the best you could do?’

  He shook his head. ‘Robyn Bloom. After all these years, do you really think so little of me?’

  ‘All right, what’ve you got for me then?’

  ‘Hang on.’ He guided her to the sofa and pushed the remote into her hand. ‘You amuse yourself with whatever rubbish they put on at this time in the morning while I grab a shower. I’ll be with you soon.’

  ‘Don’t take too long,’ she called after him. ‘Presents!’

  Half an hour later, he came back in and twirled for her.

  ‘Tada! Come on, admit it. I win.’

  She stared at his sweatshirt, which showed a bare male torso in significantly worse shape than Will’s own. The paunchy frame was covered in Christmassy tattoos, with a bauble dangling from one pierced nipple and a string of fairy lights around the neck.

  ‘I don’t think winning’s the word for whatever that is,’ she said. ‘Where did you find your horror?’

  ‘All I had to do was google “tasteless, inappropriate Christmas jumpers” and there it was, the perfect outfit.’

  She went to run her fingers over it, smirking.

  ‘Ooh, Will, you’re so hairy.’

  ‘What do you think of my beer gut?’ he said, patting his stomach. ‘Like a vision of the future, right?’

  ‘Yeah, suits you. Dad bods, they’re very in.’

  ‘So, what’s next on our festive itinerary?’

  ‘Like you don’t know.’ She bounced over to the Christmas tree and plonked herself on the floor next to the stack of gifts.

  ‘All right, I can see I’m not going to get any peace until we’ve done presents,’ he said, laughing as he sat down beside her.

  Robyn had brought her little pile over the day before so they could open them together. They each worked their way through the gifts from family and friends, comparing notes as they went.

  Robyn unwrapped a CD, smiled and passed it to Will to examine. The case showed a man standing in front of a police line-up board, with a loaf of bread on his shoulders where his head ought to have been.

  ‘I don’t think I’d have too much trouble picking that guy out of an identity parade,’ Will said. ‘“Well, Officer, he was about six-one, clean-shaven, smelled faintly of yeast… oh, and he had a crusty cob for a head.” What the hell is this, Bloom?’

  ‘It’s from my Aunty Fliss. Zdob și Zdub’s Basta Mafia! album.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, handing it back. ‘You want to run that by me again?’

  ‘It’s sort of a gag gift. See, when I was a kid, me and her had this thing about the Eurovision Song Contest – watched it together every year. We still do. So at Christmas we compete to see who can find the cheesiest Eurovision-themed present.’ She waggled the surreal-looking CD at him. ‘These guys were the Moldovan entry back in 2011. I seem to remember their act involved a unicycling gnome.’

  ‘Did they win?’

  ‘No, they came twelfth, just behind Blue for the UK. Robbed, they were.’

  ‘So what did you get Felicity?’ Will asked. ‘Unicycling gnomes sound tough to beat.’

  ‘A velcro skirt. Now her and the Brig can role-play Bucks Fizz in the privacy of their own homes.’

  He laughed, trying to picture the two pensioners dancing around Felicity’s living room lip-syncing to ‘Making Your Mind Up’ while the Brigadier ripped off her skirt.

  ‘You’re alike, you two, aren’t you?’ he said.

  ‘I suppose we are. Both connoisseurs of absurdity and quirk. I guess that’s what drew us to the museum.’

  ‘She’s your great-aunt, right?’

  Robyn nodded. ‘My gran’s little sister. Granny died when I was a baby though, so it was Fliss who was a grandmother to me growing up.’ She laughed. ‘Although don’t tell her, for God’s sake. Words like “granny” make her swoon.’

  Will cast a worried glance at his presents. ‘Nothing from our Ash.’

  ‘Oh, he probably just didn’t post it in time. You know what he’s like.’

  ‘Yeah. You’re probably right.’

  ‘And I just bet when it does get here, it’s some tourist tat he’s been fleeced for. A boomerang or a Crocodile Dundee dangly cork hat or something.’

  ‘Heh. Well on that you’re definitely right.’

  When they were done, Robyn handed Will a parcel. ‘For you.’

  ‘You didn’t have to get me anything.’

  ‘I wouldn’t get too excited, it’s nothing amazing. Go on, open it.’

  He tore off the paper. Inside was a large book with a yellow and black cover.

  ‘Spanish for Dummies,’ he read. ‘Gee, thanks.’

  She shrugged. ‘We all have to start somewhere. If you make good progress, I can get you volume two next year, Spanish for the Moderately Thick.’

