Page 8 of Seven Reasons to Murder Your Dinner Guests

Melvin looks from Janet to Matthew. It strikes him just how different young men are these days.

When Melvin himself was in his twenties, living in a small village just outside Cardiff, you were deemed “well groomed” if you had regular haircuts and wore clean shoes for a date.

These days, young men have manicures , wax their chests, spend hours honing their muscles at the gym.

He’s even heard that some wear makeup! Mind you, Matthew looks pretty good on it.

His dark-brown eyes and high cheekbones remind Melvin of Christian, his new colleague at the station, and then he’s wondering what Christian is up to right now…

Stop it!

In his fifty-eight years, Melvin has often found himself wondering about certain men who crossed his path.

It was to be expected, he’s told himself.

He spent his teen years on a rugby pitch—and in the communal baths afterward—then joined the police force, working predominantly with men and spending weekends watching rugby or football and drinking in the pub with his male friends.

But the appearance of Christian ramped this up.

Now Melvin’s “wonderings” last for hours, epic daydreams while he sits next to Mary watching Antiques Roadshow , torturous nightmares that leave him drenched in sweat and shaking all over with an all-consuming ache for this man.

Christian’s earnest brown eyes are the backdrop to his every waking moment.

“Oh, yummy,” Janet’s voice cuts through his daydream.

Melvin looks up to see the waiters reappear, presenting plates of something chocolaty, sending Janet into apparent ecstasy.

“Not sure my belly can take much more,” Melvin says, but picks up his spoon anyway.

As he digs into the sponge, dark, shiny chocolate sauce comes oozing out, mixing with the vanilla ice cream, reminding him of the yin-yang sign.

Years ago, Mary taught him what it meant—a little bit of good in every bad person and a bit of bad in every good person.

Right now, Melvin feels all bad because his daydreams about Christian are teetering on the edge of reality.

Yes, unbelievably, Melvin has started to think that Christian might have feelings for him too.

The way he holds his gaze for a second too long, the casual touch to his knee as they sit side by side in their patrol car, the charged air between them.

And so, every nice thing that Mary does for him is now infused with guilt, his home is no longer the refuge it was.

Melvin pictures himself balancing on the edge of a cliff, filled with paralyzing fear.

In order to avoid both his guilt and his temptation, he’s been hiding out at the Dog you just needed to look at Stella’s face to know that.

Now that Melvin thinks of it, he realizes he’s met Stella before.

Over the summer, he’d been called to a nice flat in Kensington to a report of burglary.

He got there and found a very well-dressed, well-spoken chap in a three-piece suit, who introduced himself as a barrister (putting Melvin firmly in his place) and announced that some “extraordinarily expensive jewelry” had been stolen from his daughter’s flat.

When Melvin started to take down the details, it became clear that Stella was too inebriated to give a statement, telling her father to “just buy me another one.” Melvin then had to act as a referee as father and daughter yelled at each other about the diamond-encrusted necklace.

Watching them, Melvin felt an almost overwhelming urge to put his hands around both their necks and squeeze the life out of them.

He’d had enough of privileged people wasting police time.

At least Stella is more composed tonight.

Not only that, she appears to be wearing a diamond necklace just like the one they’d described.

Good thing he never got around to filing that police report.

After polishing off his dessert, Melvin picks up his glass and downs the lot. Then he forces himself to tune back in to the conversational tennis match flying over the table. The guests, now a little worse for wear, are sending balls in all directions.

“Oh, come on, you can’t beat snogging a stranger on a sweaty dance floor!” Janet screeches.

“It’s just not an efficient method,” Matthew replies, his tie now slightly askew. Melvin can also detect a bluntness to his vowels that weren’t there earlier. Surely perfectly polished Matthew couldn’t be northern?

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a harem on the go, with all their attributes written up on a spreadsheet,” Vivienne says.

Melvin notices that Matthew starts at the mention of harem . Has tipsy Vivienne stumbled across a truth?

“As if I’d be so disrespectful, Vivienne! I’m a gentleman,” he cries.

“I have to agree with the ladies,” Melvin cuts in. “I met my wife, Mary, at a wedding, and our first kiss was to “Dancing Queen” at midnight. We’ve been married for more than thirty years.”

Janet and Vivienne grin, and Matthew shrugs his shoulders in defeat. Then a lull falls over the table. Vivienne turns to Tristan to ask about his IT work, and Matthew talks to young Stella over Janet’s head.

“What’s this?” Janet suddenly cries, clutching a tiny black envelope, a mini version of the one that contained the dinner party invitations. Melvin glances around the table and sees they all have identical envelopes by their wineglasses. Where on earth had they come from?

