‘To cut down on mid-week drinking,’ Shiv said. ‘We still get the experience of wine, without the actual alcohol.’
‘Cool.’ Because this was fashionable, Quin wanted to try it.
‘Rachel would know about that,’ Garrett said. ‘No alcohol mid-week.’
‘Or ever,’ Shiv added.
‘That’s me!’ I smiled gamely. ‘No fun!’
（Once, when he was very drunk, Garrett had confided how worried he and Shiv had got when they realized I was sticking around. ‘We love going to France. For the wine? We used to go with Quin and Elin.’ （Elin had been the girlfriend before me.） ‘Not going to happen now, is it? Q-Dog’s mad about you.’）
‘I’m wondering’， Shiv admitted, ‘if this, the alcohol-free wine, might become a thing …’
That was Shiv very much on-brand – what people earned and how they could be persuaded to spend it seemed to occupy about nine-tenths of her brain.
The third time we’d met, she’d quizzed me on my finances: ‘Do you get a bonus? No? Wow.’ ‘Could you make more in private practice?’ ‘You could? So why don’t you do that?’ Questions that became ever more personal until I found the courage to say, ‘That’s enough about me. How much do you earn, Shiv?’
She’d given me a long stare, followed by a short laugh and a nod. ‘You’ll do.’
Shiv looked around Quin’s kitchen and asked, ‘Where’s Liberty?’
‘In her room, crying.’ Finley supplied. ‘She’s on her period, she says.’
Garrett muttered, ‘Jesus Christ …’
If Claire had been there, she’d have squared up to him and said, through gritted teeth, ‘Fifty per cent of the population experience it every month for thirty years, it’s as natural as breathing, get over yourself.’ Sadly, I wasn’t Claire.
‘I’d better go up to her.’ Shiv left the room.
Quin resumed his clattering at the stove and Garrett and I eyed each other.
‘How’s work, Rachel? The junkies behaving themselves? Cool, cool.’
He and Shiv were baffled by my job – they thought I was a do-gooder.
‘Why don’t you open the fake wine?’ I suggested. Gratefully he dived onto the job.
Shiv had returned, trailing Liberty, who looked pale and very young. Also, as her lower half still hadn’t caught up with the growth spurt her torso had enjoyed, she looked as if she’d been sawn in half and reassembled with the wrong legs. My heart went out to her.
‘Dinner’s ready,’ Quin said, and there was a rush to the table.
‘What is it?’ Shiv examined the artfully presented platter.
‘Pasta with burnt aubergine, pomegranate and tahini cream. Ottolenghi.’
‘Ottolenghi!’ Shiv was impressed, then irritated that she’d shown it. ‘Here, have some fake wine. Rachel? Fake wine?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Why not?’ Quin asked. ‘It’s got no alcohol.’
Trying to hide my embarrassment, I said, ‘Not recommended for me to replicate the drinking experience.’
And he knew it. Usually he was cool about me not drinking or taking drugs; the few times he’d given me the baleful Captain Buzzkill eyes tended to coincide with the presence of Shiv and Garrett.
Or maybe tonight it was because I’d hurt him by taking too long to tell him about Luke’s visit?
‘Oh?’ He shrugged. ‘Okay.’
Garrett swirled the pale yellow liquid and sipped it thoughtfully. ‘You know, it’s not bad.’
‘Tastes like the real thing,’ Quin agreed. ‘So, cheers!’
They clinked glasses.
I’d give it forty minutes.
Finley began to shovel food into his mouth, then mumbled, sounding surprised, ‘This is really good.’
Finley would eat anything, but it was genuinely great.
‘Bit ambitious for a weeknight, though.’ Shiv pointed her fork at Quin.
‘That so?’ Quin looked amused.
‘You really did all of this prep just before we arrived?’ Her stare was bold, as she watched him.
He smiled some more, skimmed his glance away, then slid it back to her. ‘Did some of it last night.’
‘Hah!’ Shiv was delighted. ‘Knew it!’
Everyone kept ploughing into the food until literally everything was eaten. As soon as the kids left the table Quin set down his glass with an air of surrender. ‘The pretend wine isn’t doing it for me.’