  ‘Cheers, Bloomy.’ He gave her a present in sparkly foil wrapping. ‘I got you a little something too.’

  ‘Ooh! Yay.’ She started tearing off the paper. ‘I’d say you shouldn’t have, but that’d be a lie because you totally should. I bloody love presents, me.’

  ‘I know you do,’ he said, smiling. ‘Honestly, my cousin’s five-year-old’s got nothing on you. I bet you left a mince pie and a glass of sherry out for Santa last night, didn’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on, Bloom.’

  ‘Honestly. It wasn’t a mince pie, it was a chocolate biscuit. And a carrot for his reindeer, obviously.’

  ‘Ha! I knew it.’

  She finished unwrapping and held up her present.

  ‘It’s a knife,’ Will said as she flicked it open.

  ‘So I see.’

  ‘A proper whittling knife, not one of those cheapo things. Do you like it?’

  ‘It’s… lovely,’ she said. ‘Um, not to sound ungrateful, Will, but why did you get me a knife? The general consensus among the people who know me best is that I shouldn’t be trusted with sharp objects.’

  ‘Don’t you remember? Last Christmas, when me, you and Ash had overdosed on Baileys and telly, you said you wanted to learn how to whittle wooden toys. Like in Santa Claus: The Movie.’

  She smiled. ‘Bloody Santa Claus: The Movie. How did you remember that?’

  ‘Well, I noticed you sneakily managed to avoid adding your bucket list contribution at our first meeting so I had to rack my brains for something suitably carpe diemy without any prompts.’

  ‘Thanks, Will, I love it.’ She leaned over to peck his cheek. ‘And I did have something for the list. I just didn’t want to make it a public commitment.’

  ‘You’re not going to get into that DVLA, are you? I’ve heard all the kids are at it.’

  She laughed. ‘Not till I need to renew my licence, no. But I am going to start dating again.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, it feels like the right time. Frey and Eliot are getting themselves out there now, and it’s been nearly eight months since I split with Ash. Time for the last of the happy singles to throw herself back in the ring.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s a good idea. It’s time you moved on.’

  ‘I am genuinely over him, you know.’

  ‘Never said you weren’t.’ He stood up. ‘Right. There’s a tin of Quality Streets in the pantry that’s been whispering “Eat me! Eat me!” to me for the past week. I’ll let you have first pi
ck if you leave me the purple ones.’

  *

  ‘Well, what now?’ Robyn said after one fully loaded roast dinner, countless Quality Streets and two back-to-back Harry Potter films.

  ‘Gingerbread house?’ Will suggested, sinking lazily into the sofa as he stretched out his long legs. ‘I wasn’t kidding, I bought us a kit.’

  She groaned. ‘Would that have to involve moving?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Then we’d better wait a while so I can finish digesting. Like maybe a week. That was some incredible dinner, Will.’

  ‘I knew our Christmasser-in-chief wouldn’t settle for half measures.’

  She patted the hairy fake beer belly on his sweatshirt. ‘After a huge turkey dinner and two helpings of Christmas pud, I must look like pretend you by now.’

  ‘Well, at least your cat’s still ripped,’ he said, patting her tummy in return.

  ‘So what can we do that’s festive and doesn’t involve moving? I’m fed up with telly.’

  ‘Sing carols? Tell ghost stories? Play a game?’

  ‘A game sounds good. Charades or Consequences?’

  ‘Both of those would involve moving, unfortunately.’ He picked up his half-full sherry glass. ‘How about Never Have I Ever? We did name a club after it.’

  ‘All right, I’m up for a bit of Christmas humiliation. You start.’

  ‘Okay.’ He held his sherry glass aloft. ‘In that case, never have I ever done it with Noah Shepherd in the driver’s seat of his mum’s Kia Magentis.’

  ‘Bastard!’

  He laughed. ‘Go on then, drink.’

  She glared at him for a moment before downing the rest of her sherry.

  ‘Who told you about me and Noah Shepherd?’ she demanded.

  ‘Noah did. And very proud he was too.’

  ‘What, he was spreading that around school? The little scrote! I made him swear he wouldn’t say a word about it or I’d tell his mum what happened to her cupholder.’

  ‘What did happen to it?’

  ‘Noah put his foot through it. I’m not sure that at seventeen, either of us had quite got the hang of sex. Plus, there was only limited space to manoeuvre.’

  ‘Anyway, he didn’t tell us at school. He told us last year when me and Ash went on his stag do.’