Conversation at the table grinds to a halt as the other guests watch Janet open the envelope. Clearly enjoying the attention, she slowly peels it open, pulls out a small black card using the tips of her red nails, and looks at it. Then her smile freezes.

“Is this some sort of joke?” she splutters, the card in her hand shaking.

“What is it?” Vivienne snaps, her recent comradery with Janet now apparently forgotten.

“ Is someone filming us?” Janet cries, looking frantically around the room.

“What are you talking about?” asks Gordon. “What does it say?”

“Get it away from me!” she yelps, throwing it toward the center of the table.

“Take it easy, Janet, love,” Melvin says.

Vivienne reaches across and picks up the card. She pulls her glasses from her handbag and squints as she reads the letters in the dim light.

“It says: You will die aged forty-four .” She gasps and drops the card as if it’s on fire. The guests all look at each other. In an instant, the atmosphere in the room turns from warm and pleasantly tipsy to suffocating and disorientating.

“Take no notice. It’s probably just a silly PR stunt,” Matthew says, putting his hand on Janet’s.

“It’s not silly—it’s downright cruel,” cries Vivienne, standing up. “I’m going to speak to someone about this.”

“Hold up, Vivienne,” Melvin calls, but before he can do anything, Vivienne has marched toward the door through which the waiters disappeared. They all watch as she abruptly stops, her hands pushing in vain against the solid wood.

“It’s locked,” she says. She bangs her flat palms against the door, but there’s no answer.

Vivienne goes back to her chair. The only sound is Janet sobbing quietly.

“First thing tomorrow, I’ll find out which PR company planned this dinner party…” Vivienne mutters, though her voice has lost some of its power.

“Let’s see,” Gordon says, quickly ripping open his own envelope. “Mine says fifty-three. That’s three years from now.”

“You shouldn’t have opened it,” Vivienne scolds. “I’m certainly not opening mine.”

“Me neither,” Tristan mutters, pushing his envelope away.

“I feel sick,” Janet sobs, and Melvin notices her skin has paled. “I knew there was something strange about this dinner party.”

“Calm down, everyone,” says Melvin, picking up Janet’s card from the table. “I tell you what: I’ll take this to the station tomorrow and see if I can find anything out.”

“No wonder the host didn’t make an appearance, if they were planning to pull this stunt,” Vivienne says.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” Matthew says, taking a glug of his wine.

“It would be interesting if the numbers were correct, though, wouldn’t it?” Gordon mutters, turning over his card as if hunting for clues.

“‘Interesting’?” Janet snaps. “I’m already forty-four; it’s my birthday in July! That card is a death sentence!”

A chuckle bursts from Stella. They all look over as she starts to cough.

“Something funny?” Janet snarls.

“Sorry—wine went down the wrong way,” she splutters. Matthew takes his hand off Janet’s and reaches across the table to give Stella his napkin.

“We’ve all had a bit too much to drink,” he says. “We’ll be laughing about this in the morning.”

“I doubt that,” Janet cries, dabbing at her eyes with her own napkin and looking forlornly up at Matthew.

“It’s time we all call it a night,” Melvin says. “Give me your contact details, everyone. I’ll look into this and let you know what I find out.”

They each pass him a business card, with Stella scrawling her email address on a napkin.

Melvin notices that Vivienne pushes her black envelope into her bag before wishing them all a brusque goodbye and marching unsteadily out of the room.

Minutes later, Tristan follows her out, tucking his envelope into his back pocket.

Matthew and Stella move across to the fireplace for a whispered conversation.

Gordon stays sitting at the table, frowning at his mobile phone.

Melvin looks over at Janet, whose smeared makeup reminds him of a tired clown.

She glances gloomily at Matthew and Stella as she pulls on her coat.

Melvin pushes the business cards and napkin into his pocket.

He notices that two unopened envelopes are still on the table, but leaves them be.

He isn’t sure how his name ended up on the guest list for this odd dinner party—maybe it’s one of his colleagues winding him up.

Truthfully, he doesn’t care. He has no real interest in unmasking the dinner party host. But as a police officer, he should be seen to make an effort, to take control of upsetting situations.

He’ll make a few calls tomorrow, hopefully settle the ladies’ concerns.

Glancing at his watch, he sees it’s just before 11:00 p.m. Bit early to head home; Mary might still be up.

He just wants to get as drunk as possible and try to forget about his problems for a few more hours.

“One for the road, to calm your nerves?” he asks Janet, and she nods.