‘If he doesn’t die from alcoholism first,’ Giles said quietly.
A blanket of silence dropped on the room and six heads whipped around to stare at Giles. In fairness, I was surprised myself. But Roxy was leaving in three days and, clearly, Giles had begun his transition to the Elder Statesman of the group. The poacher had become a junior gamekeeper.
‘But …’ Ella was appalled to hear her buddy Dennis being accused like this. His story – that his wife had bullied him in here – she’d bought wholesale. It copper-fastened her conviction that she too was here just to please others.
‘What the hell’s got into you?’ Chalkie asked Giles.
Giles shrugged. ‘Dennis almost died from alcohol poisoning. It’s not funny.’
‘Ah, stop!’ Dennis protested. ‘We’re only having a bit of a laugh.’
With a sharp nod of agreement, Ella glared at Giles.
At the end of the session, when they rose to stream out, I said, ‘Dennis, stay behind for a moment?’
‘Oh, lads, I’m in the soup!’
After shutting the door, I said, ‘Dennis, your clothes.’
He plucked at his suit jacket. ‘Made by the fair hands of Makee’s of Mullingar. No doubt you’ve some husband or boyfriend that needs “bespoke tailoring”， a fine-looking woman like yourself? Mention my name to Mossie Makee and he’ll look after you and the lucky man in question.’ His exaggerated wink indicated that a hefty discount would be mine.
‘Dennis, your clothes are filthy.’ I indicated the stains on his tie, the unidentifiable blobs on his shirt. ‘You need to do your laundry. Also you’ve been here almost a week and you haven’t had a shower.’
‘I have a bath every Easter Sunday,’ he declared. ‘Whether I need it or not! Harhar.’
‘Dennis, you need to shower every day. And get someone to show you how the washing machine works.’
‘Shur, the wife will be in with clean togs for me next weekend.’
‘Wash your clothes.’ I could be quite frightening when I really made an effort. ‘Tonight, Dennis.’
As I left the room, he yelled after me, in sudden, real rage, ‘What’s any of that got to do with drinking too much?’
Plenty. Addicts hated themselves and many couldn’t treat themselves with the barest of civility. He’d learn.
When I switched my phone on, there was a message from Helen. Meet me? Need to talk to you.
This sort of thing – Helen proposing a one-on-one casual hang – was a bit weird. She must want to talk about whatever she’d been doing the Friday morning of Mrs Costello’s funeral. Impossible to guess what – she could be splitting up with Artie, embarking on a solo expedition to the North Pole – knowing Helen it could be anything. But I hoped she was okay.
When? Today? Red Kite Farmhouse 5.45?
Immediately she replied, Not Red Kite Farmhouse. Hate that place. Full of Scummy Mummies.
Of course. Everyone else adored Red Kite Farmhouse – their twee aesthetic, their artfully mismatched trestle tables, their giant over-priced cherry scones. Helen had to be different.
Then another message arrived. Okay, Red Kite Farmhouse it is. Just don’t bore on about the fucking scones. I get it, they’re BIG.
I was mildly offended. I’d never in my life bored on about the size of the Red Kite Farmhouse scones. They were big, too much for one person, but I was happy enough to let them be.
Because it was late in the day, it was easy to get parking – the marauding clusters of Lululemon-clad yummy mummies usually emptied out around three thirty, piling into their Range Rovers to pick up the kids from private school.
Helen was already at a table, studying her phone and looking faintly murderous.
She spotted me and chirped, ‘Oh, Rachel, haai!’
Helen never chirped. Chirping was on her Shovel List.
A rictus smile appeared on her perfect little face and I was picking up a very bad feeling here.
‘Sit down.’ She pointed at the chair opposite her. ‘Got you a mint tea, that’s the right one, is it? And a brownie. Couldn’t chance it with the scones.’
‘So what’s up?’
Her gaze dropped to the table. ‘So look. Artie and I, we’ve been thinking …’
Suddenly I knew what she was going to say.
She met my eyes. ‘We want to have a baby.’
That was what I’d been braced for.
‘I’m sorry, Rachel. I know it’ll upset you and I’m genuinely sorry.’