‘What does it stand for again?’ asked Carol as she scooped a large dollop of festive caramelised onion chutney onto a baked camembert she’d just pulled out of the oven.
‘High Functioning Academic Aversion Syndrome,’ said Felicity. ‘To be honest it’s an absolute scandal that he’s been living with it for so long without a diagnosis. I mean, it’s a rare condition. It usually only occurs in kids who areextremelybright.’ She sighed. ‘And the specialist said that it can be linked to irregularities in the gut biome so we’re looking into that. It might explain his bloating.’
‘Do you think it’s the same underlying issue as your IBS?’ said Tiggy. ‘I was reading an article the other day about the levels of microplastics in food and it seems they can trigger all sorts of gastric problems.’
‘We’re all having our gut biome tested,’ said Felicity. ‘It’s a test they only do in certain labs so they’ve got to be sent to London. Again, there’s no provision for it on the NHS.’ Another deep sigh. ‘But no, it won’t be microplastics. I’m very strict on ultra-processed foods. I won’t have them in the house.’
‘But I thought Andrew said that Damon was living on Peperami firesticks, Monster drinks and potato waffles with spicy sauce,’ said Tiggy. ‘I’m sure that’s what he said, just now in the sitting room. He thought it might be why Damon’s put on so much weight recently. That and the fact he’s so sedentary now. That’s what Andrew said anyway.’ She smiled sweetly as she picked up a basket of warm focaccia and followed Carol towards the kitchen door.
‘Well, Damon can’t possibly exercise,’ said Felicity crossly, picking up the contraband guacamole and managing to dip one of her voluminous sleeves in it as she raced after Tiggy. ‘Not with his weak ankles.’ She pulled a face at her husband as we crossed the hallway, and I wondered whether Andrew would be getting it in the ear later for his lack of discretion regarding Damon’s dietary choices. ‘What with that and trying to get the student fees refunded it’s been quite the few weeks. Feels like a long time since we were in Bali, I can tell you!’
‘What a nightmare,’ I said, placing the platter of crudites down on the sideboard as indicated by Carol.
Felicity turned to me. ‘It has beenextremelychallenging,’ she said with feeling. ‘The university is being very difficult about it. They say that Damon had a full year of in-person tuition and therefore should pay for it like anybody else.’
‘I suppose they’re all struggling for funding at the moment,’ I said, dipping a piece of the focaccia into the Camembert and failing to get it into my mouth in anything approaching a tidy fashion. ‘Universities and colleges. Can’t be easy working in that sector.’
‘Layla’s university is quite well-funded though,’ said Tiggy, tucking into her second carrot stick of the evening. ‘Compared to Damon’s I mean. I heard they were taking on hundreds more foreign students this year to boost their income.’ She sighed. ‘It’s a shame really that some of the top universities are so skewed towards international applicants now. It makes it extremely hard for talented UK students to get a look in. Your Layla probably got in just in time.’
‘Uhm – perhaps,’ I said. ‘It’s always a bit of a gamble though isn’t it. A lot of luck involved with any of these things. How’s Reuben getting on? Did he hear anything from Oxford? I seem to remember Layla’s friend having her interview in early December last year.’
‘Well,’ she said with a little toss of her head. ‘Reuben’s decided he doesn’t want to go to Oxford actually. The whole system is rigged against children from private school now.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ I said, knowing I should leave it at that but being unable to help myself. ‘Out of interest, why does he feel that it’s rigged?’
‘They’ve got quotas now,’ she said. ‘So the vast proportion of places go to international students as I’ve said, and then from the UK applicants they’re being forced into accepting a disproportionately large number of state school pupils to demonstratediversity.’
‘Ugh,’ said Felicity, rolling her eyes expansively. ‘It’s woke gone mad.’
‘But surely,’ I said, ‘it’s only seven percent of the population who are privately educated so maybe the systemshouldbe a little bit fairer for those kids who…’
‘Another drink, ladies?’ said Joe, appearing with the speed of a man who has seen his wife’s militant face from across the room and is worried that she’s about to put a spanner in the works of his painstaking business schmoozing.
‘Thanks darling,’ I said. ‘But I think I might try a glass of Carol’s delicious mulled wine, which is back in the kitchen. Do you want one?’ I linked my arm through his and steered him away from Tiggy and Felicity. ‘Back in a tick,’ I said, having no intention of returning to their orbit, in a tick or otherwise.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I managed to avoid the pernicious pair for most of the evening, and although I had to endure some fairly underwhelming chat from Steve and Carol’s neighbours about the state of the potholes on the B370 and about how the cost of a Sunday roast (with all the trimmings) had increased by twenty percent at the local carvery, it was worth every moment just to have a reprieve from Felicity’s environmental hypocrisy and Tiggy’s judgements.
Nearing midnight, I was reaching saturation point however, and I realised I hadn’t seen Carol for some time. In the intervening hours she’d been nipping in and out of the kitchen, topping up drinks and handing out festive-themed snacks in the style of a slightly manic Christmas elf, but she’d disappeared with the stollen bites at least forty minutes ago and I needed to say goodbye properly before we left. The rest of the golf wives were a bit of a pain in the arse but Carol, for all her ‘wacky vibes’ and affectations, was actually quite a sweetheart. I made my excuses to Elaine and Derek, the neighbours, and nudged Joe on my way through to the kitchen. He was in deep discussion with Steve and another three identikit Steves, so I gave him a brief sketch of my plan (find Carol, say goodbye, call our taxi and ask if it could collect us a little earlier than we’d booked) and began my sweep of the ground floor.
The house was vast, so I wasn’t too perturbed at not finding her in the first four rooms I tried but the hairs on the back of my neck prickled when I heard Felicity’s foghorn voice coming down the curving central staircase.
‘Soembarrassing,’ she boomed. ‘And at your own party!’
‘I know!’ Tiggy’s voice was quieter but no less malicious. ‘And when she kept saying “it’s probably the vol-au-vents” with the emphasis on the “t” like voloovonts!’ She laughed. ‘I was just thinking, uhm no Carol, it’s probably thevodka!’
‘Do you think we should tell Steve?’ said Felicity, her voice becoming louder as they descended the stairs together.
Tiggy made a little moue of mock empathy. ‘I mean, we could say we wereworriedabout her, you know,as friends…? But I really wouldn’t want him to think we were interfering or judging him based on her actions.’
‘Well of course not, it’s hardly his fault is it, if she gets in that sort of state.’
‘Poor Steve.’ Tiggy shook her head, her voice laden with feeling.
‘Poor Steve,’ Felicity agreed. ‘Andrew doesn’t know how lucky he is.’
‘Ain’t that the truth. John’s exactly the same!’ They both laughed as they reached the final step.
