The whole business was curiously humiliating.
Luke was getting to his feet and throwing his napkin on the table. ‘Is that the guy?’ He indicated the man I’d been scoping.
‘I think so –’
‘Stay where you are.’
He wove his way through the tables and, watching the twist of his narrow waist, I felt almost sick with want. At the end of the room, he collared the waiter and engaged him in chat, pointing towards me. Next thing, both of them went to the swingy door that led into the kitchen – and disappeared.
I’d never see either of them again, I was convinced of it.
However, in an unexpectedly short time, they re-emerged, the waiter bearing a plate which, with some ceremony, he carried the length of the room and placed before me.
‘Thank you,’ I murmured, keeping my eyes low.
Luke’s kindness felt crushing. As if my lovesickness was so pitiable that hunting down my risotto was the charitable thing to do.
As soon as it was decent, I’d scarper, I decided. I’d go back to my house and lie low, waiting for everything to settle, my feelings to get back to normal, then I’d resume my life – which had been fine before all of this. Better than fine, actually. Lovely, it was lovely. Apart from the dearth of vintage Chanel handbags, I’d had no complaints.
In double-quick time the dinner plates were being whipped away and replaced with the gold-leaf dessert. Next thing Dad was up on a small stage, nervously holding a mic. He began thanking people, a phenomenal number of them, for making tonight possible. Then it was time for Mum’s speech, which had a lot in common with Father Ted’s lengthy, score-settling address when he won the Golden Cleric. And we were getting there. Soon everyone would be so drunk that I could slip away unnoticed.
I was surprised by a tap on my shoulder – Artie. Directly into my ear, he said, ‘Helen needs you. She’s in the ladies.’
Quickly I got up.
In the frilly powder room, Helen was alone, sitting on a pink velvet pouf. She looked tearful – and Helen never cried.
‘Rachel. I’m not pregnant.’
‘… Did you think you were?’
‘Yeah. My period is only a day late but, yeah, I did.’
‘… This is your first month of trying?’
‘I know. But I thought … I was hopeful. You can hug me if you want.’
Carefully, I wrapped my arms around her – and then she did cry.
‘Helen …’ I felt helpless. ‘I was the same. Every month I thought this was the one where it had actually worked. And in the end it did.’
From the way her body stiffened, it was clear she’d remembered what had followed.
‘That won’t happen to you,’ I said.
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do.’
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. And my worry was that if Helen didn’t get her desired outcome, it could kick-start another descent into the darkness.
‘You’ve got to remember,’ I said, ‘that trying to get pregnant when you’re not sixteen is a marathon, not a sprint.’
‘A marathon, not a sprint,’ she repeated. Then, with a scornful look, ‘I can’t believe you just said that.’
She was obviously fine again. ‘Come on, we’d better go back out there.’
I was hoping that Mum hadn’t noticed our absence. But up on the dais, with her elevated overview, of course she had. As I scurried back to my table, her laser eyes burned a hole in my back.
Luke mouthed at me, Everything okay?
Embarrassed by his pity, I gave an abrupt nod, then turned my head.
Behind Mum, an actual, real-life band was setting up on the small stage. When, finally, she surrendered her microphone, the band leader announced they were kicking things off with an old-timey waltz set – which generated a veritable trickle onto the floor. Mum was out there with Dad. Uncle Donagh, showcasing his new knees, had Auntie Phyllis in a hold. Imelda and Philomena were dancing with each other and they all looked joyous and jolly which, despite everything, made me smile.
… Except something was going on with Claire and Adam. I watched her yank him by the tie into a hungry clinch. In the parlance of our culchie cousins, she was ‘ateing the face off him’。 Devouring him. From a distance it could have been mistaken for passion, but to me it was clear she was in a blind fury. If someone could die from being snogged, Adam would have been a goner.
I was about to get up and intervene when abruptly Claire desuckered her face from Adam’s, shoved him away and stalked off, only to fall into the hands of Anna and Angelo, who garlanded her with concern.