The Dinner Guest by B Walter (best short books to read txt) 📕

endearing.’ He’d laid a hand on my knee in semi-mock seriousness. ‘Why not?’ I’d asked, surprised by his comment. ‘Because it sounds self-satisfied and patronising and maybe a little bit sexist.’ And with that, he’d gone to fetch another round of pints, leaving me to look at the other two with confusion.

Because of all this, I hadn’t planned to mention to Matthew the woman in Waterstones. We’d said our goodbyes and she’d gone off to purchase the large tome and I’d continued to browse, with the book under my arm. But then we’d bumped into each other again, just half an hour later, in the food section at Marks & Spencer’s across the road. What are the chances? I’d thought to myself. She was balancing two packets of halloumi on top of a punnet of raspberries. ‘Interesting combination,’ I commented to her. That cool, breezy laugh came out again. And then, because it would have been strange and awkward not to, I’d introduced her to Matthew and she said hi and that was when I realised I didn’t actually know her name, nor she mine. ‘I’m Rachel,’ she said. ‘I’ve just moved to the area.’

‘From the North?’ I asked, then added, ‘Sorry, I noticed the accent.’

There was a little falter in her response – maybe the presumption had irritated her – but she still replied with a smile. ‘Yes, Yorkshire.’

Matthew nodded. ‘Very nice.’

Even I, the most personable, at-ease-with-himself guy you could ever hope to bump into, had started to wonder by this point how we were going to finish this without it seeming weird. Just because it was something to say, I bobbed my head towards her Waterstones carrier bag, slung under her arm, the corners of a hardback digging in a little to her bare arms. ‘I see you got more than just our shared choice of interest.’

She peered down at the bag, as if she’d only just noticed it, and one of the halloumi packets went bouncing along the aisle. Once Matthew had caught it, after some awkward chuckling, she pulled out a few of her purchases. ‘The guy at the counter said these were good.’ I looked at the covers: traditional book-club-esque crime-fiction. More Matthew’s sort of thing than mine.

‘Oh, we’ve got this one coming up for our next reading group meeting,’ he said, pointing at the blue one with a lighthouse and the silhouette profile of a woman on the cover.

‘Oh, what a coincidence. I’m looking forward to starting it.’

‘You should come,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘We’re always looking for new members.’

What the fuck? There’s friendly, and then there’s weird. This random woman didn’t need an invite to his book club. I cringed inwardly at the oddness of it, but to my surprise, she didn’t shrink away, saying she’d got a lot on and it was a nice thought but she was OK thank you – none of that. She actually smiled and nodded, her eyes wide. ‘That would be brilliant. If you don’t mind me gate-crashing.’

‘You wouldn’t be gate-crashing at all,’ he said, waving away her protests. ‘It’s just me and a few friends.’

‘That sounds great,’ she said, still nodding.

‘They’re a bit older than … well, than us, but we’re all great fiction-lovers. You may have heard of one of them … Jerome Nightly? He’s an actor. Was in a lot of those British romcoms back in the early noughties.’

Rachel had clearly heard of him. ‘Oh yes, wow … I don’t think of actors doing normal things like going to book clubs.’

‘Turns out they’re just human after all,’ Matthew said, and they both laughed. And then it was settled. She got out her phone. He got out his phone. Numbers were swapped. And there was me, staring on, like a fucking nobody, while the two of them made their arrangements. ‘It’s at our house on Carlyle Square, the next meeting,’ explained Matthew. ‘Everyone normally arrives around 7pm. We take it in turns to host, but don’t feel you have to.’ He then gave her our home address – to a total stranger, the address where the two of us and our son lived and slept – and then it was time to say goodbye.

‘Looking forward to it,’ Rachel called after us. ‘This has made my week.’ She then vanished in the direction of the tills.

‘Well, that was nice,’ said Matthew, looking genuinely happy, apparently pleased to have made a new friend amidst the refrigerated food aisles. I give him a quick smile in return, and put a pack of gourmet burgers in our trolley.

‘What?’ Matthew asked. He knew I was a little pissed about the whole exchange; well, pissed was the wrong word, really. Bemused, maybe. Anyhow, I just found the whole thing a bit … fast. And there was something a little odd about the way she’d immediately leaped on the idea of joining a book club, to the point of arranging to come over to our house in two weeks’ time.

‘Nothing,’ I said, with a little shake of my head. I saw him roll his eyes at this point, which riled me a little more.

We walked the shopping back to the house in near silence. The only words Matthew came out with were a comment that the Croftfield family across the same square as us had just got a new BMW hybrid. Inside, we found Titus had baked two cakes as well as a tray of cookies and my mother was already enjoying a slice of the lemon drizzle, settled on one of the breakfast-bar seats, with Desert Island Discs blasting out of the sound system in the lounge.

‘Grandma did the icing,’ Titus declared, pushing the stand holding the cake towards me as I came towards her. ‘But I did the cakes of course.’

‘It all looks delicious,’ I said. ‘Can we have a photo?’

I heard my mother sniff disapprovingly.

‘You don’t have to actually be in the photo,’ I said, sighing a little. ‘You can take it, if you prefer.’

She didn’t reply to this,