It’s Feb 2021 and we’re in the midst of a pandemic. The dinner party was arranged over a year ago and it’s been in the planning stage ever since. I sent out the invites back in March and got some lovely replies. Dolly even said she would cancel her concert at The Super Bowl. I told her I’d rearrange the party but she was adamant - my event was far more important. She must have heard about the other guests.
Michael sent a beautifully handwritten letter on Hotel notepaper, all the way from Bangkok. He said he would come by train. Joan and John had actually got together and sung their reply, which was spectacular and very touching. The response from Father X was predictably formal, typed on expensive looking vellum, informing me he had several food allergies, and signed in a spidery script. I used the letter to light the fire that evening. Miriam was the only one unsure whether she would make it. She was supposed to be filming but hoped she could come as she ‘loved a good nosh up.’ She would let me know nearer the time. I was on tenterhooks for a while, waiting for the final reply, till I got a scribbled message on the back of a beer mat pushed through the letterbox, ‘Thanks, I’ll be there, JBJ’ I was slightly disappointed at the brevity of the note and the absence of kisses from my long time heart throb, but I guessed he must be busy.
Now the dinner party is looming and, amazingly, all the guests have agreed to my suggestion of self isolating for ten days before the night, and remaining here for ten days afterwards. This adds quite another dimension to a simple dinner party. I’ve changed all the beds and put chocolates on the pillows, but I’ve made it clear that if anyone goes down with covid they’re on their own, no matter how famous they may be. I’ve ordered the champagne, the flower arrangements and some ridiculously expensive candles that don’t actually smell as nice as the Aldi ones, and bought the ingredients for a meal that I hope will be impressive but not so complicated or time consuming that it keeps me away from my guests.
Tonight is the night.
I wonder, nervously, who will be first to arrive. I think I’d prefer Dolly or Miriam as I’m sure they’d keep the conversation flowing. There would be laughter and possible a quick song. I check the table, give the wine glasses another wipe and remove my apron. I don’t normally drink alcohol but I pour myself a large glass of Dutch courage just as the doorbell rings.
I peer through the side window, my heart thumping. Yes! Dolly is at the door, looking tiny and glamorous, with the biggest bouffant, and a designer suitcase by her side. She is smiling that massive smile and laughing at someone in the shadows. Michael has arrived at the same time. I welcome them in, take Dolly’s case and Michael’s rucksack, and offer them drinks, hissing at the husband to fetch the canapés. It seems Dolly and Michael are well away, which is a little worrying. Although I want my guests to get on, I need them to be here on my terms. Does Michael not realize he’s the one man I’ve been wanting to marry for the past thirty years? I decide I’ll give it a bit of time before I mention that. And Dolly, well, Dolly is a visual treat and part of the entertainment.
Miriam and John also arrive together. I’m glad to see John has his guitar - and Miriam is looking as dishevelled and barmy as I’d hoped she would. Joan - also with guitar - is next here, and by this time the pre dinner drinks are going down well and conversation is flowing nicely. I do a quick head count and surreptitiously signal for the husband to move away from his spot overlooking Dolly's chest and go and fetch more canapés.
Suddenly, conversation stops and everybody looks up. There is extremely loud music coming from outside. My heart throb has arrived. I check myself in the mirror, open the door and JBJ bounces in, guitar blasting out. I thrust my burning cheek towards him for a kiss but he’s gone, lost in the music, and already in the middle of the group. Before I can offer him a drink there is a tapping at the door, and I retrace my steps. Here is the guest I’ve been waiting for. Father X stands, bent, resting on a stick, looking weak and vulnerable. His eyes are pale and watery, practically unseeing. I invite him in and call for the husband to take his coat. I feel my heart lurch as I grab his arm and guide him towards the music.
I realize the old priest must be deaf as well as practically blind as he allows himself to be led into the room and settled in a chair. He doesn’t seem to register the group in the middle, bouncing up and down, playing guitars and singing like there’s no tomorrow. It would be a really happy sight if it weren’t for my stomach churning every time my eyes rest on the priest in the corner.
As we settle at the table I explain about the place cards, which contain not just their names but the reason each guest was invited. In turn they pick up their cards and read aloud. 'Joan Baez, John Prine and Dolly Parton are some of my favorite singers and seemingly kind, caring people.' They smile at each other and nod and look happy with that. Michael reads aloud, ‘Michael Palin, you are funny, kind and appear totally genuine. For this reason I would like to marry you if it ever becomes possible.’ He laughs, gives me a wink and takes a gulp of his wine.
Jon Bon Jovie picks up his card: ‘Jon, you have been my heart throb for many years. My children laugh at me but I go weak at the knees when I see you.’ He grins and blows me a kiss as I blush deep red.
‘Miriam Margolyes, you are funny, rude, intelligent, outspoken and full of great stories,’ Miriam laughs, ‘and I love the fact that you wear outrageous clothes and don’t care what anyone thinks.’ She looks up and gives me a powerful high five. Finally, it’s Father X. Dolly nudges him and his eyes come to rest on his card. ‘I can’t see well enough....’ he starts. I grab the card and tell him I’ll read it. ‘Father X, I met you a long time ago,’ I begin, hesitantly, ‘you...... were the priest we saw before we got married.’ I think I detect a slight flinch. ‘I...... thought you might never get another opportunity like this to meet these famous people, so..... here you are.’ I slip the card into my pocket, as the priest, puzzled, casts his eyes around the table. Dolly pulls him to her bosom and everybody cheers. I breathe a sigh of relief and give the husband a nod to bring in the prawn cocktails.
The food - and the booze go down well. The dinner party draws to a close. The guests make their way upstairs and queue for the bathroom. I’ve put Miriam and Dolly in the attic as they're both game old birds, and watching them climb the stepladder could be the best entertainment of the night. It also keeps Dolly well away from future husband, Michael, and heart throb, JBJ. Father X looks lost and worried. He wants to go home. He’s forgotten his wash bag and needs a clean cassock for the morning. He assures me he’ll self isolate for ten days at the presbytery. I call him a taxi, remind him to wear his mask, and wonder if he’ll last that long.
As I get undressed the priest's place card falls to the floor. I pick it up and read it slowly, although I know it off by heart. ‘Father X, you are here as you were very unkind to me a long time ago. You asked to see me and my fiancé two weeks before we were due to be married. You told me, an atheist, and Dave, a Catholic, in no uncertain terms, that mixed marriages don’t work. I cried. I was angry and upset and felt strongly that you should have kept your views to yourself. Tonight you meet us both again. You can see we’re still married nearly 50 years later. You were wrong and we were right. I wanted you to see that. I think an apology is in order.’
I screw up the card, and drop it to the floor. I'll use it on the fire in the morning.
With thanks to Dolly, John, Joan, Michael, Miriam and JBJ for being such great company. And to Father X for making up the numbers.
The Guest List by Jill Reidy
Who should I invite
On this so special night
I could do with a really good mix
Intelligent chat
But not too much of that
It’s more about getting my kicks
John, Dolly and Joan
As a trio unknown
Michael was fantasy spouse
And old JBJ
Well what can I say
That hair, those eyes, that mouth
Then Miriam M
Mad hair, what a gem
And no chance of being a bore
She’ll entertain us
With a joke and a cuss
And her belching and farting galore.
The elderly priest,
A reminder at least
Of the bigoted views from that day
Once so mean and unkind
He’d be trapped as we dined
Would I voice what I wanted to say?
Thanks for reading...... Jill
Disclaimer: Just one part of this is true - guess which?
Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook
