Perfectly Ordinary People(4)

So yes, everything was panning out just fine.

Christmas dinner came next, and that was a success too. Sure, the turkey was burnt and the sprouts overcooked, but these were such standard features of Christmas dinner that they merely made everyone laugh. And though I could tell Abby was a bit shocked by Harry’s rude jokes, and though I suspected Gina couldn’t understand a single word Mavaughn said, everyone got on just fine.

And then we played Scruples.

Now if you’ve never played Scruples, a brief explanation is required.

As far as I recall, cards are dealt, and the first person to get rid of theirs is declared winner. Each card features a moral dilemma such as, ‘You are offered five thousand pounds to pose naked for a magazine. Do you accept?’

The person holding the question card chooses an answer card from a pile, and if it says ‘Yes’ for example, then they must address the question to the person they think is most likely to agree, in this example the person most likely to say, ‘Yes, for five grand I’d pose naked.’ If the reply corresponds with the answer they’re holding, or if the respondent fails to convince the majority that they honestly wouldn’t pose naked, then the cardholder wins. I think that’s how it works, anyway.

The point is that it’s an awful game that inevitably leads to some poor soul arguing with his entire (in our case drunken) family that ‘No, he would NOT steal a ten-pound note left in the checkout zone’ while said family shouts for blood by insisting that YES, he knows damned well that he would, and they all know it too.

For half an hour we resisted the temptation to fall out. Tom declared he wouldn’t sleep with the best man’s girlfriend, even if she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and for the sake of family unity, we pretended to believe him.

Gina said that yes, she would go hungry for a week to save a starving chimpanzee, and everyone voted that they believed her. Totally true, that one, by the way. That girl would die to save a worm.

But then Uncle Tom asked my father the following question and it was like pulling the pin from a grenade: Your teenage daughter is dating a young man of another race or religion. Do you try to break them up?

Gina caused the first ripple by saying, ‘How do they know she’d be dating, like, a man, anyway? She might be dating, like, a woman.’ This caused Mum and Dad to shoot worried frowns in my direction.

The answer on Tom’s card – though we didn’t yet know it – was a ‘No’, so in directing the question at my father, he was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

But Dad surprised everyone by saying, ‘Yes, I’d possibly try to break them up,’ which initially, because we thought he was bluffing, made us laugh.

But when Dad began to argue, quite convincingly, that certain religions and races ‘just weren’t compatible’ the debate started to get heated. In particular Cousin Jim, who was dating a black girl back then (not present), began to get pretty arsey.

Mavaughn kept reminding everyone that it was ‘just a game’ but what she’d failed to see was that by that point it no longer was.

Finally Jim, fuelled by three beers, half a bottle of wine and a couple of whiskeys, tackled Dad directly. ‘Aisha’s black,’ he said. ‘And her dad’s a Rastafarian, too. So are you saying that you don’t approve? Are you saying that she wouldn’t have been welcome if I’d brought her because she’s the wrong colour?’

‘Of course not!’ Dad replied. ‘I’ve got nothing against blacks at all. How could you even think such a thing?’

A sigh of relief went around the table and Mavaughn refilled the three nearest glasses with whiskey without really caring who they belonged to. It was her way of demonstrating we’d moved on.

But then Dad continued. ‘It’s not so much race that’s the problem, in my opinion. The problem these days is religion.’

Now he was drunk, I’ll give him that. He was actually red-in-the-face drunk. So I think that everyone, with the possible exception of his devoutly Catholic mother-in-law, would have been able to swallow that single slip up and move on. If only he had let us do so.

But then he continued, looking, for some reason at me, saying, ‘Suppose he was Muslim! Suppose your imaginary boyfriend was a Muslim who wanted you to wear a burka or whatever.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Dad,’ I said. ‘Could you be any more clichéd?’

Dad was looking embarrassed and panicky by this point, but he’s never been good at quitting while he’s ahead. His efforts to extricate himself generally have the effect of digging a little deeper, and never more so than when drunk.

He looked around the room and saw that everyone was staring at him. Even Mavaughn was gritting her teeth.

‘Or Jewish,’ Dad said then, which presumably was supposed to make things better. ‘I’m not singling out Muslims in particular. Any of the daft religions will do.’

‘Oh, do shut your gob, will you, Billy?’ Mum said, which from her was pretty shocking.

‘Don’t tell me to shut my gob, woman!’ Dad snapped back. Then, turning to the rest of us, ‘I’m just saying that sometimes their beliefs aren’t compatible with ours, that’s all.’

‘Jewish . . .’ Jake repeated flatly. ‘So, how would that be incompatible Dad? Do tell.’

Now, for most of his teens Jake had been a real lads’ lad, playing rugby and telling inappropriate jokes. Since meeting Abby, however, his corrosive sense of humour had become a thing of the past. He was on a mission to prove just how profound his transformation to ‘new man’ was, and though for the most part I approved of the change, his political correctness could occasionally get on my nerves.