“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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