“You can choose your friends...” Raymond said, toasting me with his pint glass.
“But you can’t choose your family!” I replied, delighted to be in a position to complete the well-known phrase.
It was only a quick crossword clue, not a cryptic one, but still.
“This is exactly like my dad’s fiftieth, Mum’s sixtieth, my sister’s wedding,” Raymond said.
“A shite DJ, overexcited kids high on sugar, people who haven’t seen each other for years catching up and pretending they like each other.
Bet you anything there’ll be a buffet with vol-au-vents, and a fight in the car park at closing time.”
I was intrigued. “But surely it must be fun?” I said. “Catching up with family?
All those people, pleased to see you, interested in your life?”
He looked at me carefully. “D’you know what, Eleanor? It is. I’m just being a grumpy bastard—sorry.”
He finished his pint. “Same again?” he said. I nodded, and then remembered.
“No, no, it’s my turn,” I said. “Will you have the same again?”
He smiled. “That’d be great. Thanks, Eleanor.” I picked up my shopper and made my way to the bar.
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