Free Fatty O'Leary's Dinner Party by Alexander McCall Smith

evidence: Mountpenny House seemed comfortable enough, even if the bathroom now lacked a bath. (They could hardly complain about that.) No. The main objection to Ireland was its
Irishness
, or rather its
wrong sort of Irishness
. Everybody at home knew what it was to be Irish, and behaved accordingly, with St. Patrick’s Day parades and sentimental dinners. But did the Irish themselves know how to be Irish? She was less confident of that.
    â€œDo you want to go home?” she blurted out. “Home to Fayetteville, I mean.”
    Fatty looked at her uncomprehendingly.
    â€œBut of course we’ll go home,” he said. “We’re booked to go home at the end of next week.”
    â€œBut are you enjoying yourself?” she persisted.
    â€œAm I enjoying myself in Ireland?” he asked. “Of course I am! Who couldn’t enjoy himself in Ireland?”
    Betty struggled to conceal her surprise. “But all these things that have been happening,” she said. “Don’t you feel …” She did not finish.
    â€œThey’ve been nothing,” said Fatty. “A few minor irritations. You know that I’m not that easily discouraged, Betty. You should know that by now.”
    Betty swallowed. She would have to put a brave face on it and carry on, since that was so clearly what Fatty wished to do. And it would be possible – just – to be positive: they would have a good breakfast, and that would surely raise the spirits. Then perhaps they would take a walk, or perhaps drive in the car to one of the nearby villages. The run of bad luck – for that is what it seemed to be – would have to come to an end sometime, as it could hardly go on forever and it was difficult to see what further humiliations Ireland could be planning for Fatty.
    They dressed, Fatty donning the trousers which had been let out for him by Mr. Delaney and one of the adapted shirts, while Betty wore the green linen trouser suit she had bought for the trip. Then they made their way down to the dining room, the door of which had been wedged closed and had to be pushed open by Fatty.
    â€œI’m absolutely starving,” said Fatty as they entered the room. “I haven’t really eaten properly for over twenty-four hours!”
    The thought of the impending meal made it possible to contemplate with equanimity the chance of finding Rupert O’Brien in the dining room. But Fatty need not have worried. Not only was Rupert O’Brien not there, butthere was nobody else either. In fact, the dining room was completely deserted and the tables cleared.
    Fatty stood at the doorway and looked at his watch.
    â€œIt’s only ten,” he said, his voice weak and dispirited. “Do you think that they’ve stopped serving already?”
    Betty, who had spotted a bell, strode over to ring it. Shortly thereafter the young girl from the village, who had served the diners the previous evening, appeared from the kitchen, a dishcloth draped over her arm. She looked surprised.
    â€œWell,” she said. “Who rang the bell then? What’s the emergency?”
    â€œWe were hoping for breakfast,” said Fatty. “Some kedgeree perhaps?”
    The waitress shook her head. “Mr. O’Brien finished the kedgeree,” she said. “And anyway, it’s far too late for breakfast. The kitchen’s closed.”
    Fatty exchanged an anguished glance with Betty. “But we had no dinner,” he complained. “And now you’re telling us that we’re to get no breakfast.”
    The girl looked sympathetic. “That’s an awful shame,” she said. “But I can’t re-open the kitchen once chef has closed it. He gets into an awful temper if he sees me cooking when I’m meant to be cleaning everything up. Ireally can’t help you there.”
    Fatty looked miserably at the waitress.
    â€œWhat time will lunch be served?” he asked.
    â€œWe