'Such a shame Stephen couldn't make it.'
James is out of his element. He is miserable. He wishes he was at home with his family - mum, dad and the siblings. This is not helped by the father of his 'girlfriend' openly wishing he is her former boyfriend at the dinner table.
It is Boxing Day. The girlfriend, Christine, invited him over ('oh you must come and spend Christmas with us') when they were still together during the previous term at University. He is not entirely sure they have actually broken up. If he's honest, he's not entirely sure they were together...in the proper sense of the word in the first place. Christine is extremely pretty - slim, red hair, beautiful blue eyes - and he fancied her the moment he met her, on the first day when they enrolled for their course in the History department. And yes, they gravitated towards one another ('will you help me with my essay? I'm completely at a loss') and yes, there were moments when things got hot and heavy...short fumbled moments in her room, where after a great deal of kissing and fondling of her small, but perfectly formed breasts, followed by being sent away with an aching hard-on ('it's really, terribly, late and we have to be up for that lecture on 'Henry VIII'), but nothing was ever said. Officially. In fact, he has a sneaking suspicion that Christine had several other bookish and innocent young men experiencing something similar, before she told him she'd developed a 'bond' with lecturer, Greg and started treating him a little more coolly.
And as for the Christmas invitation...or rather Boxing Day invitation...that only seemed to have been offered after he had complained about being made to play second fiddle to Greg. He'd accepted because it was surprising and because, he still wanted her. It was only after a wonderful Christmas Eve and Day with his family had he started wishing he'd declined. But by then he was committed.
Truth was, he'd been desperate to have sex with Christine, but he didn't really like her. Truth was, he was pretty sure she didn't like him very much either.
The house is posh. Much, much posher then he's used to. It's more what you'd call an English stately home. It seems to have a thousand rooms, most of which are locked, or mothballed - because Christine's family are one of those impossibly ancient ones that turn up in Burke's Peerage, yes, but the money ran out a long time ago. So all they have now is the Big House, which is not important enough to show to the public and too big to sell. Once there would have been an army of servants and he can imagine the intrigues. People of the upper classes sneaking into the bedrooms of the lower orders...moans of pleasure echoing at night through the corridors. But now there is just the one elderly cook/house keeper, who does the meals and the groundsman/maintentance man who does the repairs (he has yet to meet this last.
'I hope you don't mind being way up in the attic,' Christine had said to him as she greeted him at the door with a formal kiss on the cheek, 'the covers don't come off the furniture in the lower bedrooms until March.'
She then marched him up several flights of stairs and left to him 'freshen up' before dinner. After that he hasn't seen her until now, where she sits on a family table too small for the vast dining hall they are in.
With them at dinner is Christine's father, Malcolm, her mother, Imogen and her Aunt Cecilia. Malcolm is in his early fifties. He's tall, blonde, ex-military and stern, definitely officer class, dressed in semi formal attire - tweed jacket and a suit and tie. Malcolm plainly isn't enamoured of the scrawny, lower middle class boy, his daughter had brought home. Imogen ('Ma') and Cecilia ('Aunty Cess') are a little younger - probably mid forties by his guess. He knows the term 'MILF' and both of these women fit into that category well technically Cecilia's an AILF. So beautiful he finds them intimidating. They are, like Christine, tall and blue eyed, but there the resemblance ends. Imogen is raven haired and although slim, very much what he'd called voluptuous, with large full breasts straining to escape the high necked black gown she is wearing. She doesn't say much. She doesn't smile at all. He takes this to mean she shares her husband's disapproval of her daughter's choice of 'boyfriend'. Cecilia is also voluptuous, but a little less slim in the backside area. She talks a lot, cracking dirty jokes and laughing like a drain as she tells them. Her breasts too, he notices, are straining to escape the gown she is wearing, but the plunging neckline seems to indicate that they have a better chance of success. He is doing his best not to stare.
It being the season, a fair amount of alcohol has been consumed by all.
'You wanted me to bring someone,' Christine answers her father, spikily, 'This is who I've bought.'
She nods in James' direction. It feels like the first time she's acknowledged his existence since the meal started. She looks her usual, achingly pretty self. She's put her hair up, so he can admire the line of her slender neck and watch the shadows from the candles dancing on her skin. She's wearing a sparkly, strappy top, so that her shoulders are almost bare.
Oh to kiss that neck and shoulders, he thinks to himself.
James, however, is dressed in a manky woolly jumper and jeans. He knows he looks a scruff. And that's another reason for feeling so out of place. They all look like they belong in a modern version of 'Downton Abbey'. He looks like he belongs in 'Sanford and Son'.
'Yes, but when I said-' Malcolm starts to retort, then he looks at James and thinks better of it, '...never mind...'
'I'm not going to start knocking round with Stephen Thurrock just because he plays polo. Now can we drop the subject?'
There's an awkward silence, filled with the sound of people pushing unfinished trifle around their dessert bowls.
Right now, James thinks, his brother will have found another bottle of port and will be suggesting a game of Trivial Pursuit. He could be having a laugh with his family. Instead he's found himself in an old drafty version of hell, because he let his dick lead him there.
'So, James, what do you make of the old pile?'
This is Cecilia, being jolly and breaking the silence. James is grateful at least for this. He realises she's referring to the house.
'It's quite something,' he falters, 'I've never stayed in a stately home before.'
'Eighteenth century,' Malcolm says proudly, 'this building anyway. But there was a house in the grounds from around 1066. Are you sure Stephen won't be coming?'
This last back to Christine.
'Pa!'
