Spray Painted Bananas

Chapter 27

We're back in our seats and I'm nursing a second glass of wine. It's not much of a solution but what else can I do? Everyone has to stay where they are until the man at the front finishes serenading some imaginary chicken stew.

'Oh chicken stew so meaty and true,

The dish I would have married

If I hadn't met Sue...'

At my side, Bibiana sighs audibly and crosses her legs. She glances behind her and I find myself following her look right back to Farrell. He's had his moment outside and now he's leaning by the book shelf again, sipping a glass of wine, his face in shadow. I want him so much. The desire rises like a storm. I want everyone to melt away and leave us alone so I can tell him how I feel.

But we aren't alone and I'm suddenly very conscious of Elliott shifting beside me. I look at Bibiana and she smiles and then rolls her eyes towards the poet. I smile back, but it feels false. I find myself wondering how it's been working out for her staying at Farrell's. It dawns on me that she must still be sleeping in his bed. Farrell wouldn't let her sleep on the sofa. Before I would have said it was because he was a walkover but the truth is it's because he's kind and chivalrous.

Does he cook for her? Or has she been treating him with her dishes from home? What have they talked about over those meals when wine has loosened their tongues? They seem to have become quite close. She hugged him with the confidence of an old friend.

Now I'm picturing them in domestic bliss, him frying eggs, her laying the table. I blink the image away. It smarts like a cut.

At the front, the poet turns his page over and a few shoulders sink in resignation.

'Poor Sue, she has her uses,

But oh chicken stew, if I could only bathe

in your seasoned juices...'

'The rhythm's off,' Elliott mutters.

I feel my eyes widen involuntarily. 'Is that your only issue with it?'

'It rings true... You can't beat a great chicken stew... unless of course there's beef bourguignon.'

If it had been Farrell we would have been in fits, but Elliott is serious. He sniffs at his wine, as if he doesn't trust it and takes a sip anyway.

'Vinegar,' he mouths.

'It's free!'

'Well if it wasn't, I'd have to go back for a refund.'

Bibiana touches my knee. The lightest touch but I'm so wound up it makes me jump. She leans in so close I can almost taste the coconut sweetness of her perfume.

'Did you and Farrell used to date?'

I answer so quickly it must sound like I'm horrified by the idea. 'No!'

She lets out a little laugh. 'Sorry I just wondered.'

Is it the poem? Has Farrell said something? The questions are on the tip of my tongue but the room is so quiet and I don't trust myself to speak. I open my mouth but she beats me to it.

'I thought you had history that's all,' she whispers.

She leans forward on her crossed legs and smiles to herself. I feel a shiver run down my spine.

'and so chicken stew, I wish you adieu...'

And suddenly the room is clapping with relief, because it's over. Everyone springs out of their seats almost at once and then hover out of politeness, waiting for Phil to round up the evening, which he does with a note of apology in his voice. A few people head straight outside while others circle the wine table, hoping for refills.