Perfectly Ordinary People(5)

Dad, as so often, was clueless. He shrugged and, having mistakenly interpreted Jake’s relaxed tone as a sign that the worst was now over, slumped back in his chair.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Suppose Ruth brought home some Jewish chap who started making a fuss about our sausages. Or refusing to use light switches on a Saturday or whatever.’

‘Our sausages?’ Jake said.

‘Yeah. They don’t eat pork, do they? I mean, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of pork. If you don’t like bacon, you don’t like life, that’s what I say.’

‘You’ve never seemed to object when people are vegetarian,’ Jake said. He was starting to look a bit red in the face. I was worried about where this was heading.

‘Well, that’s different, isn’t it?’ Dad said.

‘So it’s OK to avoid pork if you’re veggie, but not because you’re Jewish?’

‘Yes. Because being veggie’s about loving animals, isn’t it? It isn’t about trying to demonstrate you’re some kind of master race because you have divine knowledge about what God thinks everyone should eat.’

‘Um, I don’t think the Jews were actually the ones to claim they were a master race, Dad,’ I pointed out.

‘No,’ Jake said. ‘That’s another pretty ignorant statement.’

‘Don’t,’ Abby said, laying her hand on Jake’s. ‘It’s not worth it.’

‘And yet,’ Dad said, ‘there they are, running all the banks and what have you. Running the bloody world. They’re all Jews, aren’t they? All the millionaires, the billionaires. They may not have said it out loud, but they certainly act like they think they’re a master race.’

‘Dad, please stop,’ I pleaded. ‘This is . . .’

‘Yes,’ Jake said. ‘Please do shut the fuck up.’

‘What?!’ Dad shouted, banging the flat of his hand on the table. ‘What did you just say to me, boy?’

‘Boy? Did you actually call me “boy”?’

‘I did. And I must say, you’re sounding pretty infantile to me.’

Jake stood up so fast that his chair fell backwards. ‘Fuck this,’ he said. ‘Come on, Abs, we’re leaving.’ And before his neighbour could even pick up the chair, both he and Abby were gone.

‘Oh, well done!’ Mavaughn said, nodding exaggeratedly as she too stood and exited the dining room. ‘You’ve really done us proud this year.’

‘What?’ Dad asked. ‘How is that idiot telling me to shut up my fault? In my own home! Jesus!’

‘Oh, let’s throw a little blasphemy into the mix!’ Mum said, standing and following her mother out into the hallway. ‘That always helps.’

Within a minute, about half of the family was gone. Most of them were only out in the back garden lighting up, but the effect of their exodus felt quite brutal.

Those of us who remained sat in ghastly silence. Harry ran a finger around the rim of his glass until it sang.

‘Would someone explain to me what just happened?’ Dad eventually asked.

‘Abigail,’ Gina said pointedly. ‘Abigail’s what happened, obvs.’

‘Abigail?’ Dad repeated. ‘Jake’s girlfriend?’

‘I think Abigail might be a Jewish name,’ Uncle Tom said.

‘Not sure about the name,’ Gina said, ‘but Abigail is definitely Jewish. She was just telling me what they did for Hanukkah.’

‘Christ,’ Dad said. ‘I didn’t realise. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have said anything.’

‘But is it true?’ I asked. ‘That’s what’s important here. Do you disapprove of Jake dating Abby because she’s Jewish?’

‘Well, I didn’t know,’ Dad said.

‘But now you do know. So do you disapprove? Do you think she believes she’s part of a master race?’

‘Just say no,’ Tom advised him.

‘No,’ Dad said. ‘No, of course not. Disapprove would be too strong a word for it. That said, I could hardly say that I’m keen. Look at the effect she’s had on Christmas! We’ve never had arguments like this before, have we?’

‘Not keen?’ I said. ‘Oh wow!’

‘Yeah,’ Gina said. ‘Like, wow.’

‘I’m just saying out loud what everyone else is thinking,’ Dad said.

‘Which is?’

‘That if she hadn’t been here, everything would have been fine.’

‘That’s not what everyone’s thinking, Dad,’ I said. ‘What everyone’s thinking is that you’re a knob.’

‘Don’t you start as well,’ Dad said. ‘You’re not too old for me to put you over my knee.’

‘Um, I actually am too old for that,’ I said; then, because anger was rising up within me, I stood. ‘Shall we go too, Gina? I’m not that keen on the atmosphere here today.’

It took us five minutes to say goodbye to everyone in the smoky backyard, and by the time we stepped out front, Dad was there sitting on the wall.

We loaded our gifts into the trunk of Gina’s Fiesta and then, as she climbed in and started the engine, I returned to speak to my father. He looked so forlorn that I felt sorry for him.